Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 12

**KACIA**

I am stupidly excited to be a godparent. I’ve known Mikey since I was six years old, back when I still wore glitter sneakers and thought sword fighting with tree branches made me invincible. His family moved in next door. He was tall (for a nine year old), dark haired, and way too cool to associate with someone like me. I’m pretty sure he thought girls had cooties or that friendship was a contagious disease. He barely looked at me those first few months, unless it was to make gagging noises or tell me I was being annoying. I pretty much hated him right away. But our mums had other plans. They became instant best friends, two single mothers bonded by the shared chaos of raising kids on their own, and soon it became standard procedure that his mum babysat me, and my mum kept an eye on him. Mikey and I were basically raised as each other’s designated life nuisance. Over time, we learned to exist in the same space without attempted murder. Then we started tolerating each other. Then came the sibling style attachment. The ‘I want to kick this person in the shin, but I would murder anyone else who tried the same’ level of loyalty. Mikey’s not like a big brother. He IS my big brother. Every Christmas. Every birthday. Every awkward family dinner, last minute school play, or emergency call from the principal’s office, we did it all together. I can’t actually remember a time before Mikey. He’s just... Always been part of the picture. I think he figured out something was different about me when I was fifteen. Maybe it was the pointed ears I tried so hard to hide or the way I moved when I thought no one was watching. He never asked, though. Not once. Not when he caught glimpses of my weird reflexes or when his mother mentioned I never seemed to get sick. He just quietly clocked it, filed it away, and respected my silence. That’s the kind of friend he is. He knew my mum, she’s paranoid, careful, and secretive to a fault. He understood without needing the full explanation that it was better not to say anything. It wasn’t until a year after he joined the police force that he finally came to me about it. By then, he’d run into cases that didn’t make sense, magic that didn’t follow human rules, witnesses who lied for creatures most people didn’t believe in. And I... Well, I’m ashamed to say I was spiralling. University was a mess. I had all these weird life skills, some that came naturally and some that my mum insisted I learn for my own safety. Tracking, swordplay, charm resistance, and absolutely zero marketable qualifications. I couldn’t sit still long enough to fake them, and I hated customer service with a passion that burned hotter than hell fire. But I had one thing Mikey didn’t. I’m not entirely human. Supernaturals might not know me, but they’ll talk to me, or at very least they won’t slam the door in my face. They sense what I am. They know I'm part of the world they live in, even if I don’t belong anywhere specific. I don’t even have to tell them I’m half fae. Most people assume I’m some sort of witch with an ancestry quirk. No one ever guesses fae. Especially not half fae. The full bloods would rather swallow glass than admit one of us exists. I don’t think they know about me anyway. So when Mikey came to me with a case he couldn’t crack, I helped. Then another. Then another. Eventually, it stopped being favours and started being my job. Now the department calls me a consultant, technically freelance, sometimes a bounty hunter, always unofficial. When the rules of logic stop working, the detectives go to Mikey. And Mikey comes to me so I can do my thing. I find things, talk to people who won’t talk to humans and I connect dots none of them get to see, then I help Mikey craft stories that make sense when the truth would blow the paperwork to hell. It’s messy work. Sometimes dangerous. Often thankless. But it’s ours. So yeah, I could not be happier for him. Mikey isn’t just my best friend. He’s family. And now he’s going to be a dad. Heaven help that kid, they’re going to be so spoiled. By me. I am definitely going to be the best aunt ever… After lunch. 

“Alright.” I say, clapping my hands together.

“Let’s go get that lunch before I pass out from starvation.” I declare. My stomach makes a sound like it’s already halfway to death, which supports my argument nicely. But then I pause, glancing toward Oz. Mikey invited him along, sure, but Oz doesn’t have to come. He probably has better things to do. He still needs to sell that box of blood, gross, and I’m sure walking around town in tattered clothes with me and Mikey who will probably be obsessing over babies isn’t exactly his ideal way to spend the day. I hesitate. I don’t want to assume. Maybe he’d rather go solo.

“You okay coming with us?” I ask, turning to him. He looks at me like I’ve just asked if he breathes air. He’s standing barefoot near the couch, tail flicking lazily behind him like. His arms are crossed over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders catching the light as he shifts his weight. There’s a sort of casual menace to how still he stands, relaxed, but too in control. Like if he wanted to, he could take the room apart in ten seconds flat. But right now, he’d rather stand around and flirt.

“Of course.” He says easily. 

“Although I do have one question...” He adds, with a tilt of his head and a glint in his eye. I blink. 

“Huh?” I respond.

“When did I suddenly become Oz?” He asks, one dark brow arching with amused curiosity. He takes a step closer, head cocked just slightly, that ever present smirk curling at the corner of his mouth like he already knows the answer and is just letting me dig the hole myself. His tail slows, curling once, twice, in a lazy loop behind him. Dangerously amused.

“You’ve been calling me Oz. Just wondering when that started.” He continues. I freeze. Crap. I have been calling him that, haven’t I? I hadn’t even noticed. Ozraed just sounded so formal for a guy who has been walking around my house half naked and mocking me with his very existence. And, honestly? I know exactly why. Oz is someone who sleeps in late and likes junk TV. Ozraed sounds more like someone I should be afraid of. It’s easier not to be intimidated by someone named Oz. Oz sounds... Manageable. Slightly ridiculous, even. Which was exactly the point. My cheeks flush. 

“Oh. Uh. I guess it’s just a nickname.” I mumble, trying not to sound as flustered as I feel.

“You can use mine too, if you want.” I add quickly, not wanting to explain myself. Deflect, deflect, deflect. I can just let him call me Kaci. That’ll make us even, right? Oz raises both eyebrows this time, his eyes lighting up like I’ve just handed him a fully loaded crossbow and painted a target on my ass. 

“Oh really?” He says, and his voice is far too pleased with itself. 

“I’d LOVE to call you by a nickname.” He is practically purring. I immediately regret everything. The smirk goes full power, devastatingly smug and somehow a little bit evil. His tail gives a pleased flick, the tip curling upward like a cat that’s just spotted something very fun and very breakable.

“How about sweetheart?” He muses, taking a slow step forward. 

“Or darling? No, wait, angel. That could suit you. Or better yet… All of the above. I’ll rotate them out. Keep things fresh.” His grin widens. My face erupts into heat.

“That’s not what I-” I start. He cuts me off with an innocent expression and a lazy shrug, both hands lifted as if to say who, me?

“Hey, YOU gave me permission. Said I could use your nickname.” he says, voice all smooth sincerity. Behind him, his tail sways again, slow and deliberate, like it’s smirking too. He’s enjoying this far, far too much. 

“I meant that you can call me Kaci!” I manage to stammer, flailing somewhere between indignation and mortification. Oz nods, perfectly unbothered.

“That’s definitely one option.” He agrees mildly. I want to scream. He is so completely and utterly infuriating.