Page 18 of Baking and Angels

Predictably, the bartender looked down, raising an eyebrow. “Get away with what?”

“Your sleeves,” Rafferty said, his words tensing up.

“Oh, you know. They don’t really care too much as long as the shirt is clean, and I don’t cause any trouble. I’m really vigorous when I shuffle up the ice, and I hate getting my sleeves wet,” the bartender said, just as someone waved at him down the bar. “I’ll be right back. Take your time.”

Raffertylet it go.

“You truly are a chef, aren’t you?” a familiar accented voice asked.

Chapter 8

More Than

Anything

Rafferty’s eyebrows popped up, surprised to see one of the waiters from the Winter Rose Ball standing next to him, holding a short glass half filled with an amber drink. He grinned at him, then gestured at the chair beside him.

“You mind if I join you?”he asked.

“Uh, no, not at all,” Rafferty said automatically, feeling strangely more at ease as the other man took his seat and set his drink on the bar.

“I can tell you are trying to remember where you’ve seen me before,” his new companion said, flashing his white teeth as he adjusted his suit jacket over the casual button-up shirthe had on.

“No, I know who you are. You were the head waiter at the event the other night. The Winter Rose Ball.”

The former waiter held out his hand. “Éliott,” he said, in that rich, familiar rhythm of speech that Rafferty had once shared in his original life.

“Uh, Rafferty,” the former demon responded, taking the hand and shaking it. It felt strange to introduce himself. The only real people he had ever interacted with were those who summoned him, and they already knew who he was whenthey did.

“” Éliott said, speaking in easy French.

“” Rafferty answered, then flinched as he realized that not only had the language easily rolled out of him, but it had been fluent like Agent Archon had said. As a demon, he had adopted whatever manner of speech his masters had, some quirk of the summoning. He hadn’t spoken French in ages before talking to Agent Archon.

No, wait, that is not true,he thought, realizing.I spoke at the restaurant Helena took me to on our first… date.He blinked again, also realizingI spoke to this man. So he already knows I speak French.

“” Éliott replied, then gestured to the building at large. “” He shook his head soberly.

“Yes, it was,” Rafferty said, returning to English, that voice still speaking with Helena’s accent instead.

“Did you know her?” Éliott asked, also making the adjustment, though he kept his lyrical voice notes.

“Ms. Scarlet? Not really. Only through my… girlfriend.” He wondered if he should be saying these things, but it was true after all. Harmless information. Though he wondered,Is any information truly harmless?Demons would often probe marks for every drop they could use to manipulate.

Somehow that thought relaxed him more. He was a demon. He could handle a conversation with a waiter, even if that’s not what he proved to be.

“Ah yes, you are the beau of the pretty lady. The one actually in charge?” Éliott said, setting down his glass to pull the menu Rafferty hadn’t even glanced at toward himself.

“Helena,” Rafferty said, wondering if they were together after how he had left upstairs. He wouldn’t blame her if she casthim aside.

“Is she alright?” Éliott asked, sounding genuinelyconcerned.

“I…” Rafferty had thought to lie for a moment, but there simply was no point. “No. She’s notalright.”

“Hmm, I suppose that is to be expected,” Éliott intoned, then waved his hand at the bartender, who was already on his way toreturning.

“Do you know what you would like?” the bartender asked.

“Another bourbon for me and one for him. We both need it tonight. Then your charcuterie board, s’il vous plaît,” Éliott ordered. “Please charge it to the room.” He glanced at Rafferty, smirking cheekily. “I love saying that.”

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