Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 155

**KACIA**

My grandfather wakes like a flash of lighting. There’s a twitch along his jaw, a breath like a snarl, then his eyes snap open. They are red-rimmed, watering and have glitter caught on his lashes like a joke we didn’t mean to make. He tries to sit up but he can’t. Tries to lift a hand. Again, he can’t. I can feel as he reaches for his magic, but the binding hums, softly and… Nothing. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. My grandfather’s gaze lands on Tarish first. 

“You!” His words cut like a blade. Then his eyes slice to Raylah. 

“And you. I will make you pay for this.” He promises. Raylah’s chin lifts. She says nothing. Likewise, Tarish doesn’t bother to answer at all. I can’t help that notice that while Tarish and Raylah are very different people, they have a lot in common. And part of that is that they both share a sort of… Pride, in themselves, in their own dignity. Neither of them likes to cower, scrape or crawl. Neither of them follows along with a crowd. I can see why Raylah fell for Tarish, she would be drawn to someone who holds those same kinds of values. Next, my grandfather turns on me. He just scoffs, like my existence is an offense. 

“What do you want, halfling? Do you plan to kill me? To mount me like a trophy on your wall?” He says with a sneer. I take a calming breath to help me keep my voice steady. 

“I have terms. You get to walk out of here alive and unbroken, and in return you give up your magic, all of it. You renounce every right and privilege bound to your title, and swear never to try to claw any of it back by proxy, boon, bargain, loophole or lie of omission, and you swear, cleanly, bindingly, that you will not move against me or mine again. Not by hand, hireling, glamour, curse, influence, or ‘accident.’ Do that, and you can leave. Free as a bird.” I explain. He barks a laugh that snaps into a cough. 

“You presumptuous, power-hungry halfling.” He spits, actually spits! Glitter and ash spattering at my boots. 

“Of course this is what you wanted. My power.” He narrows his eyes at me. Angry heat spikes in my chest. 

“I WANTED to be left alone.” I bite out. 

“I was minding my business until YOU started sending assassins. YOU chose the first blow. I’m only answering it.” I snap back. He rolls his eyes, an infuriating flick. 

“Release me and I will be… Generous.” His tone slides toward court-silk. 

“I’ll give you a stipend. Inheritance. Protection from others. Property.” He offers. I hold back a laugh. “I don’t want your money, I want you harmless.” I answer. 

“I stop when-” He starts, but stops too quickly, as he notices the truth he can’t make.

“Say it cleanly.” I press, stepping closer. 

“Say that if you keep your power, you will never come for me again. Say you won’t harm my friends. Say you won’t try to cage or kill anyone who stands with me.” I demand. His mouth opens. Nothing. He tries again, but he can’t find a single word. 

“You can’t make the promise.” I say, quieter. A muscle ticks in his cheek. 

“I do not make promises to criminals.” He says, avoiding the truth. 

“You can’t because it would be a lie, and you don’t lie.” I return. He turns away from me like I’m a tedious clerk and starts hunting for leverage elsewhere.

His gaze skates off me like I’m an inconvenience and lands on Tracey first. 

“Vampire…” He purrs, voice turned coaxing.

“You live at the edges of society. No more. I can buy you a city of twilight, I can get you permits, havens. No more hunting crumbs.” He offers. Tracey’s glitter-salted mouth lifts, lazy. 

“Charming. No.” He answers flatly. Next, Alhwin turns to Vidar, and for the first time his tone shifts toward something almost reverent. Seems like even he has some kind of respect for gargoyles. Hard to believe after what he did to him. 

“Gargoyle… You were hurt when this place burned. Your perches cracked, your routes broke, your quiet went loud. I will raise you new halls elsewhere, stone you name, masons who still remember the right songs. High places that never fall. Whole districts if you like. I can make you whole again.” He promises. Vidar looks at him with pure disgust. 

“No.” He answers bluntly. My grandfather is not deterred. He sets his sights down on Clarence, his voice is like velvet over a blade. 

“I see your magic, your authority. Ambition suits you.” He croons. 

“Take coin. Take a seal. I will put a mark in your hand that opens doors even your friends here will never-” He starts. 

“Fuck off.” Clarence says. Sharp, pure, and loud. It knocks a breath out of me. Clarence never swears like that, not out loud. He keeps himself controlled, even when he’s furious. The break in his control lands like a crack across fine porcelain. My grandfather’s eyes glance over Mikey, then move on. Dismissing the ‘mundane’ human as useless. What an idiot. Next, he gives Raylah a cutting little smile meant to draw blood without leaving a mark. 

“Raylah Dian.” He says.

“I know you. You are wasted in this company. Return to court. Repent your missteps and you won’t have to scrounge favours from-” Once again, he doesn’t even get to finish. 

“Still no.” She says, steady, fingers very slightly trembling at her sides. 

“And I don’t scrounge.” She adds. Tarish crosses his arms over his chest and gives Alhwin a death glare. He doesn’t even bother trying to negotiate with him. Finally my grandfather turns to Oz.

“Demon. You understand bargains. Name a price.” He says. Oz laughs, bright, mean and kind of  delighted. 

“You’re an idiot.” He tells him, all teeth. 

“No one here can be bought. Or bullied. We’re not scared of you anymore, and every last one of us loves her.” He tips his chin a fraction toward me without breaking eye contact. 

“But… If YOU want to remember what fear feels like, I can show you. You barely had a chance to look into my eyes last time we met. This time, I can make sure you get a proper look.” He threatens. A chill ripples through him as my grandfather’s pupils pinch. Calculation shutters into rage and back again.

“What do you want?” He spits at me, the words cracking, the court-coat of manners slipping. 

“Name your demand and spare me your sermons.” He orders. I keep my hands loose at my sides. 

“I already have. Yield your magic. Renounce your claim. Swear that you will not act against me or mine ever again. Do that, and you leave this place breathing.” I remind him. He bares his teeth, glitter catching at the edge of his mouth. For a long second the binding hums around him the way a glass hums before it shatters as he tries for his magic again. I can see as he searches for a fresh angle and finds none. The room holds very still. Somewhere behind me Mikey breathes through his nose, a long controlled line. Oz’s presence on my left is a comfort. My grandfather swallows whatever lie his mouth wants to make and can’t form. The silence that follows tastes like metal.

“Choose. Power or freedom. You don’t get both anymore.” I say coldly. 

He gnashes his teeth and glares at each of us in turn, like he’s measuring necks for a blade. The minute stretches, ugly and taut. You can see the gears turning in his head. His pride pawing at angles, old cunning testing every seam of the trap. But nothing gives. Then something in him settles. His face doesn’t soften, it hardens, like a mask fitted tighter. Defeat creeps across his eyes.

“Allow me to keep some magic.” He says. Not asks. Demands. 

“Hell no.” I say, on instinct. His glare could kill a man. 

“I’ll die without it.” He insists. That knocks me off balance. I cut a look to Tarish. He blinks once, considering, then inclines his head.

“That… Might be true.” He admits. 

“Fae magic is tied to our immortality. Without it, ageing resumes. He would live… Perhaps sixty years. Then he would die.” He explains. Sixty years sounds like forever if you’re human. It sounds like tomorrow if you’ve lived centuries. My stomach flips.

“Hold up…” I say, words tripping over each other. 

“You’re saying a tiny amount of magic is enough to make a fae… Immortal. Any small amount?” I repeat. 

“Yes.” Tarish says, matter-of-fact, clearly not tracking why my face just fell off. 

“A spark suffices. First magic binds the body to its pattern. With no magic, a fae resumes time’s lane. With some, you step out of it.” He says it like it’s some common knowledge that everyone just knows. News flash. It is not.

“Are… Are you saying that the day you gave me magic… I became immortal?” The word feels ridiculous in my mouth, like I’ve borrowed it and it doesn’t fit. Tarish tilts his head, baffled by the obvious. 

“Well, yes. I can’t see why not. You are half human, but your magic is fae,  it will preserve you the same way. That is why first magic is given formally. Did you not realise?” He asks. 

“I… No.” I say, small and honest. My brain does a slow somersault. The library burned, my grandfather is glittered and tied to the floor, and somehow THIS is the thing that knocks the wind from me. Oz clears his throat, quiet enough that it barely touches the air. 

“Princess, that might be a better discussion for later.” He murmurs, the warning warm and gentle. 

“Right.” I say, numb, and jam the panic into a box I will absolutely avoid opening for at least… A while. I turn back to the man who started this.

“Fine.” I say, and my voice steadies on purpose. 

“One bit. One harmless slice. You keep basic illusion. The glamour you use to sit your face right and clothes neat, the small tricks to pass in a crowd. Nothing that moves minds, nothing that moves bodies, nothing that binds, burns, calls, or compels. A spark, not a blade. Nothing that can be used to hurt others.” I say firmly. Basically, I’m offering him the children’s magic that Tarish gave me. My grandfather stares at me like I’ve offered him a beggar’s bowl. His jaw grates. Pride wars with reason behind his eyes. There’s only the boundary I drew. Live small, or don’t live long. When he speaks, it rips out of him. 

“Fine.” He spits.