Page 31 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"Proud of you, kiddo," Dad said, as only a gargoyle father can say to his forty-eight year old son—still young by gargoyle standards.

"Love you so much, darling," Mom said.

"Love you guys," I said, and we all nodded and smiled for a minute, and they said goodbye a few more times because gargoyles don't just hang up on a call that easily.

The timer went off as Mom finally winked at me and ended the call before Dad could reiterate for the third time that we'd talk again in a week.

I dropped my phone aside and crossed back to my barely passable studio kitchen, opening the oven to admire the golden bubbles on the surface of the lasagne. It smelled good. I'd packed in preserved lemon and a ton of herbs and my favorite brands of goat cheese and ricotta blended together. I'd even dehydrated the strips of zucchini and eggplant to make them closer to noodles before layering.

I wanted to cut directly into the dish, dissect the layers and flavors and make notes for improvement. But it needed to cool before I was allowed to poke around, and I needed to get ready for a dinner party.

"It's stupendous!"

I wrinkled my nose. "It needs more salt."

"Rafe, it's amazing."

"The center is completely soggy."

"It's good!"

"Quit coddling me," I said, slapping my pen down in my notebook and glaring at the faces around the crowded table.

Khell and Sunny had invited me over for dinner, along with Sunny's best friend Natalie and her werewolf husband Theo, and Elias.

Elias was the first to break under my interrogation. "There's too much oregano."

"Thank you," I answered with a nod, picking my pen back up and starting to jot notes on the lasagne again.

"Too much lemon," Sunny said primly, and Khell huffed at her side. "I like your color palette and everything, but I think a little tomato wouldn't hurt for the acidity instead of just citrus."

I raised my free hand without looking up from my note-taking, but Sunny obliged the high five gamely.

"No meat," Theo said, shrugging. I rolled my eyes and ignored him. That was the point.

"It needs more texture, but if you can't make proper noodles from squash slices, maybe consider a layer of ground nuts," Natalie offered.

I blinked and looked up at her. I mostly knew Natalie as a friend of a friend who almost always got into drinking competitions with me at the bar. Or nacho eating competitions. Or, on one occasion, an entirely inappropriate smack-talking, vicious dance-off in Khell and Sunny's living room that had nearly taken out a vintage lamp.

"That's a really good idea," I said, and she nodded with obvious smugness.

"It's perfect, and I like it," Khell said stubbornly. Orcs loved vegetables and green energy and planting gardens and basically anything that got them as close to tree-humping as possible without the actual splinters.

"Thanks, bud," I said, and I started rewriting the recipe, absently reaching for another one of the stuffed rolls Elias had brought.

"Do you have to do that now?" Elias asked, arching an eyebrow at me as I scribbled.

I looked around the table. Everyone else was eating their dinner like a normal person, offering compliments to whoever had made each dish, sipping wine or beer or Elias's deadly ghost pepper moonshine, in my case.

"I think harshly critiquing a dish at a dinner party is kind of fun," Natalie said, and then her eyes narrowed. "But don't say a word against Theo's brownies, or I'll break your arm."

Theo draped his arm around his mate and leaned in to kiss her temple. "Thanks, babe."

I rushed through my last notes, gobbling down the roll in my hand, and then another, and then flipped my notebook shut. "There," I said through the mouthful. "Done."

Elias's nose wrinkled, and Sunny's lips twitched. "Who's all this planning for?" Sunny asked me.

I opened my mouth to answer and then shut it again, partly to chew and partly because I realized I didn't want to admit the truth. The recipe ought to have been for Khell's benefit. For the sake of this dinner party. But really, they were just my guinea pigs. I wanted to make this for Hannah. Which was a bit improbable, considering the amount of prep it took. I'd have to bring the whole thing with me, unbaked, to our next appointment, because I wasn't supposed to spend over an hour sautéing vegetables when I could be screwing Hannah silly on a sex ottoman.

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