Page 25 of Baking and Angels

“No! No more bourbon,” Rafferty croaked, lifting his head toward the wet sound, his stupid brain not understanding liquid noise and assuming it was morefirewater.

“Bourbon?” Helena asked, truly confused. “You were drinkingbourbon?”

Rafferty shook his head. “No, not bourbon… Or yes, bourbon. We drank bourbon, but also brandy. It was for the gruau… eh, gruel I think you would say?” he said, lingering too hard on thelsound to try to make the word come out in English.

“Gruel?” Helena repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Where did you find a place that serves gruel?”

“We made it. I have a friend in this hotel’s kitchen,” he explained, as he looked into the cup and realized she had brought him water. He attempted to fumble at the cup of water, only for her to bat his hand away and hold it to his lips herself. He felt like how a wilted house plant looked.

“Yeah, but gruel?” Helena pressed.

Rafferty shrugged. “Oatmeal. It’s like really fancy oatmeal.” He glared up at her, taking her aback. “What you think? People ate shit food before the modern times… all through the… the… history… times… whatever…” He pushed himself up, actually steadier on his feet now. At least, steady enough to use the door and wall to guide himself back out of thebathroom.

“I am sorry. I should not be speaking to you like that,” he said, the words he usually kept inside his head coming out his mouth with the ease of chickens flying free from a coop.

“It’s alright,” Helena lied, wrapping her arms around herself.

Has she always lied to me?

Rafferty managed to sink onto the bed, his thoughts discombobulated, and jumped to a similar thread to what they were just talking about. “Brandy with the nutmeg adds a warmth… Pairs well with the nutmeg. Makes it more together than apart. I should make it for you when we go home,” he muttered. “Add blueberries… goldenraisins…”

“Okay, my love, let us get you to bed,” his savior insisted, tugging at his shirt. From the smell, he guessed he had gotten some puke onthat, too.

Once the shirt left him, Rafferty flopped and curled, tucking the pillow hard under his head. Sliding up, Helena sat down beside him in the space left by the crook of his body. Gently, she brushed his hair back from his face, but he didn’t so much as twitch. It felt so good.

“I’m sorry I dragged you to hell,” he murmured. Yet, hell didn’t seem so bad right now. And how could this be hell if she was here? The only ones who touched you in hell gave pain, but her touch soothed and eased. He uncurled, exposing his neck then his belly to her. She could consume him whole if she wished; he would cease to exist happily for her. Instead, she lay down beside him and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, her fingers resting lightly on his chest, making small circles in the chest hair there. Her hips tucked up against the side of his own, her crooked leg settling a delightful weight across his thighs.

“Thank you for coming back,”she said.

He smiled and nodded.Of course, I came back. I’m sorry I ran,he thought but didn’t say. Talking had suddenly become hard.

Instead, he moaned and covered his face with his hands. He could already tell his head would be pounding soon. It was pre-pounding now.

“Do you want me to make it better?” Helena whispered, her fingers finding trails through his hair, sending soothing shivers through hissick head.

He could barely feel her shifting next to him until her wings spread out over him like a blanket. In his blurry vision, he saw the strange creature with its circle of horns lean over him with eeriegold eyes.

What color were Helena’sreal eyes?

Stretching her gold-tipped fingers toward his temple, he could feel power gathering at those fingertips. She would heal him from the damage he had done to himself. A shiver ran through him.

She was about to perform another miracle.

“This is going to make you feel a lot better, Raffie.”

Then his hand seizedher wrist.

Helena jumped at his sudden move.

“No, don’t,” he said, but it was too late. The power gathered in her fingers snapped like static into him. Light glowed down his arm, leaving it with a pearlescent sheen so much like Helena’s own. Then it dimmed as it disappeared under his clothes, glowing brightly through the weave of his shirt. Then she leaned forward and kissed his forehead gently. The energy popped like a soap bubble, and Rafferty’s forehead burned warm, not painful, but intense.

“There. You’ll be alright,” she whispered, then gently touched his lipswith hers.

He whimpered. He owed her now. “What do you want from me?” he asked, fighting to stay awake. “In return?”

“Nothing. I just want you to be happy,” she promised, but her eyes… they glowed hungry gold in the dark of the room. It was the last thing he saw before he slipped intooblivion.

Chapter 11

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