Best Before Dawn
Mona Jennings couldn’t stay out here. With her hand on the rough brick wall, she stared at the back door of the restaurant, rain pelting her body as the smell of garbage and her own sick, wet on the ground, surrounded her. As she wiped her mouth, she shivered, a cold sweat drenching her already soaked body. She couldn’t stay out here.
But the idea of going inside was far worse.
She ought to have been used to this. She was a witch. Sure, a culinary witch, but a witch nonetheless. Or at least she wanted to be. For long enough now, she’d worked at Regina Knight’s House of Hidden Delights, well-known in particular epicurean and arcanist circles for serving gourmet wonders featuring the most exotic meats. Working in its female-staffed kitchen, she’d seen these mortal chefs, who’d been overlooked and dismissed from other male-dominated mundane establishments, become gastronomic magicians who prepared blackened phoenix in a rosemary cream sauce. She’d served cold yeti blood sausage over a bed of fresh greens. Every evening, she handed out menus boasting items like deep fried bigfoot toes or vampire-ash roasted pegasus wings.
Except, their meats always came the way they did to most restaurants: butchered. Whatever they’d been in a past life, the red, raw cuts always came wrapped up in neat, white paper, tied with twine. Really, they looked no different than what was sold at the local meat market or grocery store.
But not today.
Along with cuts of griffin steaks and chopped jackalope, their butcher, Frank, delivered a large stone statue. Even more odd, Regina, who usually couldn’t be bothered with morning deliveries, ordered the thing into the storeroom.
Taller and broader than any of the kitchen or wait staff, the stone monstrosity had taken six grunting workers, including Mona, to heft it from the truck to the restaurant. All chiseled muscles, bat-like wings, and bared fangs, it’d looked ferocious. Even frozen in stone and chained with manacle cuffs at its ankles, wrists, and neck, it’d been terrifying.
Regina directed them to put it in a small, hidden closet-like space in the back of their normal storeroom. The pantry looked unused. Barren. Other than clearly newly installed, heavy metal hooks on the floor and walls, there was nothing more than dust on the unvarnished, badly stained wood floors.
Regina had inexplicably ordered the statue’s chains secured to the severe-looking hooks before informing Mona that her shift was changing and, as the newest and most lowly employee, Mona was to report back at close.
If she’d known then what waited for her, Mona would have thought twice about showing up.
“You coming back?”
Still bent over, Mona looked up at Regina, who stood dry in the doorway, looking down at her with amused disdain. Mona bowed her head. “I have to stay here all night?” With that thing?
Regina rolled her eyes. “Just feed it, water it, clean up after it, and make sure it doesn’t get loose. How hard is that, little witch?” She shrugged. “Think of it as an oversized dog.”
One with claws the size of knives, wings that could soar through nightmares, and the face of the Devil itself. Mona cringed at an ominous crack of lightning. “For how long?”
Regina rubbed her temple. “From close to open, till the next Full Moon Feast.” A monthly affair the restaurant hosted that showcased the most unique dishes in the world. “I’d hoped Frank could deliver the evening’s special closer to the date.” Regina shrugged again. “But he couldn’t afford to keep it that long in his shop and butchering gargoyle beforehand would be a waste of good meat.”
“Gargoyle?” Mona had never seen one up close. She’d thought they were just blocks of stone atop churches and ornate buildings meant for people with more money than her.
“Yes.” Regina rolled her eyes. “Now keep it alive and locked up. It cost the restaurant more money than it can afford to lose.” Her eyes lit up. “But, if all goes to plan, it will be worth it.” And with that, she left, leaving Mona alone. In the empty restaurant. With it.
Well, not completely alone. Jacob, a local farmer who supplied their more mundane ingredients, had apparently delivered a live chicken, that sat squawking from a crate in that back room. It sounded terrified, its cries loud even over the rattling chains and pounding sounds of struggle.
Mona sympathized with the chicken. She could feel her own screams building up inside her, threatening to burst out into the empty kitchen. But she swallowed them down, feeling them clog in her throat with every soggy step she took through the storeroom toward the locked pantry.
Even though she didn’t want to, she took out the keys and opened the door. But one look at the beast almost made her shut it again.
It froze the moment she opened the door, suddenly and disturbingly motionless. Its arms and wings were stretched — as far as they could be — in a furious bid to free itself. With its limbs flung outward, Mona was shocked to see the creature, with its leathery gray skin, was female, its thin, sinewy form curved a bit at the hips and chest.
Its face was barely human. More a mix of feline and bat, its features were all odd angles, from flaring pointed ears to cutting cheekbones to an upturned snout-ish nose. Goat-like horns jutted out from its forehead, framing a streak of mane-like hair. The only human-like features were its eyes and lips, which should have made it look more familiar but only served to highlight its strangeness.
For a moment, it seemed as if it would stay like that, in stony mid-struggle, like the statue it’d been that morning. But, just as suddenly, it moved, continuing its fight for freedom as if it’d never stopped.
It was horrifying, but Mona needed this job. Ever since her mother had died, she’d had nowhere to go, nowhere to practice. Her mother had been a solo practitioner and, by default, so was Mona. Regina had offered her more than just a job, she’d given Mona a chance to learn to be a chef, a chance to mix magic that fed the body and the soul. This job was likely her only chance to keep the gift her mother had given her alive. And to do it here, in a gourmet sanctum like Regina’s, Mona would do just about anything.
So she stirred up her courage and stepped into the pantry. The room was cramped with the creature taking up most of it, but its chains were short — a few feet connecting its neck to the wall and less than a third that connecting its ankles and wrists to the floor. Beating wildly against the wooden wall, its unfurled wings were too large for the space given them. If it wasn’t so terrifying, the creature would have almost been pitiable.
Even so, Mona scuttled along the walls, her body pressed as far away from the beast as she could be, until she reached the crate in the corner of the room. She fumbled its latch open, letting the panicked chicken loose before fleeing from the room and shutting the door behind her.
Breathing hard, she could hear the chicken still squawking, but the sounds of struggle had stopped. It was eerily quiet, like it had been when she first opened the door. She waited, fighting the urge to press her ear against the door, but all she could hear was the chicken.
After long moments, even that quieted into calmer clucks. It should have settled her, but something — a primal instinct inside her — held its breath.
Suddenly, there was a final, screeching squawk, a sickening crush of bone and flesh, then silence.
Mona backed away from the door. Was that how it hunted? Lying in wait, a patient predator, for its prey to drop its guard and come to it? Reaching out with a shaky hand, she shivered and locked the pantry door as smacking, crunching sounds echoed in her ears.
By the time Regina and Sophia, the head chef, arrived the next morning, Mona felt like she was losing her mind from exhaustion, tension, and nerves.
Regina leveled her, arching an eyebrow at the carving knife clutched in Mona’s shaking hands. “Have a good night?” Without waiting for a response, she ordered Mona to help Sophia with the morning deliveries before leaving for the day. “Oh,” Regina added, “and don’t forget to mop up the room as well.” And, with that, Mona’s eyes widened as Regina entered the storage room, shutting the door behind her.
“It’s morning;” Sophia said, clapping a reassuring hand to Mona’s shoulder, “it’s turned back to stone again.”
Mona knew that. She’d heard the legends. Hell, she’d seen it, statuesque, yesterday morning. But she’d seen it last night too. Been alone in that room with it. And she never wanted to do that again. Couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to.
Sophia nodded at her. “It gets easier,” she promised. Taking the knife from Mona and putting it back in its block, Sophia led her out back toward the deliveries. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you out of here.”
*
It was disturbing how quickly one acclimated. After a few nights, it became routine for Mona to be handed the keys at close, let herself into the locked pantry, release the chicken, and leave, waiting for the beast to do its business. She took to turning on the radio, while she cleaned the kitchen and dining room.
When the pantry quieted, she’d open the door again. She learned to steadfastly look at her feet while she mopped the now scratched and newly ruined floors, washing away the clumps of feathers and blood as much as she could before using the mop to push a fresh bucket of water at the creature.
She’d made the mistake, her first night, of looking at the beast. But, she’d regretted it instantly, the sight of blood on its face and claws turning her stomach and sending her straight back to the alley. The sound of the creature’s monstrous chewing and the smell of dead chicken was bad enough, she didn’t need the sight to keep her up.
Curiously, she hadn’t heard the creature stir yet tonight. Her brows knitted, Mona pressed her ear against the door, but she could only barely hear the chicken clucking.
Worried, she dug the keys out of her pocket and rushed to open the door. If the chicken was still alive, what happened to the creature? It was her job to keep that thing alive. If anything happened to it, Regina would have her head.
Panicked, she shoved the door open. Only to see the creature on the floor, its body gently curled around the contentedly cooing chicken as it stroked the bird’s feathers with a clawed hand. As she walked as near as she dared, she could hear the gargoyle quietly, curiously, humming along with the song on the radio, while petting its dinner.
Mona’s brows furrowed as she put her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with this chicken? This didn’t happen with the others.”
“I was starving before,” the melodic voice said. “I hadn’t been fed in nights.” With an indignant sniff, it said, “You do the same and see what you’re too good to eat.”
Mona jumped back. Did it just—
No. She shook her head. Surely, the creature couldn’t talk. Certainly not in complete, coherent sentences and in a voice so prim it made Mona’s spine straighten. She looked at it again. It hadn’t moved at all, except for its hand that kept a steady rhythm as it soothed the chicken in its lap.
No, she was just imagining things. She shut her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve been working too much.” Too many odd hours doing this downright unimaginable job. She couldn’t wait until the Full Moon Feast.
“I’ll happily trade places with you.”
Mona looked down at the gargoyle, who now stared up at her with an imperious gaze. Mona gaped. “Can you speak?”
“Several languages.” Mona watched its mouth precisely form the words, but still couldn’t bring herself to believe it. “I used to roost above a library and, before that, a church; you pick up things.”
Really? Mona could only blink blankly. “What do I do about the chicken?”
“Pardon?”
It was an absurd thing to say, she supposed. But this was an absurd situation. “My boss expects me to feed you a chicken every night. If it’s still here…”
“Trouble.” The gargoyle hummed thoughtfully, picking up the screeching bird in her hands as it flapped its flightless wings. “I suppose you could set it free.” She set it down so it could race around the room. “It’s that, I suppose, or eat it yourself.”
Mona rushed to shut the door before the startled bird could find its way out. “I don’t eat live chickens.”
The gargoyle’s lips thinned. “Well, then it’s good that you’re not the one chained to a wall and have access to a fully stocked kitchen, isn’t it?”
Mona felt her face flush at the censure in the gargoyle’s voice. “I can’t let it free; it’ll cluck around town all day and I’ll be found out.” She pouted. “And I can’t cook it; I’ve never butchered a chicken before.”
The gargoyle gave her a skeptical look. “You work in the food industry;” she accused, “how do you not know the basics?”
Mona’s back stiffened. “I can prepare it, but I’ve never killed anything before.” She was a chef, a magician, an artist, not a killer. She took seemingly mundane ingredients and made magic of them. She enchanted and enhanced life; she wasn’t made to take it.
Rolling her eyes, the gargoyle sighed. “Humans, it’s a wonder you became the dominant species on the planet.” She shook her head. “I can do it, if you want, but I’ll need that bucket you use for water. Assuming you don’t want to clean poultry entrails off the floor.”
Since she certainly did not, Mona did as she was told while the gargoyle coaxed the chicken close. With the bird in hand and the bucket in place, the gargoyle had Mona hold the chicken tightly by its feet before swiftly severing its head with a sharp claw. Mona almost dropped the still writhing bird as bile threatened her throat. But put off more by the gargoyle’s haughtiness, she kept her grip, determined to not so much as flinch.
She felt her face pale as the gargoyle sliced through the bird’s feathery skin before peeling it down the flesh and dumping the mess into the bucket. She did her best to bite back a gag as the gargoyle tucked a claw into the flesh and cleaved the carcass, revealing the entrails and organs as they spilled out. “How do you know how to do this?
The gargoyle snorted. “Yes, however did I manage to feed myself before your gracious hospitality?” Still humming to the tune, the gargoyle cleaned the cavity, until it, more or less, looked like the meat you could buy at the store. “Will this do?”
Mona nodded. “Thank you.” Grabbing the bucket, she began to leave, only to turn back around. “Do you want some? When it’s finished cooking?”
The gargoyle gave her a considering look. “I suppose it depends on how it turns out.”
Of course. “Why did you do this?”
The gargoyle settled against the wall again. “Do what?”
Mona bit her lip. “Any of this. Speak to me. Help me. Why do this? Why now?”
The gargoyle sighed. “There was no point in speaking to you, if I could escape.” She rattled the chains. “Since I clearly cannot,” she shrugged, “there wasn’t a point in not.” She huffed. “With any luck, I’ll get a good last meal in.”
“Last meal?”
The gargoyle shot a disdainful look at Mona. “I’m locked up in a restaurant.” She looked at the chicken before meeting Mona’s gaze. “I assume I’m not here as a guest.”
Too true.
With a guilty sort of feeling worming through her, Mona pushed the door to go.
“Leave it open.” The request was quick and anxious. “It’s not as if I can leave and,” she paused, looking hesitant, almost embarrassed, before saying, “I quite enjoy the music.”
Slowly, Mona nodded, letting the melody fill the small room. Still holding the chicken carcass, she stepped into the kitchen and looked around, wondering what to make.
While sometimes Mona helped out in the kitchen, learning from the chefs and sometimes even teaching them the things she’d learned from her mother, it felt strange cooking here. She’d seen the chefs create absolutely magnificent meals made from the most amazing ingredients in this kitchen. What could she make that was worthy of this place?
Remembering her mother’s teachings, she went into the pantry and walked around. She studied the herb supplies, feeling her mother’s presence with her as she walked. She grabbed sprigs of rosemary and parsley, to ward off distress and dread. Combined with the zest of a lemon, for vitality, its juice, for clarity of mind, and several cloves of garlic, for courage, all over a bed of root vegetables, for a sense of grounding, she hoped she could make some sense of the evening.
After making her way back to the kitchen, she turned on the faucet. She loved the way the water flowed cool over her hands as she washed each ingredient, cleansed it. She thought about the plants each had once belonged to, the land it’d grown in, the people who’d tended it, nurtured it. And she thanked them.
She moved on to her cutting board where, with her knife, she took her vegetables and herbs and diced, chopped, and minced them, changing their size, shape, and even texture, transforming them from one thing into another.
She took a deep breath and began heating butter in a small saucepan. As she felt the heat of the stove, she placed her ingredients around her in a circle. Feeling her heart rate slow and her mind focus inward, she watched as the solid butter melted into a rich liquid.
Ingredient by ingredient, she added them to her pan, whispering her mother’s words as the herbs swirled before her, their combined scents wafting around her. She felt those words echo in her soul, resonating here in the present straight into the past, hers as well as her mother’s and her mother’s mother and onward.
But this time there was another voice present. Even in her deepened state, she could hear the gargoyle’s voice hum in harmony to the song on the radio. Her musical voice mixed and melded with the recorded melody, taking one sound and transforming it into another.
On a whim, Mona matched her own voice to the melody as well, adding her sacred words to the impromptu music. Almost instantly, she could feel it — all of it, the ingredients, the ritual, the spell, the music — swell within her, filling her up. She felt its power push out her doubts and fears, leaving a strength and surety beyond herself.
Turning off the stove, she basted the chicken she’d helped to butcher, that now lay spatchcocked over a bed of potatoes, carrots, and celery, with the herb- and spell-infused butter. She watched as the flesh glistened with a golden glow.
After she put it in the oven, she sat on the floor and watched it cook. Letting her mind give in to the process, she watched as the meat’s size, color, and scent changed under the oven’s heat. She smiled sadly as bittersweet memories of sitting just like this on her childhood home’s floor while her mother cooked swept over her.
Regina had been so excited when she’d first met Mona. She’d been thrilled to hire her first honest-to-Salem witch. Until she realized that Mona’s brand of magic was less flashy or powerful than Regina had imagined. No, her magic couldn’t deliver wealth, fame, or immortality. It was more about developing a connection with yourself and the world around you. About seeing and recognizing how your every act affects everything around and within you. It was about balance and truth. It nourished people, both body and soul.
Which wasn’t terribly profitable.
But it made delicious food. Feeling more centered, Mona took the chicken out of the oven and dished up two plates and brought them into the small storeroom. Shrugging, she placed them and some silverware on the floor between them. “It’s not much, but…”
The gargoyle leaned in to look at the offering. “It smells lovely.”
“I hope it tastes that way too.” She picked up her knife and fork, ready to dig in, when she realized that, chained up, the gargoyle couldn’t exactly do the same. She wished she could remove the chains, so they could eat properly, maybe even in the dining room, but Regina kept that key.
She looked at the gargoyle and the hunger clear in her eyes. Biting her lip, she cut a hunk of chicken and lifted it to the gargoyle’s lips. She watched as gray lips, teeth, and tongue took and tasted the morsel, a low moan slipping out as the gargoyle chewed.
It shouldn’t have, but the pleased sound filled Mona with satisfaction and delight. “Good?”
“Mmm.” The gargoyle swallowed and smiled at Mona. “Very.” She licked her lips. “May I have more?”
Mona’s grin widened. “As much as you like.”
The gargoyle blinked at Mona as if surprised by her, but pleasantly so. Mona hoped anyway. She fed the gargoyle another bite. The gargoyle chewed thoughtfully before narrowing her gaze at Mona. “Why are you doing this? Cooking for me? Feeding me?”
Mona shrugged and ate a bite herself, savoring the mix of flavors. “Neither of us are going anywhere and I like to cook.”
“You’re good at it,” the gargoyle said, taking another offered bite. “Thank you.”
Mona blushed, cutting off her own slice to eat. Feeling connected — to the food and to her surroundings and with her company — Mona chewed, feeling pretty grateful herself. “I’m Mona, by the way.”
The gargoyle swallowed slowly, reluctantly, before saying, “Ezra. My name is Ezra.”
The next morning, as she and a few of her coworkers unloaded trucks, Sophia pulled her aside. “Hey, kid,” she said, looking uncomfortable, “I noticed the dishes by the sink.”
Mona’s eyes flickered to the freshly washed pan, plate, and utensils, drying by the sink. “Oh, I…”
Sophia rubbed her hand along the back of her neck uncomfortably. “Look, I’m not gonna rat you out for eating on the clock. I know what you get paid and I know there’s not much to do here all night, but…” She shrugged. “Just be more careful, okay? I don’t think any of the kitchen staff would talk but, if Regina finds out…” Sophia blew out a breath. “She’s not someone who takes people taking things from her well.”
Mona shook her head as her face paled. “Sophia, I never meant to… I just…”
Sophia held up her hand. “Like I said, I get it, kid; you don’t have to worry about me. Just…” Her lips thinned. “Just be careful. I’d hate to lose you. It’s rare for a newbie to teach me things; you’ve got a real future here. So keep your head down and your hands clean, kay?”
Mona bit her lip, her gaze flicking over to the storage room, but nodded.
*
Mona should have stopped. She knew it. It wasn’t smart. She’d been caught. Thankfully by Sophia and not Regina. But, for some reason, she couldn’t. She was finally cooking, really cooking, for someone else, sharing her food and magic with someone who appreciated it. So, smart or not, it went on like that for days, where as soon as Regina left for the night, Mona would turn on the radio, open the pantry door, and, with Ezra’s help, begin preparation of the night’s meal.
Thankfully, chicken was a versatile food. Barbecue chicken. Chicken l’orange. Chicken pot pie. Just by taking a little of this and that from the kitchen stores, Mona could create a small feast just for the two of them, while the radio played. All imbued with the spells her mother had taught her, meant to strengthen and center them.
During the meal, the two would talk, almost like normal people, while Mona fed them both. The gargoyle would tell Mona how she preferred poetry over prose because so much of it was written to be read aloud, like lyrics to a melody-less song, even though it seemed like flowery, powerless spells to Mona. They’d laugh as Mona told her stories about working at the restaurant. Like the furious man who’d sent back his mermaid risotto and demanded to speak to the chef because he hadn’t realized that mermaid tail was fish.
“I wonder what they do with the upper half of the mermaid,” Ezra had wondered.
Mona had shrugged uncomfortably, not particularly wanting to think about it. “I can’t imagine too many people want to eat such things.”
The gargoyle had made a noncommittal noise as she chewed. “People tend to enjoy their food less when reminded that it’s more like them than they’d like.”
The thought stuck with Mona, especially as the Full Moon Feast approached. Logically, Mona knew what that meant — knew what it had to mean — but, in just a few short nights, everything seemed so different.
It certainly didn’t help that preparations for the feast were underway. At close, Regina would fret over every little detail, from ingredient lists to seating charts to napkins. She’d spend long minutes recounting all her grievances before finally handing over the keys.
Tonight, however, was different. When Mona arrived, Regina and Sophia were huddled together in the storage room. As Mona approached, she overheard them talk about the merits of sauteing versus roasting, of marinating versus using a seasoning rub.
“Well,” Sophia said, rubbing her chin, “I’ve never worked with gargoyle meat before, so we can’t really know what would be best until we try it.”
“So try it then,” Regina’s voice said flatly. She turned at Mona’s slight gasp. “Oh, good, you’re here. Grab a knife and bring it here.”
Not knowing what else to do, Mona went to the counter and retrieved a carving knife from the wooden block. Her hands shook as she slowly made her way back to the room. She swallowed hard, meeting Ezra’s gaze with wide worried eyes.
Regina snatched the knife from her as Ezra, seeing the knife, began to struggle. “Hold it still.”
Mona clasped her hands to her mouth, holding back a cry, as she watched Sophia grab one of Ezra’s arms. She wanted to shut her eyes. Wanted to run away. She should shout at them to stop or stand in front of Ezra to try to protect someone who was starting to feel like a friend.
But she couldn’t.
Frozen in place, all she could do is watch as Ezra’s wings flapped, slapping Sophia’s face and chest and shoulders as she writhed in the woman’s grasp. “Mona,” Sophia grunted, trying to dodge Ezra’s attacks, “help me.”
She shook her head, backing up toward the door, as Ezra let out a piercing screech.
“Help or leave and don’t bother coming back.” Mona turned to look at Regina, still holding the knife. Regina looked at her blandly. “I have no use for useless people.”
Mona’s gaze flickered to the door before meeting Ezra’s gaze. The gargoyle’s struggles stopped for a moment as their eyes met. Mona could see thoughts, too fast to read, race across Ezra’s face. Just as Mona was about the run, she saw Ezra nod. Mona narrowed her eyes and shook her head, not understanding what that meant. Ezra, letting out a resigned breath, nodded to her other arm.
No. Mona shook her head. She couldn’t. How could she stand there, holding a living creature down, while they cut at her? Her mind flashed back to all the chickens she and Ezra had butchered, guilt mixing with absolute disgust as she imagined Ezra bleeding out over the ruined floor.
“Mona!” She looked up at Sophia, her mentor. “You can do this. I believe in you.”
Mona looked back at Ezra, whose gaze echoed those same thoughts.
“Go on,” Regina said, shoving her gently but firmly toward Ezra.
So she did. What else could she do? Her hands shook as she wrapped them around Ezra’s no longer struggling arm. She could feel tension hold and still Ezra’s body, until Mona could barely tell she was breathing. None of them moved as Regina leaned in and sliced off a strip of flesh from Ezra’s thigh, a pained grunt the gargoyle’s only response.
Regina handed the bloody bit of meat to Sophia. “There,” she said, wiping her hands on Sophia’s apron. “Let’s head to the kitchen and see exactly what we have here. The feast is fast approaching; we need to finalize the menu now.” They both turned to leave. Over her shoulder, Regina eyed Mona, who was still holding Ezra’s arm tightly. “You know healing magic; fix it up, little witch. We need to make sure the rest of the meat is undamaged.”
Mona stiffly nodded, but just watched them leave without moving. Even after they shut the door behind them, Mona couldn’t look away, only managing to mutter, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Ezra’s leathery body loosened beneath her hands. “I know.” She nodded. “You didn’t have a choice.”
Mona shook her head. “I helped them.” Shame flooded her soul. “I shouldn’t have. I should have left.” Run. And never looked back.
“They would have done it anyway,” Ezra assured. “With or without you.” She shrugged, her wings draping over them both comfortingly. “And I really don’t want to be here alone.”
Mona looked up at Ezra. That was true. Running, much as she still wanted to do it, would help her, not Ezra. “I’m still sorry.” She frowned and looked down at Ezra’s bleeding leg. Okay, she couldn’t change what had happened, but she could still help Ezra. Okay. Think. “We have to treat your leg.” They had to clean the wound, stop the bleeding, and bandage her up with some healing herbs and a prayer. “Okay.” She breathed and looked up at Ezra, trying to comfort her. “I need some supplies; I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Ezra stared down at her, her black eyes trusting, though Mona had no idea — after all that — how. “Okay.”
Mona shut the door behind her as she stepped out of the room, knowing the door was paltry protection but she didn’t feel good about leaving it open while Ezra was hurt. Holding onto her focus fiercely, she wandered the shelves, grabbing her supplies. It was only as she turned, her arms full, and headed toward the sink that she smelled it.
The savory aroma of sizzling meat. Looking up, she watched, Sophia plate four different morsels of meat, one sauted, one roasted, one breaded and fried, and one still raw and thinly cut. Mona felt her stomach churn as Sophia and Regina, murmuring to each other about texture and taste, cut into each piece and ate them. With the image of Ezra chained and bleeding in the back room, she listened to them say the meat was too earthy for carpaccio, but not quite flavorful enough to be fried. The saute was nice, with a fine seared crust but the roast was also lovely, creating a really nice depth. Mona, slack-jawed, watched them slice and bite and chew the meat, rolling the cooked flesh around their mouths, savoring and studying the experience.
Dropping everything, Mona wrapped one arm around her middle and covered her mouth with the other. Bile threatened her throat as she rushed out of the kitchen and into the alley. Bent over the pavement again, she threw up.
She looked up at a mocking scoff. Regina held out a towel. “You’ll never last in this business, if you don’t have a strong stomach.”
Mona shook her head, sure that was all too true. “You ate her.”
Regina narrowed her gaze. “Her?” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Oh, my kitchen witch, you didn’t go and make a pet of it, did you?” She pressed a finger to her temple. “I know I told you to think of it as a dog, but it’s not. It’s meat.”
Mona’s jaw tensed. “No, she’s more than that.” Mona knew Ezra was. “She’s a living, thinking being.”
Regina’s face flushed with anger as she stood straighter, her whole body rigid. “I don’t care if it quotes Plato or recites Shakespeare!” She waved the towel in her hand. “Do you know what I see when I look at it? Brisket, chops, filet steaks.”
Mona stood up as well, leaning against the wall. “How can you say that? She’s more than just another slab of meat.” To be bought and sold, cooked and consumed.
Regina slammed her fist on the doorframe. “What would you have me do? Free it? Do you know how much I paid for that creature? How much others will pay — have paid — to be served it? And what about the rest? You have no problem serving mermaid or yeti or elf; do you honestly think they weren’t once more than meat?”
Mona bit her lip and looked away.
Regina, sensing weakness like a beast scenting blood, leaned into her, her finger pointed in Mona’s face. “This is a restaurant and we pride ourselves on serving our guests meals they could never get anywhere else and a dining experience they will never forget. Remember that. So, little witch, do your job — no more, no less — or I can always find someone else who can.” Tossing both the restaurant keys and the towel at Mona, she let them land at her feet with a scowl. “Clean yourself up,” she said dismissively, “then get back in there and clean up the mess. As well as the kitchen. We’re heading out for the night.”
Mona stayed bent over in the alley, just breathing in the cool night air, until she heard Regina and Sophia drive off. She shut her eyes. This was wrong. She had to do something.
Rushing back into the kitchen, she headed for the back room. She hurried over to Ezra and started to tug at the chains, looking for any chink or weakness in the links. She pulled hard against the wall and ran her hands all over the manacles holding tight to Ezra’s body.
“What are you doing?”
Not giving up, Mona double — triple, quadruple — checked it all. “I have to get you out of here.”
Ezra made a low sorry sound. “Mona, stop.” She reached out with a clawed hand, gently holding Mona’s hand and pulling her away from her fruitless efforts. “I’ve been fighting against these chains for nights now; if they could be broken, I would have done it by now.”
Mona’s face crumpled as a helpless sob squeaked from her throat. “You can’t stay here.” They ate her. They were going to chop her up, prep, cook, and eat her. Mona had known that. She had. But it’d never felt real until now.
“I know.” Ezra looked down at her with a sympathetic acceptance. “I know.” They way she said that, Mona could read Ezra’s death — inevitable and coming — in her voice. She squeezed Mona’s hand again. She couldn’t stay; whatever they did or didn’t do, Ezra’s stay here wouldn’t last much longer.
*
As the full moon approached, Mona swore she could feel its swell in her soul. She had to do something, but she didn’t know what. She couldn’t free Ezra, not while Regina kept the key to the chains with her at all times.
When the night of the feast finally came, Mona felt as if her nerves were eating her alive. When she arrived at sunset, the kitchen was already a flurry of activity. It’d been so long since she’d seen her coworkers in their element that, for a moment, it was as if her world righted itself and everything felt normal again.
Until Regina called Mona into her office. Even before she stepped into the room, Mona knew why. Knew what the woman would ask of her.
She wanted Mona to kill Ezra.
“Why me?”
Regina barely looked up from the papers carefully organized on her desk, each detailing every second of the night in Regina’s perfect penmanship. “Because it trusts you. It’ll let you get close without a fight. Take a knife with you. Make it quick. We have one night to butcher, cook, and serve it before all the meat turns to stone in the morning. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it. Tonight is important,” Regina said, looking up to study Mona. “We all have our parts to play, little witch. I am trusting you to do yours.”
Mona walked out of the room and down to the kitchen, where Sophia handed her a long, sharp butcher knife with a reassuring look. “You can do this, kid.”
Mona stared at the pantry door, her hand clutching the knife, for a long moment. This was wrong. How could she play her part, do her job, when it meant killing someone she’d spent night after night with, getting to know? And whom, strangest of all, she wanted to spend more time with.
She opened the door.
Ezra sat on the floor, stroking another one of Jacob’s chicken. She looked up and saw the knife Mona awkwardly carried. “So this is it?”
Mona shut the door behind her. “Tell me what to do.”
Ezra looked down, continuing to delicately touch the chicken’s feathers. “Well, gargoyle flesh and bone is notoriously tough. So make sure to really put force behind the cut or you won’t get the kill, only damage the meat.”
Mona felt her knees buckle and her insides churn. “Stop it.”
“I would suggest the throat,” the gargoyle continued, standing up and lifting her head to bear her neck. “Not an easy cut. You can’t hesitate or be squeamish. You’ll want to make a deep, quick cut that severs as much of the throat as possible or it will just be painful, not lethal.”
Mona’s grip on the knife tightened. “Be quiet!” She shook her head as tears began to well up in her eyes. She strode up to Ezra angrily. “Just stop talking.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted this to be done with. She wanted her life to go back to normal.
She was also just as sure that she would never know normal again.
“It’ll be okay, Mona,” Ezra said in that song-like, know-it-all voice of hers. Even though Mona didn’t want it to, that voice soothed her, calmed her. “It’ll be over soon.”
Mona took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She grabbed the knife in one hand and the chicken in the other, ripping the bird from between them so they stood chest to chest with each other. She stared into Ezra’s eyes, seeing fear, regret, and resignation swirl in the gray depths. That face, that had once seemed monstrous as the devil itself, looked so sad and ready. Mona wanted to touch that face. To echo the comforting words Ezra had given her. It will be okay. It’ll be over soon.
She felt those words echo inside her. In her mother’s voice. In her mother’s mother’s voice. In her own voice. Letting that connection fill her, letting the chorus speak louder than she could on her own, she leaned in and whispered into Ezra’s ear. “Be ready.”
Ezra resolutely nodded, leaning into the embrace as if, even if it wasn’t ideal, she wanted to savor this last touch. “I am.”
She thought she was. Mona knew she wasn’t.
But, as Mona lifted the chicken to the gargoyle’s throat and sliced through its chest, splattering them both with blood, Mona hoped she would be.
Ezra made a loud, startled noise, only to be shushed by Mona, who held her hand over Ezra’s mouth. “Be still,” she hissed, feeling the gargoyle’s smooth, firm skin beneath hers. She slid her hand to cup Ezra’s face, forcing their gazes to meet. “If we have any hope of saving your life, play dead.” As uncertain fear warred with desperate hope, Mona slid her hand to the back of Ezra’s neck and pressed her forehead against hers. She prayed, “But be ready.”
For anything. Because, Lord knew, Mona felt anything but. But she had to try. She didn’t think she could live with herself, if she didn’t try to free someone who, through the simple intimacy of sharing a nightly meal, had become so dear.
Mona allowed herself one last moment, tucked against Ezra’s strong, steady body, imagining she could feel the frantic beat of her heart — even through the gargoyle’s thick flesh — against her own, before pushing away. “I will be back.”
When she stepped out of the pantry, the world felt different. Or maybe Mona was different. It was like seeing everything through new eyes. She could feel everyone’s gaze — a sickening mix of awe and horror — on her. As she walked through the kitchen, the staff parted, backing away from her in fear.
It made her feel like a monster. She didn’t dislike the feeling.
She met Sophia’s eyes as the woman nodded. “I knew you could do it.”
Mona wondered if the chef had ever known her or what she was capable of doing. Still holding the knife, she made her way to Regina’s office.
“Good,” Regina said when Mona walked in, “you’re here.” She turned to the man now in the room with her. “Frank, grab your things and let’s get started.”
Then she swept Mona and Frank out of her office and back through the kitchen. As Mona followed the two into the pantry, she held her breath, sure they’d be caught. But Frank and Regina were too busy talking about cuts of meat to notice much of anything and the blood-covered gargoyle was eerily still as she hung heavy from the chains. It didn’t even look like Ezra was breathing. Mona supposed gargoyles knew better than most how to appear lifeless.
“Let me get it down and you can get to work,” Regina said, digging out the key and unlocking the manacle cuffs at Ezra’s feet and wrists. It wasn’t until it came time to unlock the collar around Ezra’s neck that Regina realized that it wasn’t moving the way a severed neck would.
Feeling hyper-aware, Mona saw Regina stiffen in suspicion. “She knows,” Mona gasped and said to Ezra as she pulled the door shut to keep the kitchen staff from rushing in at the sounds of a struggle. When she turned back, she saw Ezra now grabbing Regina by the wrists as she bared her fangs and hissed at the now terrified woman.
Taking advantage of the moment, Mona sprang to tackle Frank, who stood there with his mouth agape, sending his satchel of tools spilling across the floor in a cascade of picks and blades. As they both tumbled to the floor in a twist of limbs, Mona struggled to keep the man from grabbing one of his sharp tools as a weapon.
“Mona!” Ezra, still holding a writhing Regina, kicked one of the now unlocked cuffs toward her.
Mona grabbed it and snapped it shut around one of Frank’s wrists, tethering the man to the floor. Kicking his tools out of reach, she looked up to find Ezra had cuffed Regina as well.
While Mona searched the floor for the manacles’ key, Ezra dragged the two underfoot, wrapping her strong claws around each of their shoulders and allowing her considerable weight to hold them down.
“What do we do now?” Mona quickly undid the collar around Ezra’s neck.
From the floor, Regina grunted against the scratched wood. “You’ll never get out of this place. The kitchen is full of people.”
“And, even if you did,” Frank added, “where would you go?”
Mona paused at that thought. She’d been so busy worrying how to get them both out, she hadn’t thought much about what would happen after.
Ezra shoved Frank further into the floor. “So I should stay and die instead?” She grunted before turning to Mona. “Sunrise is coming; we should go now.”
Regina reached out to Mona. “It’s not too late, little witch. Help us.”
Mona had always hated when Regina called her that. Little witch. It should have been a recognition of her power, but Mona heard it now as a placating joke. She shook her head.
In a flash of movement, Frank grabbed a knife just within his reach and swiped up at Ezra, cutting her across the calf. Ezra howled and lifted her injured leg, allowing the man to roll out from beneath her, knife still in hand.
Without thinking, Mona lunged at him, crashing his head against the hook in the wall. She scuttled back as the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“What have you done, you witless girl?” Regina cried.
“Freed us both,” Ezra answered before grabbing Regina by the head and slamming her against the wall as well, knocking her out next to the butcher. She turned to Mona again. “Are you ready?”
Mona wanted to ask for what. But she could only stare at that clawed hand that had laid out Regina without thought. Then she looked to her own, that had done the same to Frank.
What had she become?
“We have to leave,” Ezra insisted.
Mona shook her head, trying to clear it. “How?” Frank was right, even if they made it out of the restaurant, it didn’t matter. “Where will we go?” She began to shudder as a frightened chill ran through her.
Ezra lifted her hand to gently touch Mona’s cheek. “Anywhere we go has to be better than here.” She pulled Mona close to rest her cheek against the crown of Mona’s head, wrapping her arms and wings around the shivering woman. “So long as we’re together. I’ve heard tales of haven places, sacred spaces guarded by powerful magic meant to protect those like us. We can look for them.” Determination flared in Ezra’s eyes. “I will find one for us. I’ll make one, if I must.”
It shouldn’t have felt safe, being embraced by a monster. Ezra’s leathery skin was warm against her own and smelled of the earth and blood. Outside that door was a world that would hunt them both.
She shouldn’t have felt safe. But, as she turned toward that door, her hand holding Ezra’s tightly, defiantly, she somehow did.
Get a copy HERE
WANT MORE?
No comments:
Post a Comment