Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 158

**KACIA**

For a long moment, I don’t move. Oz’s arms are wrapped tightly around me, one hand resting against the back of my head, the other pressed firm between my shoulder blades as if he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go. His warmth seeps into my skin, his steady heartbeat grounding me in a way nothing else ever could. The world feels strangely muted, like everything beyond the circle of his embrace has gone quiet, giving me a brief, impossible pocket of peace after all the chaos. I can feel the faint, comforting beat of his heart in his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing against my cheek, the quiet rasp of his voice when he whispers something soft that I don’t quite catch. Maybe my name. Maybe just a sound. It doesn’t matter. The meaning is there anyway. I’m safe now. I stay like this for as long as I can, soaking up the safety, the warmth, the steady presence that’s been my anchor through every impossible moment recently. I let myself breathe him in, the faint scent of smoke and magic and something uniquely Oz. My chest aches with relief and exhaustion all at once, like I’ve been holding my breath for weeks and only now remembered how to exhale. But eventually, guilt creeps in. I can’t just hide here forever, not when everyone else is standing around, waiting, talking. Not when there’s still a bunch of people who deserve my attention too. So I pull back a little, not much, just enough to see him properly. His hand lingers against my back, but the air feels cooler instantly, emptier. I look around, trying to anchor myself back to the moment. That’s when my eyes land on him. My grandfather. Or rather, what’s left of him. It’s strange, how something so monstrous can look so small when it’s over. I know it’s cruel to feel happy that someone’s dead, but to be fair… He was the one who wanted me dead. I think I’m allowed a little satisfaction for surviving him. It doesn’t feel real yet. The idea that he’s gone. That the danger, the fear, the constant, suffocating tension that’s been pressing against my ribs for months, or realistically for my whole life. It’s just gone. No more hiding, not who I am, not what I am. No more pretending I’m something smaller, quieter, safer. For the first time in my life, there’s no one left to be afraid of. Sure, some people will still resent me for being half fae, but now that I’m technically a Lady, whatever that even means, I’m fairly sure they won’t dare say it out loud. My friends are safe. My mother is safe. Oz is safe. He doesn’t have to follow me anymore, doesn’t have to guard me, or fight for me, or stand between me and death every other day. Which means… Oz can leave. The thought hits like a slap. Sharp and cold. My eyes dart down to where his arms are still wrapped loosely around me, and that’s when I see it. The markings. The faint, vine-like symbols etched across his skin, the visible trace of the binding spell that trapped him here, they’re still there. A wave of relief floods through me before I can stop it, followed immediately by crushing guilt. What kind of person feels relieved that the person she loves is still magically bound? That he’s still trapped here? My fingers tremble as I trace one of the markings with my fingertips. Oz’s gaze meets mine, and he gives a small, reassuring smile. It doesn’t last. His eyes drop to my hand, to the marks on his skin, and I see the moment realisation dawns.

“The bindings…” His voice is quiet but steady. 

“They’re not gone. But he’s dead.” He says, confused. The words hang in the silence like smoke. Even though he spoke softly, everyone hears. Everyone feels it. The room stills, and all eyes turn toward him. Then, slowly, toward Tarish. The fae’s brow furrows as he thinks, his fingers tapping against his chin. Then, suddenly, his expression clears, bright with understanding.

“It’s because the spell wasn’t his anymore when he passed.” Tarish says. 

“He had already transferred the magic to you.” He adds. I blink, not sure I’ve heard right. 

“Wait, so you’re saying the binding spell hasn’t broken because I’m still alive?” I say dubiously. He chuckles softly, apparently amused by my horror. 

“Yes, technically. But there’s no need to do anything as dramatic as dying to end it. You just need to release the spell yourself.” He explains. His smile tilts, almost teasing. 

“Uhm. Well, that’s great.” I say, forcing a weak laugh that sounds about as convincing as a wet match trying to spark.

“But how? Because I’m currently doing my best not to accidentally blow something up just by existing, and doing a spell like that sounds super complicated.” I point out. Tarish looks entirely too calm for someone about to talk me through magical unbinding.

“Not that I don’t want to do it!” I add quickly, hands lifting in immediate panic. 

“I’m not saying that! I just…” I glance at Oz, terrified he might think I’m hesitating because I don’t want to let him go. 

“I just don’t know if I’ll, you know, explode in the process.” I explain. Oz squeezes my hand lightly, grounding me in that quiet, wordless way he does. The touch alone settles something deep in my chest, even if my brain is still trying to claw its way up the walls. His expression is soft, steady, an anchor. He’s not thinking I’m trying to keep him trapped. He knows me too well for that. Tarish smiles, the kind of warm, patient smile that says he’s explained this sort of thing to idiots before and finds it charming.

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t actually have to DO a spell.” He says. 

“You just have to stop doing one. It’s much easier. And safer. You can’t really mess it up, if you do, all that happens is nothing.” He adds. I exhale in relief, my shoulders slumping.

 “Okay, that’s not so bad.” I admit. 

“So… How do I do it?” I ask, tired and a little numb. My brain can’t decide whether it wants to get this over with immediately or delay it forever. Either way, it’s going to hurt. I’ll either be miserable because Oz is gone, or miserable because he’s not gone yet and I’m still clinging to him like a coward. Rip the bandaid off, Kacia. Just do it.

“Well, like the rest of your magic, it’s all about focus. If you concentrate on the spell, you should be able to feel it. Then just… Stop. If you have trouble identifying it, look at the markings, they’ll guide you.” Tarish continues,

“Right… Focus. Simple. No pressure.” I murmur, trying to sound competent. I close my eyes and take a slow, steadying breath. Then another. The hum of magic inside me is immediate. It’s wild, bright and endless. For a moment, it’s too much. I can feel everything, layers of spells, enchantments, threads of light and shadow tangled through me like a thousand strings pulled tight. My pulse stutters. Oz’s arms tighten just a little around me. That’s all it takes. I cling to that feeling, the strength in his grip, the steady rhythm of his breathing. My heartbeat starts to even out. Okay. I can do this. I try to follow Tarish’s instructions, searching through the storm of energy for something that feels like the binding spell. But there’s too much. Hundreds, no, thousands, of spells humming in the background of my consciousness. Generations of Fae nonsense, lingering curses, wards, protections, and who knows what else. 

“Oh, perfect, this’ll only take a lifetime to sort out.” I mutter under my breath. Somewhere in the chaos, my thoughts start spiralling. Maybe I should put out some kind of magical PSA. ‘Are you being inconvenienced by a spell cast by the late Lord Asshole, uh, Alhwin? Contact Kacia for removal services, satisfaction not guaranteed.’ It’s a stupid idea. But… Maybe it’s not? If it’s stupid and it works, then it’s not really stupid, right? I grimace. 

“Wow, I am terrible at this focus thing.” I mumble. 

“I blame exhaustion. And trauma. And, you know, generational magical inheritance.” I complain. Tarish says something encouraging, but I’m already trying again. I trace my fingers lightly over the markings on Oz’s arm, focusing every ounce of concentration I have on that single thread of magic. It’s there, humming like a live wire under my skin. And then I see it. Not just in my mind, but in the air itself, the markings on his arms glowing faintly, shifting like living vines curling around him. I can feel the trapped magic inside him, heavy and caged. His portal magic. His way home. My throat tightens.

“I found it,” I whisper. Oz’s eyes meet mine. For a heartbeat, the world holds perfectly still.

“Just stop. Let it go.” Tarish reminds gently. So I do. I stop. It’s like unclenching a fist I didn’t know I was making. The pressure releases all at once. The glowing vines shimmer, then crumble into dust, falling away from Oz’s skin before vanishing into the air. For half a second, he tightens his hold around me. Then, before I can even breathe his name, there’s a flicker. A shift in the air. A shadow that ripples through the room like a held breath. And then he’s gone.