Page 5 of The Signature Dish of the Underworld

When Rae didn’t reply, he continued. “At the very least, you might get to see what I’m preparing for the festival tomorrow.” Garth wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“If I’m your competition, why would you give me that advantage?” Nothing in this place was done without calling in a favour later down the line. Not even from a good daemon.

Garth shrugged. “Like I said, Sunshine. I’m short staffed. I need your help.”

At that moment the door opened, this time on a groan.

“Good morning Geras,” Rae said without even glancing towards the bistro entryway. It only ever groaned for its old, tired owner.

“Think about it,” Garth told her. He rose up off the table to his full height again, knocking the table setting even further askew, and turned towards the door.

“Geras,” he nodded at the other old daemon, who was hunched over, his bald head shining underneath the light.

“Garth,” Geras grumbled.

Then he was gone.

“Why,” Geras grumbled again, “have you not put the baked goods in the cabinet yet, Arae?” His pointed nose and chin drooped naturally towards the floor, until it looked like someone had attempted to melt his flesh off and had only half finished the job. It left him with a permanently displeased look on his face, often directed at Rae.

“Sorry, Geras. I’ll do that now.”

“And why isn’t this table set like the others?”

“I’ll get on that, too.”

Ibrik whistled out a sad song.

“Tell me about it,” Rae muttered.

CHAPTER THREE: An apple a day …

It was four in the afternoon by the time Rae headed home, an hour later than usual. Along the way, she stopped as she always did at one of Hecate’s stores, run by one of the witches devotees.

Like all potions and trinket stores that honoured their allegiance to Hecate, the walls were lined with bottles and potions of all shapes, colours and sizes. Herbs and dried flowers hung from the rafters, and the stones on the floor were warmed, leaving a beautiful – yet heady – aroma as the heat rose. Rae found she could never stay in one of these stores for long without developing a migraine. Despite that, she often visited as they had the only things that would take her dishes to the next level.

“Ah Rae,” the kind Oread, a mountain nymph as pale as snow with jagged cheekbones, smiled as Rae walked into the shop. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I’m hoping you’re about to tell me I am, Irid.”

Irid remained smiling, those grooves around her eyes reminders of her mountain lineage. They looked like permanent wrinkles. She, otherwise, gave no further answer.

“Well? Do you have it?” Rae asked impatiently.

“You have to know I do.”

Irid smiled further, then reached underneath her counter and produced a crumpled brown paper bag.

Rae’s face lit up with excitement before she looked either side of her, making sure no one else was in the shop.

As Irid rolled down the paper bag, a golden apple began to shine on the dark marble countertop.

“Where did you get it from?” Rae breathed in awe, staring at it.

“From the Garden of Hesperides.”

Rae shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

The garden was, according to rumour, in a spot near the edge of the world under the power of the Olympians, and inaccessible to anyone else. Hercules had been the only one to get in, and even then he’d tricked a Titan into helping him. These apples – in the mortal realm – would be worth a fortune.

---