The Girl Within The Woman

Chapter 10: Cook for your Life

Cyra's POV:

I glance at the charming Italian restaurant, which appears deserted from the outside. It certainly doesn't seem like the domain of the devil.

Before I know what to think, I knock, and the door opens. The inside is quite red and leathery. Even though I can't see anyone, it couldn't have opened on its own.

I take my time to look around; this may be my final resting place if the owner is truly the devil.

Supple, rich leather panels covering the walls impart a sense of refinement and elegance. The rich red leather upholstery on the tables and chairs gives off an opulent vibe. The pleasant glow created by soft, ambient lighting heightens the feeling of coziness and intimacy. The entire interior design radiates timeless Italian charm.

Not bad for a final resting place, I think to myself.

Despite the bravado I show, my heart is beating out of my chest. I take a seat and desperately try to gather my thoughts.

Out of thin air, an older gentleman appears; he looks refined in his navy suit and with his salt and pepper hair. My eyes scan him from head to toe, trying to discern who he is. He must notice my confusion because he pulls out a red tag. On it, in delicate golden letters, is written "Owner/Manager, Edward Hughes".

After a brief exchange of glances, he said, "I was alerted to your coming by the bar owner, who stated that you were seeking information. To visit someone who is referred to as the devil, you must be extremely desperate."

He has a very heavy British accent; his bluntness shocked me a bit, as did his human appearance, so I was scrambling for words.

"Oh, this surprises you?" He remarked, motioning to his body "a little illusion for your benefit".

"Thank you", my raspy voice said.

He turned to face me and sat down, saying, "I'm a goblin that strikes bargains. You prepare me your greatest meal, and if it pleases me, little woman, I'll give you the details you require."

I was not good at cooking—no, scratch that, I was terrible at cooking. I was all aboard the takeout train. What if I messed up so badly that he ate me afterwards to make up for it?

Kito yelled in my ear that she would "fucking help me if I would just open my goddamn mouth and take the deal." Obviously, she was aware of how much I sucked. She had admonished me many times before to just cook something or throw together a salad instead of ordering in.

I was tired of standing up to her; this is why I was a control freak. I knew how much people influenced me, so I limited my exposure to influences until I vetted them thoroughly, at least. With Kito, that wasn't possible. I was growing tired of having to cosplay all the time, pretending that I loved being in charge and in control. It was wearing me down, since I had to do it constantly.

So for the first time since this whole nightmare started, I didn't force myself to talk back to Kito to show some kind of fake dominant version of myself. I just did as she said.

Along with some ground rules, I got handed a flowery apron and access to a fully stocked kitchen. I had two hours, and he would acquire everything I needed if I needed it. There was no searching up recipes or utilizing magic to prepare a meal, though.

And then we were left alone in the kitchen.

We took a little more than thirty minutes to decide what to cook because Kito was so eager to prepare everything and anything. It seemed that cooking was a great passion of hers, and she was particularly excited when seeing the variety of ingredients in the kitchen.

We selected churros with pistachio dipping sauce and a Hachis Parmentier, which we made savory by adding some Japanese ingredients.

We devised a mechanism where Kito would yell orders into my ear and kick an organ if I disregarded them. So this was a very sadistic, non-kid-friendly version of Ratatouille. This was effectively ruining one of my favorite movies.

We had to move quickly as we were tight on time. We preheated the oven, peeled the potatoes, and put them in hot water to cook through. While the potatoes were doing their thing, we cooked the meat part, adding a tablespoon of black miso for a little Japanese flair. We thickened the sauce and then moved on to the next step. After mashing the potatoes, we infused cream with Japanese curry, some garlic, and herbs and folded everything together until smooth. We chose to top it with dark truffle cheddar and some emmental, and in the oven it went for a good 20 minutes.

This was way easier than expected, so I hadn't been kicked yet. But churros were going to be a more difficult task, and I was already apprehensive about what was to come. I had no idea why I had agreed to such a horrible plan. With Kito screaming, the kicking treat hovering over me, and the goblin waiting for my dish, I was under more pressure than I had ever been.

With shaky hands, I began following Kito's instructions. I got kicked three times over the course of the churro preparation; it made me hate cooking even more.

We just about made it because I didn't have enough time to plate after making a mistake in the pistachio dipping sauce.

Kito was fuming.

As I got out of the kitchen, I could feel my heart pounding rapidly.

In front of the goblin, I placed the two plates. Grasping his fork, he took a bite.

After what seemed like an eternity of chewing, he cleared his throat and took a sip of water. Not a good sign, Kito chimed in.

"It's good—not good enough to get you what you desire, but good enough to get you something." He slid a piece of paper to me and said, "The location of his mother, his first ever victim".

Off we went again.