I take my time returning to the lower levels. The kitchen here at the sanctuary is a thing to get used to. It took Grant months to perfect the art of cooking over a wood stove, so I am not expecting much when I arrive at the dining table. But to my surprise, she has prepared a feast.
“What is this?” I ask Tomas as I approach. He’s already eating. Which is rude. And before this girl came, Tomas, in this form, anyway, wasn’t real. Not corporeal. Not of any substance.
He was a ghost. Sort of.
But he wasn’t able to touch my slave either. And it seems he can now do both of these things.
Interesting.
“Mmm.” He’s still chewing. “Isn’t this great? We used the last of the bacon. And I ate most of it already. Fucking bacon. Mmm.” He points to the plate with his fork, which has two meager pieces left. “But there’s pancakes. We’re out of syrup though.” He shrugs like this can’t be helped, and continues chewing.
“She did not make this.”
“I did so.” And there she is, leaning against the wall leading into the kitchen, her arms crossed. This is when I fully notice her ridiculous attire. It’s strange, I believe. Even with my limited experience of recent events on the outside, I know this outfit is out of place. The very short skirt that shows off all of her legs and leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Plus a corset top. Her ample breasts practically spill out of the scarlet-red leather.
There is no way she made this food. It’s magic left over from Grant. Tomas probably knew about the spell. And now I am left wondering how much of Grant was actually real, and how much was glamoured?
He was a talented alchemist. He could make potions to do just about anything.
Except break this curse, of course.
I had assumed he just morphed into a talented cook over the decades. But what if everything he got better at was just magic?
“Tomas,” I roar. “Bring us the rulebook. This is a working breakfast.” I figure if he’s real now, I might as well put him to work.
“Is he a slave too?” the girl asks.
I glare at Tomas, even though he wasn’t the one who asked. “Get me. The rulebook.”
He gets up and goes.
“You’re rude. You know that?” Then she sneers in the direction of my pants. “And those? Not helping.”
“You said pants. I put on pants. It is not my fault that my cock is huge and your eyes are virgin.”
She snorts. “Right. You wish.”
“And you’re one to talk about appropriate dress. If that corset were any smaller, your nipples would pop out.”
She makes a face. Then crosses her arms tighter.
Tomas appears with the rulebook and plops it down on the table, then helps himself to the last two pieces of bacon and sits back down, shoving them into his mouth before I can protest.
“Sit,” I command the girl. Then I point to the chair where the book is. “And begin reading on page one.”
She exhales loudly, but obeys, scraping her chair on the marble floor as she pushes herself in.
I sit across from her, not touching the food even though my stomach is growling. If I had known that Grant was glamouring my meals, I would’ve punished him for that. And I would not have eaten them. Just the thought of how much of his magic I have ingested over the decades makes me ill.
“Read,” I growl. “We are not wasting this day. After we’re done here you will throw out every bit of food we have in the pantries and root cellars, and then you will put the ring on, go into town, and buy all new provisions. And the next time you prepare a meal for me, you will not use magic recipes.”
I’m angry about the food. There is no telling what kind of magic Grant was working on me over the last few decades. And I’m beginning to feel like Grant knew things. Lots of things. Up to and including how to break this curse.
But he didn’t break it.
Why?
For the reason the girl stated? She will not unleash a monster on humanity?
Maybe. But doubtful.
The girl opens the book with a loud sigh. “It’s in Latin! I do not read Latin!”
I point at Tomas and bark, “Tomas, read the book.”
Tomas swallows his bacon, dabs his mouth with a napkin, then slides the book in front of him. “‘Rule number one. The slave caretaker will wash the hooves of the guardian monster daily.’”
“Oh, hell no. Hell the fuck no. I am not washing your feet every day! That’s gross!”
I shrug. She will come to understand. “Please refrain from commenting. We have a lot to do today.”
“‘Rule number two,’” Tomas continues. “‘You will feed the monster three times a day. Rule number three. You will bathe—’” Tomas pauses to look at Pie when she squeaks. She grits her teeth and looks at me, shaking her head.