Cooking With Magic

“What have you got that's different today?” Faron was hungry. He'd spent the morning shifting hay bales and was only in town long enough to gather supplies for his animals before heading off for the afternoon. He was excited to meet Ollie and Cain’s new little girl and was planning to be in Scotland before their dinnertime. “I want something with plenty of meat and less on the veggie side of things.”

“Oh, Mr. Faron, everyone needs their vegetables,” Carol laughed. “We have stew with vegetables, or you can have the roast meal and I can ask Patrick to double the meat and half the rest. How does that sound?”

Ah, Patrick. Yet another reason Faron kept coming back to the diner. Faron didn't get a chance to see him very often as the man worked in the kitchen. But his occasional glimpses were enough to fuel Faron's fantasies. “The altered roast sounds wonderful. Thank you kindly.”

“Won’t be long,” Carol sang as she poured him a glass of water, then skipped off, likely to ring up his order. Faron pulled out his phone and scrolled through the latest photos Ollie had sent him. Their little Poppy is so darn cute. Faron rubbed his chest, easing the ache of longing just seeing the family pictures always seem to bring up.

/~/~/~/~/

Half an hour later, Faron had eaten, paid, and was stepping out. He hadn't seen Patrick at all, but the food was delicious as per normal. His truck was parked across the road, but something was tugging his hound towards the back of the diner and Faron couldn't work out why.

He checked the street. Nothing was out of place. Llano wasn't a big town, but it had everything that Faron needed. Normally Faron would drive in, get his supplies, eat at the diner - and he done all those things. But for some reason, his hound wasn't keen on the idea of him getting back in his truck. Acting on instinct, Faron dug his hands into his pockets and slowly wandered down the street, ducking down the side alley so he could get a look at the back of the restaurant.

I think you're shitting me. Faron mentally complained to his hound when he couldn't see anything but a few dumpsters and a rusty truck that had seen better days. But just as he turned to go back the way he came, he heard someone crying. It was soft. Faron only heard it at all because he was a hellhound. But something in him was pushing him to find out who was crying and why.

Since when do we become good Samaritans? Faron was a decent enough man, but the complexities of human emotion had always eluded him. That's why he'd been in awe seeing Cain, his pack mate, settled down and having a child with his mate. But now as Faron moved cautiously towards the rusted out truck, because the sound couldn't have come from anywhere else, he wondered if he showed more caring for people, then maybe the Fates would bless him, too.

The dumpsters under the hundred degree heat were doing a lot to mask the scent of anything else. The closer Faron got to the truck, the more agitated his hound became. There was something in the air - something other than garbage, but Faron couldn't work out what it was. He spied a mop of dark hair in the driver's side of the truck. Is that Patrick? The purple streaks on the top of the head confirmed it definitely was. And the sobbing sound was coming from the truck, too.

I shouldn't interfere. If the man's upset... And yeah, Faron just couldn't let Patrick be upset. No culinary artist should ever be crying in a rusty truck. It just didn't sit right with him.

Approaching cautiously, Faron kicked a can that he'd stepped on, so intent on watching Patrick. The chef looked up. His eyes were red rimmed and damp, shock written all over his face. But shock wasn't the only thing Faron could see. The man… the wonderful Patrick's handsome face was bruised from eye to jawline and Faron saw red.

Wrenching open the truck door, he snarled. “Who did this to you? Who do I have to kill to make this right?”