Page 3 of The Signature Dish of the Underworld

Rae turned on Ibrik – a small brass pot with its long spout whistling as it heated Rae’s coffee blend on a small spherical gas element that the Souls always commented looked like a camp stove. Whatever that was.

The counter stocked, the Ibrik coffee brewing, Rae moved to checking the table set ups were perfect. She’d done them yesterday afternoon, but sometimes, when the bistro was being playful, it rearranged things. It was a little game they played together.

Just because she was only the supervisor did not mean she did not hold Geras’ Grub to the same standards as …otherrestaurants in the area.

Each table was made of a dark wood, so brown as to be black. The cutlery was freshly polished palladium mined from deep within Tartarus, laid on brown linen napkins. In the centre of the tables were small plant cuttings that she had taken from her own garden over time, nourished with Asphodel soil, and encased in glass bowls. Watering each plant, straightening each piece of cutlery until it was perfect, Rae surveyed the place and nodded to herself. Yes, this would do for the day.

One day, Rae wouldn’t just be the supervisor of this place – she’d own it. That was the dream. Perhaps with the prize tokens Hades offered with the festival, this would be the century it would finally come true.

Ibrik whistled.

“Yes, I know.” Rae chuckled, turning to her brass companion. “You’re my biggest cheerleader.”

The brass pot rattled – an indignant protest.

“Oh? You aren’t my biggest fan?” Rae widened her eyes at the pot in mock surprise.

At that moment, the door tinkled. There was no bell above the door, the greeting itself coming from the door as it opened, its voice singing through the air at whoever had walked through.

Rae turned towards it, and her surprise was immediately replaced with a scowl.

“What are you doing here?”

The agathodaemon slithered in, a cocky smile on his face. He reached the edge of the counter, opposite Rae, and grabbed a handful of pomegranate seeds from the offering bowl in front of the éos. The offering bowl was similar to what the mortals called a ‘tip jar’, though there was no need for tip jars in the Underworld, given that mortal currency didn’t work here.

Instead, the offering was for their queen – the goddess, Persephone. The queen to their lord Hades, and the love of his immortal life. It was thanks to her that the plants in Asphodel Meadows now thrived as the mortal realms vegetation did. Before that, the flowers had been in eternal death. Beautiful, but, with no hope.

Now, there was hope.

The agathodaemon opened that wide mouth of his and poured the pomegranate seeds down his throat.

“Are you drunk?!”

Taking from an offering bowl was as good as insulting the goddess herself.

“This early in the day? You think so little of me, my Rae of sunshine?”

“I think nothing of you, Garth.” Rae pinned him with a stare, one hand on her hip.

A look like that on a Soul would have worked. Instead, Garth laughed. Loudly.

“Liar. Besides, Persephone won’t miss a few. Not when she sees what I’m making in her honour for the cook-off.”

He was no mere mortal Soul. He was a daemon. Worse than that he wasthedaemon that people in the earthly realm paid libations to after a meal. They would smash their drinks on the ground, singing his praises and thanking him for the food on their plates.

“So,” Garth niggled at her. “What are you making for the cook-off?”

“None of your gods-damned business,” she grumbled.

“Of course it’s my business, Sunshine. You’re my competition.”

Rae tried not to smile at that, because for the last four centuries Garth and his restaurant just down the road from her – Zeus’ Watering Hole – had won the cook-off. Rae had never been to his restaurant but she knew why he was winning. It wasn’t based on talent. Garth won because of the libations. Every time a mortal ritually poured water, wine, oil, milk, or honey in honour of the gods – Garth grew in popularity. The more popular he was, the more powerful he grew down here in Asphodel.

The fact that he considered her actual competition this year was a good sign.

“Why are you here?”

Garth let out a breath, his wavy dark hair blowing up before settling again around his oval face. The light hanging from the bistro highlighted the jade green tints in his otherwise black hair, making it look like snakes were hugging his skull.

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