Chapter 4 Simone
Chapter four
Simone
Ipushed through the swinging door to the pastry kitchen with the desperation of someone escaping a burning building.
The heavy door whooshed shut behind me, momentarily blocking out the café sounds, and more importantly, blocking out Krampus.
I sagged against the wall, letting out the breath I'd been holding for what felt like hours.
Sweet, blessed privacy. Or so I thought, until I realized I'd jumped from the frying pan directly into a hell fire of a different sort.
Silas stood at the center island, his focus laser-sharp as he piped intricate frosting onto a tray of skull-shaped cupcakes.
Each sweet death's head featured impossibly detailed features, hollow eyes with tiny sugar crystal tears, teeth individually rendered in white chocolate, delicate frosting filigree like tattoos across their fondant foreheads.
His hands moved with ease despite his long black nails, each squeeze of the piping bag creating art that was equal parts macabre and mouthwatering.
He didn't look up from his work, but his pointed ears twitched in my direction.
"So," he drawled, voice dripping with unholy amusement, "how long until Daddy Krampus drags you into the stockroom for a performance review?"
The mixing spoon I'd absently picked up clattered to the floor, the sound embarrassingly loud in the tiled kitchen. I scrambled to retrieve it, grateful for the chance to hide my flaming face.
A snort of laughter came from above the refrigerator, where Bramble perched cross-legged on top of the massive industrial appliance. Her tiny body was surrounded by jars of dried herbs, which she was organizing into some system only she understood.
"I'd say based on the look on her face right now, that performance review is already being scheduled in his head," Bramble added, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.
I straightened, clutching the fallen spoon like a weapon. "There will be no... performance reviews. Or stock room... anything. He's just here to evaluate how I run the café."
"Oh, he's evaluating something alright," Silas smirked, painting a delicate red rose onto a skull's forehead. "Specifically, how you'd look sprawled across his desk with significantly less pink fabric between you."
"Silas!" I gasped, heat flooding my face.
"What? I'm a demon. I recognize lust when I see it, and honey, he's looking at you like you're the last soul at the apocalypse buffet."
Bramble jumped down from the refrigerator with fairy-light grace, her body shifting to her human sized form, her combat boots making a surprisingly heavy thud when they hit the floor.
"The Ho-Ho-Horny overlord hasn't taken his eyes off your ass all morning.
I thought those golden peepers were going to burn a hole through your dress when you bent to get the napkins. "
I buried my face in my hands. "Stop it. Both of you. He's here to watch us work."
"Correction, he's here to watch you," Silas said, switching frosting tips with practiced fingers. "We merely work here. You're the one he's... evaluating." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, the silver piercing above his left brow catching the light.
"He's not evaluating anything except my management skills," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction even to my own ears.
Bramble hopped onto a stool, her feet swinging. "Please. That man reeks of dark power and big dick energy. I could smell it the moment he walked in."
"Bramble!" I squeaked.
"What?" She shrugged, unrepentant. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. The man's magical aura is like standing next to a furnace. Bet his body temperature runs hot too." She fanned herself dramatically.
Silas nodded sagely. "Supernatural beings with hooves always run hot. It's a circulation thing."
I groaned, leaning against the counter for support. "Can we please talk about literally anything else? The weather. Tax season. The existential dread of being a tiny speck in an uncaring universe."
"Fine," Bramble said, her smile pure mischief. "Do you think calling Santa would help?"
Silas snorted so hard a puff of cinnamon-scented smoke escaped his nostrils. "Help us not only lose our jobs but also our lives! That jolly bastard is unhelpful 364 days of the year."
Despite my embarrassment, I found myself curious. "Aren't they step-brothers or something?"
Bramble nodded, her expression suddenly serious. "Or something. Step-anythings are always a pain in the ass, just ask Cinderella."
"Isn't she on baby number four?" I asked, grateful for the change in subject.
Silas shook his head, carefully placing a completed cupcake onto a serving tray. "Yeah, Prince Charming has got to stay off that poor woman. I saw her going into the pediatrician's office last month, she looked like she hadn't slept in gods know when."
"The price of fairy tale happiness," Bramble said sagely, sorting dried lavender into small bundles. "Better to find a monster who knows he's a monster than a prince pretending to be perfect."
"Speaking of monsters," Silas pivoted smoothly back to my personal humiliation, "our horned overlord seems particularly interested in your... management technique. Please tell me you plan on giving him a peek under that pink dress."
I groaned, sinking onto a stool. "Is it that obvious?"
"That he wants to devour you like a Christmas cookie? Or that you're equally interested despite pretending to be offended by his existence?" Bramble asked.
"Both," I admitted miserably.
Silas patted my hand with surprising gentleness, leaving a smudge of black frosting on my wrist. "Honey, the sexual tension between you two is so thick I could frost a wedding cake with it. The entire café can feel it. I think the pastries are getting hot and bothered. I know I am."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I confessed, dropping my head onto the cool countertop. "He's arrogant, terrifying, and might fire me. I should hate him."
"But instead you want to climb him like a Christmas tree," Bramble finished for me.
I didn't deny it. Couldn't, really, when the evidence was written all over my face and in every trembling breath whenever he came near me.
"It's the horns," Silas said knowingly. "Horns do things to people. It's why I keep mine polished, even though mine are significantly less impressive."
"It's not the horns," I protested weakly, though I'd definitely had thoughts about those horns. Specifically, what it would feel like to grab them while he—
"Your eyes just glazed over, so I'm guessing whatever you're thinking about isn't his management style," Bramble observed.
I straightened, smoothing my dress with dignity I didn't feel. "It doesn't matter what I'm thinking. Nothing is going to happen between me and Krampus. He's here to evaluate the café, possibly replace me, and then disappear back to whatever dark dimension he came from."
"Uh-huh," Silas said, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm going to stop wearing eyeliner and start a boy band with leprechauns."
"I mean it," I insisted. "Professional boundaries. That's what this week is about. Me proving I'm the best person to run this café, not... whatever you two are implying."
Bramble hopped off her stool, patting my arm sympathetically. "Of course, sweetie. Professional boundaries. Just like the 'professional boundaries' between the siren and the sea witch who were caught doing very unprofessional things in the supply closet last Valentine's Day."
I winced at the memory. We'd had to burn sage for a week to clear out the aftereffects of that particular tryst.
"That's different," I argued. "They weren't boss and employee."
"No," Silas agreed, his ruby eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "They were just horny beings with too much magic and not enough self-control. Totally different from your situation."
I grabbed a dish towel and flicked it at him, missing by inches as he danced away with grace.
"I hate you both," I declared, though we all knew it was a lie.
"You love us," Bramble corrected. "And we love you enough to support whatever bad decisions you make with our terrifying employer. Just keep the magical fallout contained, please. The last thing we need is mistletoe growing where it shouldn't."
I pushed off the stool, my brief respite clearly over. "Nothing. Is. Happening."
"If you say so," Silas singsonged, returning to his cupcakes. "But if something does, I want details. Full slutty details."
I marched back toward the door, straightening my shoulders and fixing my smile back in place. "I'm going back to work. To be professional. And appropriate. And not at all interested in anything remotely horn-related."
Their laughter followed me through the door, and despite my embarrassment, a small smile tugged at my lips. They saw through me so completely it was almost a relief. At least with Silas and Bramble, I didn't have to pretend to be perfect, sunny Simone.
Now if only I could convince my body to stop reacting every time Krampus looked in my direction. Right. This was going to be a very long day.
The mid-afternoon lull settled over the café like a warm blanket, wrapping us in temporary quiet.
Most customers had returned to whatever passed for work in their lives, leaving behind empty mugs and crumb-scattered plates.
The few who remained were deeply engrossed in books or tablets, creating that perfect café ambiance of gentle concentration.
I was wiping down the espresso machine, lost in the meditative rhythm of cleaning, when the air around me changed.
Even before I turned, I knew he was there.
Krampus had stepped behind the counter, an invasion of my territory that felt simultaneously offensive and thrilling.
He had no right to be in my workspace. Yet the flutter in my stomach suggested parts of me welcomed the intrusion.
His body blocked the overhead lights, surrounding me in a cocoon of heat and shadow that made my skin prickle with awareness.