Raya cut slices from the steak and examined the doneness. “Perfect.”
“If you ask for ketchup, I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”
“I already pretend I don’t know you. So we’ll be even.” She popped a slice of steak in her mouth, followed by a fry.
“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway.” He eyed the steak.
She waggled a slice on a fork at him.
He snatched it and bit into the steak like a reluctant child. Chewing thoughtfully, he handed her the empty fork. “Not bad.” Then he stole a fry.
“I thought you didn’t eat.”
“I don’t.” He stole another fry.
“Are you saying that being a demon is boring, essentially, because you don’t die?”
Phoenix finished the fry and swallowed. “Well, aren’t you an uplifting dinner companion?”
She ignored the sarcasm. “I mean, I know I’m going to die someday. So I go to Paris, I eat steaks and drink champagne, and I become the best witch I can possibly be, because I have a timer hanging over my head.”
He stole two fries.
She shielded her plate with her hands. “Get your own, demon.”
He stuffed both of the stolen fries in his mouth with a rebellious air. “What am I supposed to do?”
Raya pointed her knife at him. “I’m not telling you to do anything. But for someone who doesn’t have to worry about dying, you sure don’t seem to be doing much living.”
For once, he seemed to be at a loss for a comeback. Instead, he picked up a fry and pressed it to her lips in a shushing motion.
She bit it and grinned. Point scored.
13
The last day of the convention required hard choices as Raya crammed everything she possibly could into her workshop schedule. When the line for “Supernatural Summonings: Binding and Banishing for the Advanced Witch” stretched all the way down the convention hall, virtually guaranteeing she wouldn’t get in, she detoured to “Macaron Magic: An Introduction to Kitchen Spellcraft” instead.
After all, she’d done pretty well with binding and banishing all on her own, considering she’d managed to bind Phoenix on the first try. She tried to picture binding Cosmo, or even George, to do her bidding, and had to brush away the uncomfortable thoughts like cobwebs. Those ideas were easier to swallow when you hadn’t actually spent time with a demon—let alone toasted one with absinthe and shared a plate of steak frites.
But macarons and magic in the same workshop? Snacks and spellcasting in one fell swoop?
Talk about a win-win.
The meeting room contained a temporary kitchen set up in the front of the room with a large tilted mirror overhead. The macaron ingredients appeared in the reflection, along with an assortment of kitchen utensils, plus an additional tray of arcane ingredients and tools.
The show kitchen faced a long row of tables loaded with materials for the participants. Raya took a seat next to the table and eagerly examined the items on the table.
A woman in a chef’s uniform—with a wand stuffed jauntily into the brim of her toque—stepped up to the kitchen set. She adjusted the microphone headset. “Is this thing on?” The sound boomed through the room. “I guess it is.” She chuckled and adjusted something on the headset.
Raya leaned forward.
The chef smiled and continued. “So often we talk about putting love in our cooking. The secret ingredient is love, is it not? We think of this as a metaphor. But what if you literally put love into what you bake?”
One of the witches raised her hand. “You mean a love spell?”
“Not a love spell, exactly. By putting your heart into a recipe, you create a spell to unlock feelings. Does that make sense?”
The questioner nodded.
