Page 55 of Cookbooks and Demons

“Hmm,” Rafferty said, unperturbed as he cut another piece with the side of his fork while keeping a hand on the back of hers so he could stilltaste it.

Helena let him and reached for a glass of water to wash out her remaining discomfort. The whole meal, no one had come to give them any wine for their empty wine glasses and frankly, she hoped they never did. It made it easier to not think well of anyof them.

Unfortunately, the young man who brought them all the courses returned, empty-handed.

“Chef asked me to inquire about what you think of your meal?” he asked in a bored-tone, but the way he was blinking made her think he might be more exhausted than bored.

“It’s terrible,” Rafferty declared with no preamble or hint of regret.

Helena almost choked.

The kitchen worker’s eyebrows rose up in his first real expression of themeeting.

Rafferty took that as permission to elaborate. “It’s undercooked and made with pre-prepared ingredients. There are no seasonings to even speak of, and I would even question the food safeness of any of this. I’m advising my client here to not finish her meal as I am genuinely concerned for food poisoning.”

He stood up then and offered his hand to help Helena up out of her chair.

The worker grew alarmed, raising his own hands as if to stop them. “But wait—there is a dessert,”he said.

“Is it that Opera Cake over there?” Rafferty asked, gesturing at the worker who had stopped mid-icing along with the rest of the workers around the room to stare at the drama happening.

“Uh, yeah… I think so,” the worker said, at a loss.

“Then we’ll take that to-go, and I can let you know my thoughts,” Rafferty declared, then looked to Helena. “We can wait a few moments with your permission?”

Helena wasn’t sure if his intention was to empower her in this moment or throw her under the bus, but she nodded as her mind raced to save the situation. Though it would help if she knew whether she needed to save it for or from. “Yes, ofcourse.”

“Uh, okay,” the worker said, more deflated than when he had come over initially. Helena knew he had to be bracing, and she was certain the Executive Chef was going to rage. She expected it would be in Polish as well.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of their standing there, waiting for the dessert to come back, an enraged voice echoed through the strangely quiet kitchen. Every worker had stopped and held their breath as a string of incomprehensible words followed by some fantastic metallic crashes came from behind a closed pair of double doors. Standing up, Helena could see that the pair of doors had a plate next to them that read “The ExecutiveKitchen.”

“This is a nightmare,” Helenamurmured.

The double doors slammed open, making a horrible, sharp noise as they hit either side of the entryway, revealing the Executive Chef as he marched through to point an accusing fingerat Helena.

Another litany of angry Polish words slapped her in the face, but she had no idea what he was specifically saying.

The woman from the front rushed past, her haggard, tired face now alarmed and fearful. Helena felt terrible as she realized that this woman was probably his daughter and the extent of their history was on full display for everyone present as she tried to stand in front of him, speaking urgently and soothingly at her irate father.

The old man never looked at her but kept his fiercely angry eyes on Helena the whole time. She was pretty sure if he felt like tearing her throat out with his own teeth, he would. Finally, pushing past his daughter, knocking her back into one of the kitchen workers, he charged straight for the source ofhis ire.

Startled, Helena tried to back away when Rafferty stepped between them.

“Oh, you think I’m intimidated by you!” the Executive Chef shouted, completely unimpressed. “I will kick your ass right here!” He made some rude gestures and slapped his chest as if daring Rafferty to hit him. Then he spit at Helena over Rafferty’sshoulder.

Quicker than a human should have moved, Rafferty blocked the spittle with a sharply raised hand.

It was all the signal the Executive Chef needed, however, taking the gesture as an attack and swung his own fist at Rafferty’s head. This the demon did not block or duck, but took full on the cheek, throwing his whole body to one side and half bent over. The older man then stepped up and seemed to be attempting to slam his knee repeatedly into Rafferty’s stomach but did not have the height or the weight to be very effective with it. By then, several of the kitchen workers fell on their boss to pull him off and away from the actually more dangerous man.

Helena, for her part, dived for Rafferty, grabbing the back of his jacket in a mindless, animal instinct to pull him away from the fight and out of reach of the Executive Chef’sattacks.

The grown daughter had come forward by then, standing between the two men, but shouting at Rafferty that she was going to call the police and report them for attacking her father.

“What!? He attacked him!” Helena tried to defend, but the woman seemed to think she could win her argument by shouting louder and more incoherently, getting right up into Helena’s face as if she too was ready to throw down on her.

“I’m fine,” Rafferty said, sticking his arm between thetwo women.

The daughter glared up at him in challenge, only for her eyes to widen rounder than saucers. Instantly she muttered something and crossed herself, backing up quickly and Helena knew what she had seen and who it would implicate.

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