Page 113 of Baking and Angels

And I was rescued by Helena to live this life now,he thought. The memories of her flooded in. Beautiful and vivid. Her smile and laughter, her hair framing her face. The way she gasped beneath him, the weight of her in his arms. Her thoughts and fears so precisely hers as she shared them with him, making him hungryfor more.

Eleanor whirled back to her station. “Ugh, I don’t have time for this drama. If I have to make the whole thing myself, then I will.” She then lifted out a book from her backpack and dropped it unceremoniously onto the counter.

Rafferty’s heart bounced offthe floor.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, reaching for Helena’s grandmother’scookbook.

“Helena,”she said.

“But why would she give it to you?” he pressed, pulling it toward himself, out of her grip. She reclaimed it, forcefully dragging it back, but he didn’t relinquish it, compelling her to look at him.

“She wasmygrandmother, too!” Eleanor snapped. “And seriously, this should have come to me anyway. I really don’t know what mymotherwas thinking, giving it to her.”

“Nana… was your grandmother?” Rafferty’s jaw couldn’t be more onthe floor.

Eleanor eyed him, huffing irritatedly. “Helena didn’t tell you, did she? Yeah, we’re cousins, fucking hell. I don’t know what kind of game she is playing, being all big shot and pretending she doesn’t know me or something. And it hasn’t all been conflict of interest bullshit or something. but you, you were hers, right? Why wouldn’t she tell youwho I am?”

Because Helena doesn’t remember,Rafferty realized to himself. She had lost things as well when she had paid the price for both of them. Just like him, what she needed had been returned to her, but pieces were lost. Like remembering her more distant, hostile, estranged family.

Eleanor patted the air at him, just inches from touching his chest. “I know, okay, I know it’s not your fault, but I mean, when we ran into each other at the kitchen place, she didn’t even try to introduce you to me. I mean, that is just fucked up. If only I had—”

Rafferty took a step back. “I have to find her,” he saidout loud.

“What? Wait! I don’t actually want to do all of this myself. We don’t havetime to—”

But he didn’t wait.

Turning, he rushed out of the room, grabbing the nearest helper at the door. “I need to see Helena now!” he demanded, pulling up just short of grabbing the hapless helper and shaking them.

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t know…” they said as they reached for their walkie.

Disgusted, Rafferty turned away, knowing this route hadn’t produced her yet. Instead, he rushed out of the grand ballroom into the main foyer. There were almost no people here, but there were two grand staircases. They swept elegantly backward up to the second floor. It was either go that way or out the bank of doors leading out to the street.

Ignoring the obvious exit, he turned and leapt up the steps. “Helena!” he called, heedless of what anyone might sayor shush.

There were a couple other helpers hanging out at the top, sitting and chatting, who both stared at him as he swept past. None moved to stop him, though. He saw up there was a hallway with a row of doors. A couple were open with papers and equipment stored within, and a couple more helpers exited out of the third room with carts filled with foodstuffs that didn’t require refrigeration. They both stopped to stare at Rafferty, who moved pastunheeding.

Lacking more direction, he began trying the doors themselves. Most were locked, and he almost gave up until he came to the second to the last one. It had pebbled glass set into the door, so he could see the inside was dark. He doubted she was in that one but pushed in eagerly when the doorknob yielded.

A woman stood at the far end, looking out through the window at the night city beyond.

“Helena?” he called out softly, almost fearfully. Seeing her again like this after what he had said to her last time pinged him with anxiety.

The woman turned. “Oh, it’s you,” Scarlet said with a sleepy drawl.

In the light from the hall, he could see her eyes were red-rimmed and wet.

“Are you… are you alright?” He turned to look back down the hallway, but the few helpers that had watched his urgent searching were now looking away. It was a deliberate choice. They were avoiding Scarlet.

“Are you looking for Helena?” Scarlet asked instead of answering. She rubbed a finger underneath one eye, delicately brushing away the tear there and correcting her mascara in the same practiced gesture.

“I am,” he said. He didn’t understand the pull he felt, drawing him into the room. It wasn’t that his urgency to find Helena had abated. Instead, something within him wanted him to go this way, to follow the thread of compassion he felt for this woman who was so important to Helena. He also recognized he could deny that feeling, his will wasn’t being usurped. In addition, he realized he had fought feelings like this too many times, that he had always heard this call and had resistedit before.

Maybe it was time totrust it.

Closing the door behind him, he crossed the space. It was a conference room of some sort, with a long oblong table and several chairs waiting for people to sit and discuss things. There was even a whiteboard along the wall to his left with leftover writing and a rough sketch of the ballroom. Helena’s plans for the evening, clearly. But it didn’t interest him as much as the woman waiting for him toapproach.

“I don’t know where she is,” Scarlet said.

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