Page 120 of Aftertaste

Kostya gave a half smile, despite himself. “I bet you say that to all the cooks.”

“Only the ones worth their salt.”

“But if the food is memory, then when you eat it, what? It’s just… gone?”

Frankie shook his head. “Forgetting’s not the same as closure. You remember; you just… don’t crave it anymore. At least”—he gave Kostya a meaningful look—“that’s how it works when they’re your own memories.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The spirits you’re tryna help, Bones,” he said gently, “they’re not in the Hall now. You can’t usetheirmemories as ingredients.”

“But then how do I—”

“I think”—he looked unspeakably sorry—“you gotta use yours.”

Kostya swallowed, his mouth dry. “And when they eatmyfood? My—my memories—what happens to me?”

“I dunno. Not for sure. But if I had to guess? You’ll forget.”

It hit Kostya like a bag of ice. What he stood to lose. All the things that could vanish. All the people. He thought of Maura, waiting for him on the other side. Of his mother. Of Rio, and his kitchen staff. He thought of the memories it would take, every moment of the life he’d finally begun to live.

He didn’t want to give it up.

But he had done this. Had caused these spirits harm. He owed them.

“There’s no other way?” he choked out.

“Not unless the Hall decides to forgive and forget. And from what I’ve seen, it’s a petty little bi—”

As if it’d heard, the ground beneath began to quake.

“Watch what you say!” Kostya yelped, trying to keep his balance.

“That wasn’t me!” Frankie grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree. “The Hall’s been out of whack since the veil burst. That’s why it’s so pissed at you.” As soon as the tremor went still, Frankie hustled Kostya through the grove and toward a wall of rock candy, a tunnel visible in its face as they drew near. “I been keeping us moving, but we gotta set things right while it’s still standing. It falls apart, the whole Afterlife goes Hungry.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Yep. And long as the veil’s open, Hungry Ghosts will keep pouring into Manhattan. Looking for closure, blood, or both.”

“Maura.” Kostya suddenly remembered the pufferfish, Saveur Fare, his body in another world. “She was gonna come through and try to close it.”

“She’ll need help. Hangry spirits will put up a fight.”

“Fuck.”

“But one thing at a time.” The tunnel led to a half-rusted door, and Frankie wrenched it open, revealing steps. “We need to get you cooking.”

“What’s even the point?” Kostya whined, making his way down. “The Afterlife’s fucked, and the Living are fucked, and the Dead are fucked, and the Food Hall couldn’t help even if it wanted to because it’s fucked, and it’s all fucked because of me, so what’s the point of going anywhere and doing anything? I’m the King Midas of fuckery. Everything I touch turns to fucks.”

Frankie laughed, his voice bouncing through the dark. “You ever oversalt a dish? Overcook spaghetti? Make something that tastedbad?”

Konstantin thought horribly of Christmas at Saveur Fare, that ill-fated holiday party and badly sauced cavatappi.

“Hasn’t everyone?”

“What separates the good chefs from the bad is whether you can take that mistake and make lemonade.”

“How do you make lemonade out of fucks?”

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