Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 133

**KACIA**

We are all pretty much out of our minds with worry. The library isn’t even a building anymore, it’s a ruin, a mountain of scorched stone and shattered beams that used to be walls and shelves. Smoke clings to everything, curling into the air in lazy, choking clouds. My eyes sting constantly, my throat is raw, and every breath scrapes like sandpaper in my lungs. Firefighters swarm the place in bright jackets and helmets, hauling hoses, calling instructions to each other like we’re invisible. Tracey keeps trying to wave them off, telling them they’ve done their bit and should leave the rest to us, but of course they won’t. They’re just doing their jobs, but right now they’re in the way. The last thing we need is one of them calling in an ambulance for a man who is essentially carved out of stone. Vidar doesn’t need doctors. He just needs us to get to him before it’s too late. I keep telling myself we will find him. We will. There is no other possibility. If I let myself even think about the alternative, I’ll break. Still, all I can do is what Tracey tells me. Sift through rubble, shift rocks one by one, scrape my hands raw on jagged edges. And gods, there’s so much of it. The library wasn’t small, and somehow now that it’s collapsed, it feels even bigger. Endless. My hands sting, my arms ache, and every time I drag one piece away it feels like the ruins have multiplied behind my back. I feel slow. Too slow. Like I’m not doing nearly enough. Like if Vidar dies here, it’ll be because I couldn’t dig fast enough, couldn’t move fast enough. The uselessness claws at me, heavy and sharp. And if I feel useless, I can only imagine how Taryn feels. She can’t even get close enough to help. She’s tied to her tree, her tether pulling her back whenever she pushes too far. She couldn’t set foot inside the library even before it fell, and now she can’t even put her hands to the rubble. Tracey gave her the task of organising the search areas, and she’s doing it, calling out zones, checking who’s where, but once we scatter, there isn’t much else for her to do. She’s stuck, pacing tight little circles, practically vibrating with pent-up energy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so desperate to move. I glance toward her, half to reassure myself she’s still holding together, when something catches my eye. Izzy. She’s standing just off to the side, like she always does. Just… Watching. That’s never unusual, watching is what she is. The Witness. But tonight, she’s different. She keeps edging closer to Taryn, taking tiny, hesitant steps, like a child testing the water at the edge of a pond. Then she frowns, shakes her head, and steps back again. Over and over, forward, back, forward, back, like she can’t decide what she wants. Izzy doesn’t usually hesitate. She just appears, drifts, stares. But right now, she looks… Conflicted. Almost nervous. I pause mid-shift, my hands frozen on a slab of broken stone. Do I stay and keep working, or…? After a moment, I push myself upright, coughing against the smoke, and carefully climb out of the pile. My boots slip on ash and loose stone, but I make my way over to them.

By the time I reach them, Taryn is pacing so hard the hem of her dress is catching in the ash, and Izzy is hovering close enough to brush her shoulder. For once, the little ghost looks… Uncertain. Her curls bounce as she takes another small step forward, then she stops, frowning at her shoes like someone has scolded her. Taryn doesn’t notice. Her eyes are fixed on the rubble, her hands clenched tight at her sides. 

“He’s in there.” She whispers to herself. 

“He’s still in there. I should be-” She cuts herself off with a frustrated noise, like the words are jagged in her throat. Izzy tilts her head, then blurts out. 

“You can’t.” In her small voice. Taryn startles, finally looking down at the pale little figure beside her. 

“What?” She asks. 

“You can’t go to him.” Izzy’s voice is flat and matter-of-fact, but her fingers twist in her dress like she doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“You’re bound. Same as him. You can’t cross.” She points out. Obviously we know that, but I don’t think Izzy means to be hurtful. Taryn’s face crumples anyway. For a heartbeat, I think she might argue, insist she doesn’t care, that she’ll find a way anyway. But she doesn’t. Her shoulders sag. She already knows Izzy’s right. Of course she does. No one knows what it means to be bound to a place better than Taryn. 

“I know…” She breathes, her voice shaking. 

“I just-” She bites down hard on the words and looks away, her jaw tight, her eyes glassy with tears. Izzy rocks back on her heels. She looks like she wants to say more, then glances up and notices me. Her lips press together, as if I’ve caught her in the middle of something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. I raise an eyebrow at her. 

“Go on. Don’t stop now.” I say encouragingly. Izzy frowns, clearly unhappy with the idea, but she shifts closer to Taryn anyway. 

“It hurts.” She says simply, her little voice quiet but sharp as a pin. 

“It hurts worse because you care.” She elaborates. Taryn’s breath catches, and she presses a trembling hand to her chest like Izzy’s words landed right there. 

I freeze in place. It hurts? The words echo in my head, jagged and wrong. 

“Izzy… Do you… Feel pain? Everyone’s pain?” I ask slowly. Her little face scrunches, curls bouncing as she frowns. She looks like a child trying to decide if she’s in trouble. 

“I can tell if people are hurting.” She says finally. 

“I’m drawn to them. That’s what I do. But I don’t think it feels the same for me as it does for you. At least… It doesn’t usually…” Her voice trails off into a mutter, her shoulders hunching. I raise an eyebrow at her, trying to pin her down. 

“But it does this time?” I ask. Izzy’s eyes dart away. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, small hands twisting in the fabric of her dress. 

“I’m not supposed to take sides. I only watch. That’s my rule.” She whispers. The air goes still around us. I am practically holding my breath. 

“But…” Her voice wavers, the word small.

“I want Vidar to finish reading the story to me. Whispering Woods. I don’t know the ending yet. So… You need to save him… Please.” She says softly. Taryn and I both stare at her, stunned. My chest feels like it misses a beat.

“Izzy…” My voice shakes as I crouch down to her level. 

“Do you know where he is?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. For a moment she hesitates, chewing on her lip, her ancient eyes flicking between us. Then she nods once. Taryn lets out a sound that’s half-sob, half-scream. She whirls around toward the others.

“Over here! Everyone, NOW!” She screams, her voice breaking slightly. 

Taryn’s cry shatters through the night like glass breaking. Heads snap toward us. In an instant, everyone is moving, stumbling, sprinting, scrambling over the rubble toward us. The ground shifts under their boots, loose stone sliding, ash puffing up around them like smoke still trying to cling on. Tracey is first, vaulting over a broken beam with inhuman speed. His shirt is ripped, one sleeve hanging by a thread, his hair wild and sticking to his face with soot. The sharpness in his eyes makes my chest tighten, Tracey never looks serious unless he has to. Oz is close behind him. His glamour is holding, but barely. His skin shimmers like it’s trying to decide what it should be, and his eyes burn too bright in the haze. He looks exhausted, filthy, scraped raw, his movements heavy, but he doesn’t slow. His focus is fixed on me. On us. And then Clarence… He’s last, because of course he is. His cane sinks into the ash with every step, and he leans on it hard, his shoulders hunched. His robes are torn and smudged with soot, his skin ashen, his breath ragged. He looks like the fight has stripped him bare, like age has finally caught him and won’t let go. He stumbles, catches himself with the cane, and keeps coming anyway. They all look worn down, ruined by the night, dirt under their nails, ash smeared across their skin, clothes torn and lungs raw. I straighten, wiping grit from my forehead with the back of my hand. My voice is hoarse but certain, loud enough to reach them all.

“Izzy is going to help us find Vidar.” I announce. For a heartbeat, silence. All eyes swing toward the little ghost at my side. And this time, Izzy doesn’t shrink away. She just nods, solemn and small.