Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 112

**KACIA**

“So… Should we change or something? Is this a formal thing?” I ask, tugging at the hem of my hoodie. Honestly, I’d rather be in my own clothes than anything borrowed. The black dress Raylah put me in last night was gorgeous, sure, but it didn’t feel like me.

“No, you should be fine in what you are wearing. Lord Eryn is… A lot more relaxed than some of the other lords.” Raylah says. I raise a brow and glance at Oz. His expression mirrors mine exactly. It says ‘yeah right, as if.’ Relaxed, in fae terms, probably means he sometimes unbuttons the top button on his jacket. Not that he’s actually casual. Then again, Raylah’s lounging in trousers and a tunic right now, though the way she holds herself makes even comfort clothes look regal. So maybe she isn’t lying. Still. How relaxed can a fae lord be if he’s inviting us to tea? Tea is practically a ritual, not a casual catch up. Raylah rises smoothly to her feet, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. 

“Ready to go then?” She asks. 

“Uh, just give me a minute…” I mutter, already hurrying toward my room. I snatch up my phone from the nightstand and type quickly.

Kacia- Hey Mikey. Met a (mostly?) friendly fae. Going to tea with another fae. Will be in the fae realm for a bit. I’ll get in contact when I get back. If you don’t hear from me… Maybe ask Angelo? I don’t know. Either way, I won’t be home for a bit. Wish me luck!

I hit send and toss the phone onto the bed, hoping that if I leave it, the message might slip through somehow. Hopefully Mikey actually gets it. He’s definitely not going to be happy about it, but it’s better than leaving him completely in the dark. At least this way, someone knows where we’ve gone. Right? I tug on a pair of comfortable low heeled boots, drag a brush through my still damp hair, and head back into the kitchen. Oz is waiting, hoodie thrown on over his t-shirt, laces tied, looking every bit as ready for trouble as always. My chest tightens a little at the sight of him. It’s comforting, knowing he’s right here, braced for whatever comes next.

“Ready.” I announce, though my stomach twists at the thought of another portal. Oz notices, of course. He steps closer without hesitation, sliding his arms around me in that solid, grounding way of his. 

“Got you.” He murmurs, like a promise. I let out a breath, clinging to that reassurance as Raylah sweeps up to join us, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“Wonderful, let’s go!” She says brightly. And just like that, the air warps again.

The air folds in on itself again, that sickening tug like my stomach has been hooked and yanked inside out. I grip Oz’s hoodie with both fists as the world bends and pulls. My body feels too heavy, then too light, then like it doesn’t belong to me at all. When my boots hit solid ground, I barely have a second before the nausea spikes hot and sharp. I stagger sideways, tearing free of Oz just in time to retch into the grass. My throat burns, my eyes sting, and every bone feels like it’s vibrating in the wrong place. Behind me, Raylah lets out a bright laugh. 

“I’ve never seen a fae so bad with portals. You look positively green, little heir.” She teases. I spit bile and glare weakly at her. 

“I’m half human. Maybe that explains it.” I croak. Even as I say it, I see Oz’s jaw tighten. The way Raylah phrased it… Well it wasn’t exactly flattering. His arm comes around me, solid and steady, like he’s daring anyone to try and use those words against me. When I manage to look up, I realise we’re standing in a vast garden. Low stone walls and flowering hedges spiral around us, trees heavy with pale blossoms arching overhead. The time of day has shifted again, it’s early evening here. The sun has slipped low, the sky washed in soft twilight. And then he appears. The man walking toward us is not at all what I expected. Lord Eryn doesn’t LOOK like a fae lord. No jeweled cloak, no shimmering brocade. Just grey trousers, a loose white shirt rolled to the elbows, and worn leather boots. His dark hair is mussed, and in one hand he carries a steaming mug. The smell hits my nose and I blink. Coffee. Actual coffee. I didn’t know fae even HAD real coffee. 

“Raylah.” He greets her, easy as a neighbor wandering by. No bow, no theatrics. To my surprise, Raylah actually straightens, smoothing her tunic as though suddenly self-conscious. 

“Lord Eryn.” She replies politely, her voice unusually careful. And is that… Nerves? She almost looks like she’s waiting for approval. Lord Eryn’s pale eyes shift to me. 

“So this is the girl.” He says, his tone giving nothing away. I pull myself upright, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. 

“Kacia Hunter.” I introduce myself. He hums and takes a sip from his mug, regarding me like I’m something rare he’s been waiting to see. 

“Raylah, you commented that she is unwell from the portal, but that isn’t quite right.” He observes. Raylah tilts her head, a little too quickly. 

“Oh? Then what is it?” She asks. Lord Eryn studies me, calm and clinical, tilting his head like I’m a puzzle piece he already knows should fit but doesn’t. 

“It’s a sort of… Magical overload. Passing through a portal floods the body with raw magic. Most fae never notice, they already carry magic of their own. It balances the surge. But you…” His pale eyes narrow, curious. 

“You don’t have any. Not yet.” He points out. My brow furrows. What he’s saying lines up with that I read. But maybe he knows more?

“Not yet?” I ask. He nods, as casual as if we were discussing the weather. 

“Fae magic is passed down. Given, inherited, shaped. You have the potential, but no one has given you any. It’s very strange.” He comments. My stomach twists. 

“So you’re saying I… Should have magic?” I clarify.

“Yes.” He takes another sip of coffee. His gaze sharpens, too knowing. 

“By your age, any parent with a drop of sense would have passed something along. Even a spark. That your father didn’t…” He trails off, his eyes gleaming with something heavy, unspoken. 

“It’s very… Odd.” He finishes. Raylah leans in, quick to fill the silence. 

“Perhaps Kasian was keeping her hidden. Or perhaps he knew more than he let on.” She glances at Eryn like she’s fishing for his agreement, waiting for his approval of her theory. But his expression doesn’t change. If anything, there’s a flicker of something else there, old memory, maybe even grief. He knows more. Too much. Beside me, Oz stiffens, his hand tightening on my shoulder, his silence vibrating with fury. Not appreciating Raylah’s theories. I swallow hard. 

“So right now I just have… Nothing?” I say, stating the obvious. Lord Eryn finally smiles faintly, shaking his head. It softens his expression in a way that makes him seem much younger.  

“Not nothing. Potential. And potential is often far more dangerous than power.” He says, lifting his mug like a toast.

The words ‘potential is more dangerous than power’ hang in the air like smoke. My stomach twists, but before I can say anything, Raylah steps forward with a bright smile.

“Well, perhaps Kasian simply… Forgot. He was a distracted man, wasn’t he? Always disappearing, always busy. It wouldn’t be the first time he left something half done.” Raylah says lightly. She glances at Eryn as though expecting approval. Her posture is relaxed, but there’s a nervous edge to it, her hand fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, the way her eyes flick to him like she’s waiting for him to reward her cleverness. But Lord Eryn doesn’t so much as look at her. His eyes stay fixed on me. 

“Kasian never forgot things like that.” He says evenly, his tone carrying the weight of fact rather than theory. 

“Not when it came to the people he cared about.” He says firmly. Raylah falters, then recovers with a shrug. 

“Or perhaps he thought she didn’t need it. That her human half made her too fragile, that power would break her. Better to let her grow ordinary than risk shattering her.” She suggests again.

This time, Eryn finally turns his head slightly, his gaze brushing over her. It’s not approval. If anything, it’s dismissal.

“Kasian wasn’t the type to deny his child something so vital.” He says quietly.

“No, if he withheld it, it wasn’t because he lacked foresight. It would have been a choice with a reason.” He says with finality, leaving no place for argument. The way Lord Eryn says my father’s name makes my pulse jump. He says it like it’s… Familiar. Raylah blinks, taken aback. For once, she looks… Wrong footed. She opens her mouth, then shuts it again, biting her lip as though reconsidering. Meanwhile, my heart is hammering. Because Lord Eryn speaks of my father not with guesswork, not with detached theory, but with certainty. Like he knew him.

Like he’s still carrying pieces of him. The way he speaks, so certain, so absolute, it doesn’t sound like speculation. Not like Raylah’s theories, which are full of holes and guesses. No, his words are steady, anchored in something heavier. It hits me all at once.

“You talk like you… Knew him.” I say quietly, searching his face. Lord Eryn finally looks directly at me, and for the first time, there’s something warmer behind his expression. Not much, just the faintest flicker of memory softening his features.

“I should hope so.” He says simply

“He was my best friend.”