Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 19

**OZ**

“They usually show up on Wednesdays and Fridays.” Angelo says. 

“They’re loud. Rude. They always take the same table near the back. Jarad’s the worst one, kind of the leader I think. He thinks he’s subtle but I’ve seen him pass off more illegal potions and vials than the bartender sells beers.” He scoffs. Kacia’s eyes flash.

“Jarad.” She repeats, tucking the name away like a weapon. Angelo nods. 

“He was here late last night, he got into an argument with someone about a product going missing. It got loud. Almost came to blows. I think he’s involved in more than just... Well, the stuff with the blood.” He says softly, glancing at me. I suspect he’s put some clues together and worked out that I’M the product that went missing. 

“Of course he is, parasites like that never stop at one crime.” I mutter. Kacia gently brings the conversation back around, asking a few more questions, gathering as much as she can without overwhelming Angelo. Along the way, she also learns who’s cheating at darts, who owes money to a vampire, and that the bartender once cried over a broken espresso machine. Eventually, though, Angelo starts to slow. His sentences trail off. He rubs at his eyes and yawns so wide it looks like it hurts. The poor guy is exhausted. Kacia sets her rag aside.

“We should go, you’ve helped us more than you know.” She says softly. Angelo blinks up at her, startled. 

“You’re leaving?” He echos, he looks disappointed. 

“We are. For now.” She smiles, warm and sure. 

“But I’m coming back. And I’m going to figure out how to get you out of here. I swear it.” She promises firmly. Angelo’s mouth opens like he’s going to protest, but no sound comes out. So he just nods. Once. Small and hopeful.

We make our way back out through the bar. I glare angrily and stomp through. I think I hate every single person in here. They sit at their tables, sip their drinks and play their card games like nothing is wrong. Like there isn’t a man sleeping on a pile of literal rags in the back room, cleaning their spilled beer and vomit with his bare hands because some fae bastard slapped a leash on his soul. I might be projecting a little, but it is in no way okay. I want to break something. Flip a table. Drive my fist into the wall just to mark this place with my rage. But I don’t. Mostly because Angelo would be the one to clean it up and he doesn’t deserve that. No one even LOOKS at us as we leave. Not the bartender, not the regulars, not the drunk guy half passed out at the bar. Just the same stale routine, like it never mattered. Like he doesn’t matter. They’re all just minding their own damn business. We step out into the night air and I feel the tension in Kacia shift the moment the door swings shut behind us. She holds it in until we reach the car. Then she explodes. 

“Those damn MONSTERS!” She snaps, slamming the door behind her so hard the whole vehicle shudders. 

“HOW can they do that to such a sweet man? Leaving a BROWNIE in a place like THAT?! It’s not just cruel, it’s, it’s basically TORTURE, Oz! Every minute he’s there, he’s suffering!” She rants angrily. Her hands are white knuckled on the steering wheel. She starts the engine out of habit, but the car doesn’t move. She’s too angry to drive. The fury is radiating off her in waves, her shoulders are tight and shaking and helpless. I know that feeling. I don’t say anything at first. Just sit in the passenger seat and let her burn. She needs it. But after a moment, my tail moves, slowly, instinctively, and reaches across the space between us. It curls over her thigh. Light. Just a gentle weight. The barest touch. She freezes. Her eyes don’t meet mine, but I see her shoulders drop half an inch. Just enough to breathe again. 

“I know, It’s not fair. None of it is.” I say quietly. My voice is softer than I expected. Steady, even though my hands are fists in my lap.

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart. I swear. We’ll find a way.” I promise. I mean every word. But I know it doesn’t help, not yet. Not when there’s still a leash around that man’s soul and no plan in sight. 

But I say it anyway. Because sometimes an empty comfort is all we have in the moment. And right now... She needs to hear it.

Eventually, Kacia calms down enough to drive. She’s not calm, exactly, her jaw is still tight and her eyes still cold. But she’s got enough control to get us moving without crashing the vehicle. She grumbles under her breath as we go, muttering things like ‘filthy bastards,’ and ‘slave keeping freaks,’ and ‘just ONE well aimed knife wouldn’t even be that illegal.’ Honestly, I admire her restraint. We’re maybe ten minutes from her place when she suddenly veers into a drive through lane with the kind of violent determination usually reserved for car chases in action movies. 

“They made me so angry I can’t even cook now.” She snaps, glaring at the glowing menu board like it personally offended her. 

“That place is ruining my health, Oz. I WAS gonna make something good, something with vegetables. But no. Now I want grease and salt and revenge.” Sje hisses. I nod solemnly. 

“An understandable reaction.” I respond. She huffs.I’m tempted to offer to cook for her. I could. I’m not terrible at it, especially if fire’s involved. But I don’t think this is about convenience. Or nutrition. I think Kaci just needs something warm and greasy to match the fire still simmering in her chest. Comfort food basically. So I let her have it and don’t question it. Then, as we wait in line behind someone who apparently has never seen a menu before, I let myself drift into quieter thoughts. Despite everything we saw tonight, the rage, the helplessness, the way Angelo looked when we left him, I feel... Weirdly hopeful. Kacia’s reaction, how furious she is on his behalf, it stuck with me. It cracked something open. Because that kind of fury doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from care. From someone who sees injustice and refuses to accept it. And it makes me think... Maybe, just maybe, when the time comes and I finally tell her everything, the truth about how I ended up here, about the Fae who summoned me, about the spell that stops me from going home and the condition for breaking it, maybe she won’t turn on me. Maybe she’ll understand. I want to believe that. I want to believe that the girl who just ranted herself into a fast food order over a brownie’s living conditions might still care about me, even after I tell her I was sent to kill her. Because I know I can’t keep it a secret forever. Eventually, the fae lord is going to realise I’m not following through. And when that happens... I shudder to think what he’ll do. He’s powerful. Vindictive. Obsessive. He won’t take the insult lightly. At the very least, I expect he’ll send someone else. Someone stronger. More obedient. Or at least more motivated than me. Which is why I can’t tell her yet. Because when that happens, when the next threat comes, and it will, I need to be ready. I can’t risk her sending me away because I need to be here. I need to keep her safe.