The Kitchen is Always Open

By Naiya Bladesinger

"The Kitchen is Always Open" is the dark and thrilling first book in the Tales of the Planes series. Sadie has spent most of her adult life running from her family's dark secret. When she inadvertently draws a summoning sigil on a sandwich, a bunch of demons and devils with their own motivations become regular dinner companions. When her past catches up to her, Sadie must decide, does she become the monster she believes herself to be, or does she look for another way?

Mohinder is a devil on the hunt for the missing "Princess" – someone he and his allies can throw their support behind. When Sadie inadvertently creates a gate with mustard and proceeds to eat it, he is certain he found the one he's looking for. Can he and his allies defeat the prophesied "great evil" without running afoul of "The Pact"? Get ready to dive into author Naiya Bladesinger's fantastical world as Sadie brings a new meaning to facing life's demons.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667801636

Book preview

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The Kitchen is Always Open

Copyright © 2021 Tonja Davis

All rights reserved.

Disclaimer: All the characters and events depicted in the story are fictitious. Any resemblance to a person living or dead is purely coincidental

ISBN: 978-1-66780-162-9

ISBN eBook: 978-1-66780-163-6

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

This story would not be possible without the following people:

Yesha for writing Summoning Circle and planting the seed of the idea in my mind

writing-prompts-s on Tumblr for the writing prompt that started it all

Rath who would beta any horrible thing I put in front of her and patiently give me feedback polishing it to a gem-like luster

Taz for being the quiet cheerleader reminding me self-care was as important as the story

Theo for line editing a manuscript they read once for pleasure

the writing discords I found that let me gush and encouraged me to keep going and finally, to everyone who fell in love with the world and wrote and commented. My enthusiasm for this project would have died long ago if it were not for you.

Thank you.

CHAPTER 1

If I were a good person, I would not be wishing for the death of others. Wise people know that if you try to run from your troubles, you will die tired. Yet here I am, running again, even though I know it is neither prudent nor wise.

Elevator numbers tick down, lighting the inside of the car with a faint, flickering green. As claustrophobic as the space may seem, this is one of the rare places I feel safe anymore. With the steel pressed against my back, I can breathe.

The soft chime announces my arrival at the parking garage. Reaching into my messenger bag, I wrap my fingers around my keys, lightly running my thumb over the panic button. The doors slide open and I take a deep breath.

Though I walk through the valley of death... I murmur.

I’ve spent my life running from a specter. Every time he gets close, I pick up and disappear. I leave whatever life I built behind, hoping my next stop will be my last. Praying I can find peace, and wishing he’d die. I came to terms with the fact I’m not a good person a long time ago.

The white walls and ceiling reflect the electric lights, minimizing shadows. But that does nothing to soothe my nerves or calm my overactive imagination. I choose my steps carefully so my sneakers make no sound on the smooth concrete.

I parked my dingy white Corolla under one of the security lights. There’s a lanky figure leaning against it like a model with his foot propped against the door, studying his fingers. His long black trench coat, Stetson, and cowboy boots make him look like he belongs on a ranch rather than in the middle of Seattle. 

I glance toward the pillar near the car. A black dome hints at a security camera. I can only hope it’s not one of the fake ones they put up to discourage break-ins. Deliberately twisting my heel on the next step, my sneakers make a screech that echoes in the parking garage. The figure looks up.

Ms. Ortiz, I thought you were avoiding me. He purrs with a saccharine charm.

I clench my jaw and tighten my fingers around my keys. He’s a good head and shoulders taller than I am. Grabbing the handle of my messenger bag, I slip the body strap over my head and let it fall into my other hand.

I thought I made myself clear, Mitchell.

He doesn’t move from his casual lean. Come on, Sadie, meet with him. What harm can it do?

The answer is no.

That’s not a word in the boss’s vocabulary. You should know he’s...

I know who he is! I jam the unlock button on the key fob. The resulting chirp echoes in the cavernous space. Mitchell grins, and I glare at him. The rest of my words come out through clenched teeth. Tell him you couldn’t find me. Tell him I died. I don’t care what you tell him. The answer is no.

The boss doesn’t tolerate failure.

Sounds like that’s your problem. He’s your boss, not mine. Now, get away from my car.

With agonizing slowness, Mitchell pushes himself upright and saunters a few steps away.

Ms. Ortiz, he says softly as I toss my bag into the back seat, if you keep denying him, things are going to get ugly.

As if your standing here harassing me isn’t ugly enough.

He puts two fingers to the tip of his hat and bows his head. His answering smile would be charming if it weren’t so damn smug.

I wrench the driver’s side door open, narrowly missing the infuriating man, and slide into the driver’s seat.

Leave me alone, Mitchell, or I will call the cops. I tug on the door to slam it shut, only to find Mitchell holding it open.

Come now, Sadie, he drawls, smiling all the while, we both know that isn’t true or you would have done it already.

My answering gasp makes his smile change into something gloating.

Are you in? he asks solicitously. His tone is completely at odds with his expression.

Drive safe. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

With that, Mitchell closes the door firmly and walks away, tossing a casual wave over his shoulder. I flick the locks on the car. He was escalating. What started as calls or making sure I knew he was around had become face-to-face encounters. I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. My past had finally caught up with me. With shaking hands, I work the key into the ignition and start it. I breathe out a shaking breath and draw an equally unsteady one before putting the car in gear and heading home.

A knife of light cuts through the darkness in the apartment as I push open the door and flick the foyer lights on. Kicking off my shoes, I flip the deadbolts and slide the chain lock into place, allowing myself a sigh of relief. At home, I’m safe. I drop my messenger bag onto the couch and shuffle into the kitchen. 

Long days on a software project that isn’t going well is routine lately. I don’t think I’ve left work before 10 p.m. in the last six weeks. If the work wasn’t so rewarding, or if the team didn’t feel so much like a family, it would make things easier. I could feel the noose tightening after visit from Mitchell.

A whimsical melody comes from the clock in the living room, a gift from my mother before she died. The three winged and armored figures dancing in their circle with swords held aloft mesmerized me as a child. 

As the clock strikes the top of the hour, the creatures turn toward one another and swing their swords down. One strike for each bell. I stood at the entrance to the kitchen, the full moon bathing it in a pale blue glow as the clock struck midnight, wondering on which side of those swords I stood.

Another long day with no end in sight, I grumble.

With sluggish steps, I move between the refrigerator, the cupboards, and the counter, pulling out sandwich makings. As I squeeze the mustard on a slice of bread, I lose myself in my thoughts.

What if Mitchell was right? What if I am delaying the inevitable? I hadn’t called the cops because I hoped, once he realized I had cut all ties, this would go away. Was it so wrong to want to live my life in peace?

I could leave if I wanted to, I mumbled. On a sigh, I admitted the truth. No, I couldn’t. I set down roots. I got attached and built a new family, of sorts. A family of the heart, sure, but it was mine. I was being foolish, and I knew it, but that didn’t change the facts. Just the thought of leaving had me worrying about Dannie, about my team.

Alone in my kitchen, I could admit that the thought of losing these ties made me want to stop running.

CHAPTER 2

Prime had a charm all its own. The inhabitants here were always willing to indulge themselves, and for once, he had the rare pleasure of wandering the plane without his chaperone. He tossed a few coins to the bartender, grabbed his helmet, and left the bar. His mission was to find the missing Princess. He couldn’t put a finger on why he thought she would be on this plane, but his gut told him he would find her here. So, he kept coming back.

He shrugged on his leather coat as he headed to the motorcycle parking. A small crowd gathered in the space, and he assumed it was one of the local biker groups loitering for a get-together. As he got closer, he realized they were gathered around his bike.

Nice night for a ride, wouldn’t you say? He called out. Several people looked his way.

This your bike? the speaker nodded to the sleek motorcycle with a deep blue body, black frame, and gold Ducati logo visible.

He smiled. That’s my girl. She does right by me.

She’s a beauty. We don’t see many around these parts. He holds out his hand in greeting and inclines his head. You get that riding?

The man brushes a thumb over his eyepatch. Nah, but the story isn’t very interesting.

Fair enough. The name’s Paul. I’d be willing to buy you a pint if you want to swap riding stories and bike specs.

Mohinder, he said, taking the other man’s hand. He was about to accept the friendly offer when he felt a pull at his soul. He turned his face to the west. Someone on Prime was summoning him. Well, maybe not him specifically, but certainly one of his kind. Returning his gaze to Paul, he smirked. I would love to take you up on your offer, but it seems I’m needed elsewhere. Enjoy your night, won’t you?

With an impish wink, Mohinder vanished into thin air, leaving the small group of people standing around an empty parking spot, wondering what just happened.

The darkness was disorienting. It took a few seconds for him to realize the surroundings as a kitchen. That confused him. He was used to circles of candles and cloaked figures chanting some ridiculous assortment of words in Latin that they thought sounded magical.

He studied his surroundings. The pull of the summoning drew him here, but he couldn’t figure out why. That’s when the symbol on the bread drew his attention. Precise lines laid down in mustard. With a smirk, he crossed his arms and leaned against the stove to wait. This promised to be better than the neophyte cabal chanting the Latin conjugation of the verb to be.

The kitchen’s only other occupant was a small woman. She couldn’t be taller than five and a half feet, likely shorter. She was dressed in a wrinkled button-up blouse and slacks, and her long curly brown hair escaped a haphazard ponytail to frame her face. The dark circles around her eyes spoke of long days and restless nights. Overwork and exhaustion painted her warm beige skin with an ashen brush.

Did she summon him to get rid of some tyrant of a boss so she could sleep? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Mohinder was so absorbed in studying her features he hadn’t realized her eyes had sharpened.

You have until the count of five to explain why you are in my home. Her low voice was tight with anger. And if they have sent you to collect me, you will not find me an easy mark.

Mohinder watched as her body tensed for a fight. He held his hands up placatingly. Easy, lass, no one sent me. You’re the one who summoned me.

She made a derisive noise. Not likely. Unlike him, I’m not in the habit of damning my eternal soul. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. He hadn’t bothered changing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. The Pact demanded his kind reveal what they were when summoned. So Mohinder stood in the moonlit kitchen in his jeans, leather riding jacket, engineer boots, and eye patch covering his right eye. His horns were clearly visible. They started above his eyes and followed the crown of his head until the points disappeared into waves of black hair. His fair skin and visible blue eye reflected the moonlight.

Who are you?

Mohinder blinked. She asked who, not what. That startled him enough to get an honest answer.

Mohinder.

Alright Mohinder, she said, propping her hip against the counter and crossing her arms, let’s entertain, for a moment, that he did not send you to retrieve me. What are you doing in my kitchen?

Mohinder smirked. This one had spunk. He nodded toward the half-assembled sandwich. Like I said, you summoned me.

She looked at the pattern in the mustard and frowned. In her haze, she drew a symbol in clean, precise lines. A circle, surrounded by a six-pointed star encased in another circle, was soaking into the bread intended for her sandwich.

Would, uh, she stopped, looked at the bread again and back to him, would you believe that wasn’t intentional?

His smirk widened to a grin, and Mohinder quirked a brow.

The woman sighed and started grabbing more bread out of the bag, talking to him as she puttered around.

Listen, um, Mohinder? He inclined his head. My name’s Sadie. I don’t know what you are, and I don’t think I care, but I am sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. Honestly, my problems are my concern. I don’t need to make things worse by making Faustian bargains with strange beings in my kitchen. Goodness knows my mother taught me better than that.

She cut the ham and cheese sandwich she made in half, plated it, and handed it to him. Can we call it even?

He looked from her offering to Sadie and back again. Was she truly that ignorant of The Pact or was she innocent? When his silence dragged out too long, she grabbed a bag of cheese puffs and popped them on the plate too.

How about now?

The hopeful expression on her face had him taking the meal from her with a smile. She had to be the one they were searching for. She may be ignorant of the laws, but her actions and his acceptance were a contract. One that he eagerly looked forward to. Divine fortune had called him here tonight. With her spirit and generosity, she had to be the Princess they were looking for.

Mohinder watched as she put together her sandwich, the one with the image on it. He didn’t register her intentions until it was too late.

Lass, wait...

Sadie took a bite and tilted her head in question as she ate. Mohinder’s eyes went wide as he waited for any of the reactions he would expect from a creature from Prime crossing a gate the wrong way.

Nothing happened. She didn’t burst into flames or disintegrate. Nor was she writhing in pain or agony. She stood there patiently, waiting for him to continue his thought. He returned his attention to his dinner, smiling as he shook his head. He didn’t need any other proof.

CHAPTER 3

Twin moons shone down, bathing the sprawling castle gables in silver light. A pleasant autumn breeze blew through the grounds carrying the heady scent of blooming crocus. The maidenhair trees paint the paths gold with falling fan-shaped leaves.

Heavy, measured steps of engineer boots on hardwood floors echo through the halls before they stop at a sliding door. Mohinder carefully nudges the door open with the toe of his boot.

You’re late.

Mohinder closed the door with his elbow before moving to join the men gathered in a circle. I had to answer a summons, Hakeem. There are rules.

Why do you waste your breath lecturing him? A third man interjects. His sun-kissed skin, bright green eyes, and tousled flaxen hair did nothing to soften his scowl. I don’t know why you bother getting upset. He was probably out fanning the flames of conflict, like usual.

Mohinder tossed an injured look at the speaker. People don’t always summon me for war, Inigo. Sometimes they invite me over for dinner! he says, dumping the rest of the orange-colored crumbs from the small bag into his mouth.

A dry laugh comes from the last person in the room. A man with short white hair studied Mohinder. His hooded golden eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement. When he spoke, a genteel southern lilt carried in the room.Why would someone summon one of us for a dinner companion?

Mohinder shrugs. You’d have to ask her. He grins wickedly. But I have my suspicions.

Oh ho! This promises to be entertaining. The other man smiles a vulpine smile.

No, it doesn’t! Hakeem pinched the bridge of his nose. He scrubbed at the perfect five o’clock shadow that dusted his warm amber skin before his shoulders slumped in defeat. Damn it Mordechai, nothing good ever comes of things when he smiles like that! Why do you insist on encouraging him?

Mordechai raises a teacup to his lips and smiles unrepentantly. I’m bored, and that’s bad for business. Allow me my distractions.

Hakeem closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. All right, out with it. Who summoned you, and for what?

Mohinder lifts a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. Just some Prime. I got a name, not her name, but a name. She fed me and I left.

Hakeem’s honey-gold eyes glowed softly. Tell me everything that happened and start from the beginning.

Mohinder leaned back, propping himself up on his arms. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and began his tale. I was out for a night ride and was leaving the bar....

The three others listened with rapt attention to the recounting. When Mohinder finished his story, the glow faded from Hakeem’s eyes.

There is something about her that excites you, but you’re also worried about her. What aren’t you telling us?

Mohinder being excited about a Prime is nothing new. Inigo scoffed.

I... I mean, what makes you think that? Mohinder hedged.

You can’t hide your emotions from Hakeem. You should know that by now. Mordechai answered in a measured tone, studying the other devil carefully. And while Inigo is right, that you’d conceal this from us is quite telling. What has you so excited, and concerned, that you want to protect her from all comers, your allies included?

Mohinder looked at the three of them before settling on Hakeem. They were right. He had underestimated the demon’s innate ability to sense emotions.

What if I told you I’d found the missing Princess? The soft confession had an immediate effect on the others. Inigo scoffed. Mordechai leaned forward slightly.

I’m willing to hear your reasoning, Hakeem said evenly.

Mohinder latched on to that lifeline. They hadn’t all dismissed his theory. The prophecy. She’s scared. Whatever is frightening her is bone deep. She covers it well, but she’s terrified.

Primes are always scared. Mordechai challenged. It’s a flaw in their existence.

Mohinder shook his head in denial. Not like this. This is a different type of fear.

Hakeem sat upright, his eyes going wide. This scares you.

This would terrify any of us. It’s soul-deep, Hakeem. To her, this is realms-shattering.

Silence blankets the room as they each got lost in their thoughts.

What happened to the gate? Hakeem asked.

Mohinder’s smile was wicked in its glee. She ate it, he answered, enunciating every word.

What? Why did you..? Hakeem sputtered.

I tried to stop her, he replied in a tone that lacked sincerity.

What does it matter? It’s not like anyone can use it now. Inigo cut in.

Hakeem rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Twelve, grant me strength. If you don’t ritually destroy a gate, it still exists. Anyone can use it.

Inigo shook his head, clearly not understanding the problem. Mordechai finished the statement, making the last connection.