“Almost there” turned out to be quite accurate. A mere moment later Abigail and I had come to a stop again.

“Home sweet home,” Abigail told me. She was indicating a tall building, built of red brick. It was maybe five stories tall, which certainly made it one of the tallest buildings in the area. There was a flower shop on one side, and another apartment building on the other. A brothel by the name of “Demon’s Desire” was situated across the street from it. In other words, it seemed like a rather nice neighborhood. I was pleased to know that I paid Abigail well enough to live there.

“Shall we go inside?” I suggested. “It would be good to begin cooking soon; I am quite famished.” Indeed, with everything that had been happening, I’d skipped both last night’s dinner and that day’s breakfast. 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting, but this is going to be a pretty simple breakfast,” Abigail warned me, frowning. “I’m talking eggs and porridge. Maybe a ration of salted pork. Nothing fancy.”

“Just the porridge will be fine, this time,” I told her, honestly. “I do not wish to use up all your supplies.” Actually, I’d be satisfied just knowing what sort of stoves they used, and how to utilize them. If they had an oven, I’d ask about that, too. I rather doubted they would, though.

“...” For some reason, Abigail was giving me a strange look. It seemed as if she had something to say, so I raised an eyebrow to indicate that she should get on with it. “This time?” she asked me. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to do this again?”

“Of course I am,” I told her, blinking in surprise. “One does not learn how to cook in a single lesson, after all.”

Abigail stared at me for another long moment, and then let out a long sigh. Still holding my hand in one of hers, she used the other to turn the knob and then proceeded to drag me inside. It was even darker within the apartment building than it was “outside” but, as I had predicted, the absence of light did absolutely nothing to impede my vision. Abigail didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, either, leading me past several doors before stopping at a door just in front of the stairwell.

“Just a moment,” Abigail said, “I’ll unlock it.” Despite saying this, she did not reach into her dress for a key, but simply closed her eyes and grabbed hold of the handle. Since any halfway decent magic user could shift the inner mechanism of a lock, most demon’s didn’t bother with physical keys or even keyholes, preferring instead to use a combination style locking mechanism, with the dial hidden inside the knob to prevent others from seeing anything. Indeed, a moment after Abigail grabbed the knob there was a soft “click,” and Abigail was able to push the door open.

“Abigail?” called a voice. “Is that you?”

“M-Mom?!” Abigail called back. Her cheeks had grown pale, and her eyes were wide as dinner plates. “Wh-what are you doing up this early?”

“Oh, I had a late night at the brothel, dear,” the voice replied. “I was planning to make myself something to eat and head to bed, actually. But what are you doing here? Don’t you have work, today? You didn’t get fired, did you, dear?” The owner of the voice came into view with that question, stepping out of what I assumed to be the kitchen and peering curiously at us. She had long, wavy brown hair cascading down to her waist and and pitch black eyes. She was well endowed, much more so than Abigail, with breasts you could bury your face in. Probably a D-36, about, if I had to guess? Her ass was pretty big, too, more than big enough to fill the average person’s palms. She was wearing a backless red halter top, and a black skirt. She looked to be in her late twenties, or maybe early thirties, but judging by her conversation with Abigail I doubted that either was actually the case. Judging by the black leathery wings that stretched out behind her, she was a lesser succubus like Abigail. That meant her lifespan was almost as long as… Well, mine, I supposed.

“I didn’t get fired, Mom,” Abigail promised, scowling a little. “I… I got told the queen didn’t need me today. And then I ran into my friend Eena, who’d. Been uh. Begging me for lessons on how to cook. So we came back here to make some porridge, and-”

“Porridge?” Abigail’s mother asked. “You’re going to teach your friend how to cook porridge? I can’t imagine she doesn’t know at least that - wouldn’t you be better off teaching her something like your onion soup?”

“We’re going to start with porridge, mom,” Abigail insisted. “Trust me, Eena will have a hard enough time with that.”

“Really now?” The mother’s eyes were on me, now. Just like when her daughter stared, her eyes seemed to see straight into my soul. “You can’t even cook porridge?”

“I’m afraid not, Mrs…?”

“Bevola,” she told me with a smile. “Just Bevola. I don’t have anything so fancy as a last name, I’m afraid. And I’m not married, besides.”

“Bevola, then,” I said, wondering whether I should drop into a curtsy. It was technically a big deal for the queen to even so much as lower her head, but I was pretending to be a commoner right then. She might think me rude if I didn’t… Then again, the disguise had mostly been for the sake of getting through the city. It was probably best to at least let my host know of my true identity. “I fear I must apologize, though, for a small deception. You see, I’m actually-”

“Very hungry!” Abigail interrupted, digging her nails lightly into my palm. “She’s incredibly hungry, and she’s been trying to hide it ‘cause… You know. Rude, much? But I guess I’ve kept her waiting long enough. Porridge time, right Eena?”

“...Yes.” I nodded, slowly, understanding what she wanted from me. I could even guess why she wanted it. Meeting that rabbit girl had driven home how people saw me. Including Abigail, no matter how much I wished that wasn’t the case. 

“I will make delicious porridge,” I vowed, turning my attention back to Bevola. “So may I ask that you please wait for sustenance until you can consume it alongside us?”

“My, someone’s quite the flirt,” Bevola teased, letting out a high pitched giggle. “And such formal language, too. Did you pick that up working as a maid? Or perhaps my girl made friends with the daughter of a general, or some such?”

“Today I am simply Eena,” I replied, sidestepping the question with a small smile. “A simple girl, with a simple wish: to learn how to cook.  Since your daughter is being kind enough to teach me, the least I can do is feed you after, yes?”

“Well don’t go burning the porridge, in that case, you hear?” Bevola responded. “I’m hoping to eat something delicious, today, after that little speech of yours.”

“You have my word.” I bowed my head, ever so slightly, trying to strike a balance between who I was and who I was pretending to be. “Now - I believe the kitchen is this way?” I started walking toward the room Bevola had left behind. Abigail, still holding my hand, had little choice but to follow. Once we were in the kitchen, however, I grabbed her wrist and forcefully took my hand from hers. It had started to feel rather less like the hand of friendship, and more like a parent’s grip of restraint on a wild child.