The week in review. Giving the gift of armor. Laying it on a little thick. Asiago and crème fraiche. Bacon magic. At least three ghosts.

By the time the bacon arrived on that Friday, Sal’s Karmic Gauge was back up to 99%.

He and Fabrizio had connected the Elvis Saddiq’s widow and orphans to Edna Gomee, and both families were living together, and both women were working at the same place. While it might not fix the damage done by the Killword scroll, it did give Sal a large number of Karma points.

Then there was the help he provided Fabrizio every night at the Mind & Body Tables, which exhausted Sal, but he wanted his Karmic Gauge at its maximum level when he went to see the Gorbin that Sunday, just two days away.

Dergle hadn’t returned, though they did catch a whiff of him every once in a while.

Sal was kicking himself for not putting a time limit on when he needed the recipe. At the same time, he could tell Tony Belly that he had someone working on the problem. That kept the old Braggadorio satisfied, at least for that week.

That was one issue that Sal was able to deal with. The ghost of a crime lord was easy compared to dealing with the Pontra Genetrix.

Kizi Adamu wasn’t making it easy on him.

She continually kept putting up the yellow ribbon construction ribbon was well as her under constructions signs, and she seemed to have an unlimited supply of both. Her elderly church knights would come around, harassing customers, and to make matters worse, they were the ones working on the fountain in Champion Plaza.

“Working” was the wrong word. They did very little work. They mostly stood around, loudly complaining about how bad the food was in the Champion Café. Or complaining about the smell. That was a rumor they were helping to spread around. While it had been true those first couple of days, it wasn’t true anymore. No one cared because those who gossip rarely care about the truth.

The elderly knights also insisted that the food was poisoned by the ghosts there, and that to eat the Champion Plaza was to die. When that didn’t work, they claimed that the café was closed during the fountain construction.

They spread every rumor, far and wide, and to Sal’s shock, it seemed to be working.

He and Theo had to basically drag people off the street, and they continued to offer the free samples of the dough rings and the lemonease, which helped, though people were still skeptical.

To be honest, it looked like a construction zone, and in the end, the table without the umbrella made it look even worse. Sal didn’t have the money for a new umbrella, and so they kept the scorched umbrella on the one the table and the chairs. They put the other furniture in the back alley, basically storing it until they had the money to afford to replace it.

Sal had high hopes for the week until Theovanni begged off his shifts because Kaixo had emerged from her cloud of naptha incense to train. They had a slot to try the first floor of the tower on Monday. There was probably little chance of them getting the copper key, though they were going to give it their all.

Sal spoke with Shivaun about donating some of the magic items in his basement to the New Astounders. The banshee brought up a good point—would the violence against the monsters in the tower cause him to lose Karma points?

It was something to consider, though giving Kaixo and Theo the defensive items should be okay. And so the New Astounders got two magic rings, a variety of magical armor, a shield, boots of speed, and an umbra cloak, which wouldn’t do much in broad daylight, but if there were shadows, if you put on the cowl, you could hide in the darkness.

Sal didn’t have use for the armor, and so he wasn’t sad to see that stuff go.

As for the boots, cloak, and rings, he thought he might be able to use them, though having powerful items might prove to be too tempting. He wished he would’ve known about them before he charged off, half-cocked, to retrieve the sword.

Now that he had the sword, he intended to keep it. It was rather perfect for him. If he could scare away potential attackers, he wouldn’t have to fight them. However, in his own case, he’d responded to the terror with fight rather than flight. That would be a problem for him.

Sal was still wondering about the various items and how he’d not noticed they were magical. He was simply glad he’d not sold them. Then again, Shivaun had been very protective of the magic items, and it was only when Sal emphasized the good they could do that she relented.

Sal was still a little nervous. Defensive items protected both the good and the bad. He had to trust that Kaixo’s team wasn’t going to go off robbing people. If they did well in the Tower, they wouldn’t have to.

It was calculated risk, though Kaixo was beyond excited about Tam’s old Mana Ring, which gave her a good dose of energy that she could use in conjunction with the spells she learned from the new grimoire. Sal made sure that all of his friends knew that if the items were used to do bad, he would pay.

Theo was shocked at the idea.

Kaixo assured him she was only interested in the Tower, and he believed her, and so he gave her the two rings, the cloak, and the boots. Was it a permanent situation? He wasn’t sure, but for now, the sorceress needed the magic items far more than he did.

His Diagraff did give him a happy little message, saying he was a good person for offering such gifts to his friends. That made Sal feel a little better, happy even.

And yet, by Friday, when the crate of bacon showed, he was pulling his hair out.

Business had slowed. Sal brought back customers from Tower Road, and Shivaun did the cooking, but she couldn’t serve the hungry people. That was all he needed—a banshee waitress that would confirm all the vicious rumors about his café.

No, so Sal would escort customers back to his diner, bring them their food, and then collect the money, praying that more people would show up. In the morning, that didn’t happen. But as the day got hotter, people would come in for the cold room and the cold drinks. Then he’d see the customers, and they would sometimes get food, but mostly, they sat for hours drinking a single glass.

He needed a lunch menu, and that meant gnocchi, which meant he had to hurry Dergle up.

Sal put the bacon down in the basement, the coldest part of the café, and when he smelled Tony Belly’s stench, he went to trapdoor and called down to the ghost in the subbasement. “Mister Anton, I will get your gnocchi straight away. Do not visit your stench upon me. I am doing the best I can.”

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Only laughter, echoing and terrifying, answered him.

Sal took that laughter as a threat.

He then climbed the stairs and found Shivaun and Betty in the main dining area.

Betty held up a paw. “You smell that, buddy? We can’t afford to fight that stink. Business has sucked this week, and we know the cause. It’s all because of our church lady friend and her geriatric guard. Then again, watching them old-timers dig out there, we might lose a good number of them to stroke. Oh, wait, that won’t help us. We need them to finish the work. That won’t happen if they all die.”

Sal knew the truth. “She doesn’t want to finish the fountain until we’re out of business. But first things. Are you both ready to meet my demon minion?”

Betty laughed. “Sounds like a bad song or an even worse book. “My Demon Minion.’”

Shivaun’s weighed in with ice words on the wall. I am not looking forward to this. I have dealt with demons before, when I was alive, and I find them tiresome and untrustworthy.

Sal couldn’t argue with that.

At least when he’d been a Dark Lord, he’d had the raw power to banish Dergle at will. Or even destroy him outright. Now, oaths were involved, and demons were very good at getting out of their oaths. Most wouldn’t try if banishment or death were on the line.

Sal was still learning how his connection to Dergle worked. If he were smart, he shouldn’t have any trouble keeping Dergle on a leash. That wouldn’t have been a problem if Sal was still Dark Lording. Dinering, though? Trying to be good? A demon was never going to be on board for such things.

Sal lifted his voice. “Dergle Driptongue. I summon thee! Fulfill your vow and come to me now.”

Betty giggled. “He’s been hanging out with the Pork Poet too much.”

“The rhyme was an accident.” Sal paused. “At least I hope it was. I would not want to find myself addicted to the rhyme, a slave all the time.”

Shivaun pointed at the wall, pale face pinched. That is not a possibility.

“I know, I know, you wouldn’t think so,” Sal said with a sigh.

A second later, ash blew into the café on some errant wind, and then, Dergle appeared, his froggy form squatting on a table, and his wide mouth open in a grin. “You have summoned me, my master, the song of my soul, the reason why I do not self-immolate. The very essence of my happiness, for if I didn’t serve you, I wouldn’t have the strength to go on.”

Betty waved at the demon. “Okay, okay, okay, guy. We get it. You don’t need to lay it on so thick.”

Dergle scowled. “I find your scent, Gwynar, offensive. You stink even more than your typical mouse.”

Betty made a face. “You literally smell like dirty fingernails. Besides, as a lowly rodent, considered to be vermin by most good law-abiding citizens, we have more pressing concerns than our hygiene. Lastly, Gwynar smell like Grandmother Maker’s kitchen. So pooey on youey.” And with that, the mouse stuck her tongue out.

Dergle only laughed. His eyes went to the banshee, and he leered at her. “I likes a dead girl. And you’re very dead. Are you and my master romantically involved?”

Shivaun didn’t respond. But the temperature in the café fell a few degrees. She was clearly not amused.

Sal stepped between the demon and the banshee. “Have you found my gnocchi recipe, minion?”

Dergle laughed. “Oh, to hear you call me your minion. It is an orchestra of joy to my ears. Oh, that I could write music to match the sound of that one word.”

Sal snapped his fingers. “You swore an oath. Break it upon your peril. Tell me you have finished your task and are merely tardy in returning.”

Dergle’s voice dropped into a monotone. “I have finished your task, and I am merely tardy in returning.”

“What will we need?” Sal asked.

“Potatoes. Flour. One egg. For the gnocchi. As for the sauce, I will need crème fraiche and some Asiago.”

Sal found himself losing patience. This was unacceptable. “You are not serious. It was my understanding that gnocchi was some kind of pasta dish. It should not require potatoes. Plus, I have never heard of crème fraiche nor Asiago. Do not trifle with me, demon!”

Dergle glanced at the mouse, then the banshee, and then grinned. “Look, master, the pinnacle of my unworthy existence, the sight of you brings me unending satisfaction, and while I have been known to lie, I am not lying now. Asiago is a cheese. And crème fraiche is just a fancy kind of Yanir sour cream. Lastly, gnocchi is like half potato. You want for me to make it or not?”

Sal wasn’t sure what he was hearing. “Do you mean you not only got the recipe, but you learned how to make it?”

The ash demon grimaced. “Your dumb potato pasta? Yes, why else do you think it took me so long to return, lord of my heart? My bestie. The captain of my destiny.”

Sal heard the rhyme and shivered. Was the poetry addiction spreading?

Dergle had always laid things on a little thick, and yes, he sometimes got the wrong word, and he could be a bit dim, but Sal knew this new verbal tick was just a symptom of a worse problem. A problem that could turn deadly.

“Show me, minion,” Sal ordered.

The demon sighed sarcastically. “Just like old times. You give me tasks to do, and I do them, like, you know, make homemade pasta. Are there potatoes in your larder?”

Actually, Sal did. He was pondering adding another starch rather than pancakes. An old Hajawan recipe called hashbrowns. From his understanding, it was a shredded potato fried in butter or some kind of grease.

Dergle laughed and slurped back spit. “Wait. In the old days, you would tell me to eviscerate one of your enemies, or spy on a rival king, but now we’re in the diner business. Because the first step in world domination is to start a thriving eatery.”

The demon turned into ash, created a wind to sweep him into the kitchen, and then appeared back there. He popped on a chef’s hat, something they got for Shivaun, to make her appearance less frightful just in case someone peaked into the kitchen.

Sal went back and helped Dergle peel two potatoes while water boiled. The ash demon easily started the fire, just as well as Sparky normally did, and with the stove hot, the former Dark Lord had an idea.

He went to get four strips of bacon and put them on a pan. They started frying, and Betty sniffed the air. “Wait. I know that smell. It’s the smell of heaven. That’s bacon!”

Dergle kept having to wipe the spit off his chin. “What’s this bacon? Is it human flesh? It smells like human flesh, but saltier, smokier, oh, yes, that is a wondrous thing. Master, master, master, tell your minion of this paradise in your pan?”

Sal couldn’t help but salivate himself. “It is a very precise cut of pork.”

The cooking meat brought back so many memories of his father cooking breakfast for him. Sausage was fine, but there was nothing so scrumptious and unexpected about bacon. Along with coffee, it was the song of morning goodness.

Sal turned the cooking, sizzling meat, until it was cooked but not burned. The trick was take it off as the bubbles formed, while it was still pink, because that last thirty seconds was key. Bacon went from chewy and delicious to brittle and burned. While some people liked their bacon dry and crispy, Sal wondered at their sanity.

The best was when the crunch and the chewy were in concert, a happy mix of textures.

Sal tossed Dergle a piece.

The ash demon ate it, and for a second, Sal thought he might’ve seen a tear in the demon’s eye. But then the demon went about making his pasta.

Two potatoes, mashed, two cups of flower, and the egg. Mixed together, you formed a dough, and from there, you formed snakes on a cutting board dusted with flour. You cut the snake into half-inch pieces, and then rolled them with a fork, so the little dumplings had the ridges.

After boiling them, they were ready to eat.

They all tried some, even Betty, and she summed up all of their reactions with a look of distaste. “That’s the blandest frickin’ dumpling I ever tasted. Doughy, though. I like the chewy doughy part.”

Dergle didn’t respond. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth. “Uh, master of my every desire, what about the bacon? Are you going to make more bacon? You should make more. A lot more. A ton more. Your minion has a mighty hunger, and it would help me. It would help me so much.”

Sal smelled Anton’s stink, and was surprised to see the little man with the brushy moustache and the big belly standing there, on the other side of the serving counter. “You have the gnocchi, my friend, and that’s very nice. But it’s the gorgonzola sauce you need. Not this crème fraiche, whatever that is. I don’t trust it.”

Sal laughed. “Will you give us your recipe.?”

The ghost nodded.

Dergle let out a squeal. “How many ghosts are there in this diner?”

“At least three,” Sal said. “One of whom likes peaches.”

The peaches were still coming, every morning, and one was there, on that Saturday, when Sal introduced both bacon and gnocchi to his menu. The results were surprising.

The Saturday was busy, very busy, much to the former Dark Lord’s relief.

Sal was exhausted come Sunday morning. However, he pulled himself out of bed because he was going to get to the bottom of his Diagraff. His Karmic Gauge was once again stuck at 99%, a very bright purple. If the Gorbins couldn’t help him, Sal was going to give up all hope of ever having magic again.