“The kitchen had her scent of freshly ground cardamon. But there were fresh herbs growing in a fancy pewter bowl by the sink. I could smell basil and oregano and rosemary. Intoxicating.
“She was dressed in a creamy white robe. Her hair was tied behind her head in with a dark red ribbon. She wore nothing on her feet, but she still towered over me. I wished I’d worn my cowboy boots, just to gain a couple inches on her.
Hilario cleared his throat. “Was she wearing her goggles?”
Larry shook his head. “No, but she had on brass rimmed, tinted glasses that kind of wrapped around her face. I never saw her eyes.”
Well, that was good. He’d never seen a gem witch’s eyes and hoped he never did. He recalled a story about one unfortunate Keer Knight who had ripped the coverings off a gem witch’s eyes.
The noble and powerful knight now made a pitiful living licking sweat off orc testicles for coins. Whatever was left of his mind didn’t seem to have a problem with the situation, though.
Larry shifted on the seat. Ran his hands down his cheeks. He definitely seemed brighter now. Was the story giving him strength? Or something else?
“She stood up and smiled at me. Are you ready, Larry Sparrow? she asked. I almost asked her ready for what? But that would have been too suggestive. I was nervous enough being in a strange kitchen. I didn’t want to get into more trouble that I was already in. Besides, even though she was incredibly beautiful, I didn’t want to get any physically closer to her than I had to. It took all of my will to not run away from her.
“So, instead, I told her, I’m ready to show you how to cook. She smiled and nodded to me and said, Let us begin.”
Larry sat back against the seat and lapsed into silence. After a minute passed, Hilario cleared his throat.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
Larry shrugged. “I taught her how to cook pizza,” he said, “She had a really nice kitchen. There was a built in wood fired brick oven in there. Not as good as mine, though. But I showed her some techniques on how to get the most out of it.”
Hilario blinked. His face itched, but he didn’t want to smear his greasepaint. He also wanted to slap Larry. But that wouldn’t be nice. Not to mention he would have to tap his energy reserve to weave a spell just so he could slap a ghost.
That was definitely tricky.
“What else happened?” Hilario asked.
He was suddenly aware of silence from the back of the van. A quick glance showed him Marco and the gun seemed to have settled their differences for the moment. Marco was staring at Larry. Not with anger, but something more like dismay.
“Nothing else happened,” Larry said, “I showed her how to cook pizza right. I went home. I felt guilty for cooking in someone else’s kitchen Rachel. I’d always been loyal to my kitchens. Since we’d been married, I never cooked in anyone’s kitchen without my Rachel. She had made me promise not to cook for anyone but her outside the restaurant.”
A chill ran up Hilario’s spine. Oh dear. Promises. Promises were bad. People shouldn't make promises. Especially if were going to break them somewhere down the road.
And never, ever, ever break promises to those with magical abilities.
“Larry,” he said, slowly. Carefully. “What kind of promise, exactly, did you make to Rachel? Did you swear to anything? Was it part of a ceremony?”
Larry shifted on the seat, his hands fiddling with the buttons on his chef’s coat. He didn’t look at Hilario. Kept his eyes on the darkness beyond the windshield.
“Well, I don’t know that there was any swearing,” he said, “It kind of got put into our marriage vows. It sort of seemed like a joke at the time.”
“Did she ask to put it into the vows?” Hilario asked.
“I suppose,” Larry said, “I don’t really remember exactly.”
“But the word promise was in there, wasn’t it?”
“Sure, sure,” Larry said, “You know, for better and for worse, promise to love, honor and obey.”
“And not cook in any kitchen not blessed by her?”
Larry let out a long, shuddering sigh. The corners of his ghostly eyes glistened. He wrapped his arms himself.”
“Yeah,” he said. He turned his head to Hilario. “What did I do, my friend?”
Hilario let out his own sigh. Twisted at the steering wheel his fingers were death clenched around. How bad was it?
Well, Larry was dead, wasn’t he? And they were traveling through a void to destinations unknown. Knowing his luck, the destination wouldn’t be someplace nice.
“You broke a promise to a magical being,” Hilario said, “You’ve heard enough fairy tales in your life to know that’s bad.”
Larry sniffed back a sob. “I didn’t think she’d ever find out.”
“Oh, Larry,” Hilario said, “They always find out.”
27
Something banged into the side of the van. The van rocked back and forth, the body groaning. But the shocks didn’t creak.
Hilario jerked around. Marco’s eyes were wide. His gun was back in its holster, but his hand was clenched around the handle.
The stench inside the van was getting unbearable. The Sea Terror slime soaked overcoat wadded up against the back door smelled bad enough to get up and walk around on its own.
The thought of opening the window and throwing it out wasn’t very appealing at the moment.
“What was that?” Larry asked.
Hilario gave him a look that told the ghost of his friend he’d asked a stupid question. Instantly shame warmed Hilario’s already too
