Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 21

**KACIA**

We head out to my car, and as soon as I open the door I stop dead. It’s... Clean. No, scratch that, it’s spotless. Not just the ‘hey, I picked up the takeout bags and kicked the receipts under the sea’” kind of clean. I mean full on detailed. The dash is wiped down, the crumbs I pretended didn’t exist are gone, and the windows are somehow clearer than when I bought the car. I can see my reflection in the rear view mirror housing. When has that ever happened? And of course, there is no sign of the blood and other mess that was on the back seat from Oz’s rescue. Hell., even my floor mats look vacuumed. I didn’t even know they had a recognisable texture under there! I blink at the miracle before me. 

“Did… Someone let Angelo loose in here?” I say, half joking, half serious. Beside me, Oz is visibly bouncing with restrained pride. Hands behind his back. Shoulders back. Tail clearly wrapped snugly around his waist under his shirt, because while I can’t see it, the way his torso shifts slightly with each twitch is a dead giveaway. Oh. He definitely did this. I squint at him. 

“You cleaned my car?” I ask, a little confused. He grins, unapologetic and smug as hell.

 “I figured it could use some love, most of the mess was my fault anyway. Also, I was awake and twitchy. And I thought it might improve your mood.” He adds. My mood does improve. Which is annoying. Because now he’s going to know he was right. This man cleaned my car last night. Like, deep cleaned it. And now he's acting like it’s just a totally normal thing to do. Then again, he did also move into my house without asking. So maybe this is normal for him. And okay, fine, maybe that’s kind of sweet. In a mildly alarming, completely unrequested domestic sort of way.

Feeling way more cheerful than I have any right to be, I slide into the driver’s seat. Oz hops into the passenger seat like he’s proud of himself for passing a test I didn’t assign. He buckles up with a little hum, settling his shoulders and adjusting the hoodie that helps disguise the slight outline of his tail. I resist the urge to say thank you. Barely. Because we’ve got errands to run. Plus he’s already so damn smug, and I'm not about to let myself be out charmed by a guy who sleeps on my couch and calls me sweetheart like it’s a habit. Next stop:,the magic supply store. The thing about these places is that even the reputable ones are usually located in sketchy parts of town. Back alleys. Dead ends. Half forgotten storefronts with paint peeling off the signs and at least one customer loitering who you definitely don’t want to make eye contact with. And that’s by design. For one, they discourage clueless humans from wandering in and accidentally summoning something that eats faces. Two, spellcasters are notoriously protective of their methods, no one wants their competitors seeing what’s on their shopping list. And three… Look, not ALL magical ingredients are ethically sourced. Sometimes you really don’t want to know where the basilisk scales came from. It’s kind of a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ sort of economy. Still, there are levels of sketchy, and we’re headed to one of the better ones. Ulric’s place is tucked down a side alley off the main street, out of the way, but not entirely off the grid. The shop itself is cramped, smells like burnt thyme and dusty shelves, and is usually half dismantled thanks to Ulric’s twin sons, who are chaos incarnate. But Ulric’s one of the good ones. Honest. Scrupulous. Kind of grumpy, but in a ‘I’m a single father with small children and no sleep’ sort of way. He doesn’t stock the nastier stuff. Hell, he once banned a guy for trying to sell him troll tusks with the nerve to say they were ‘ethically harvested.’ There is no such thing. Trolls don’t exactly volunteer. Basically, Ulric tries to keep his hands clean… Ish. The guy isn’t perfect, but I do think that ultimately he’s a good person. Which is why, if there’s anyone who’d appreciate the chance to buy demon blood with no moral baggage attached, it’s him. I glance at Oz as I drive, and he’s just sitting there, relaxed, hood up, arms folded loosely in his lap. I can tell from the way he occasionally shifts that his tail is uncomfortable, probably coiled too tight around his waist under the fabric. But he doesn’t complain. He seems kind of excited to be out and about. I roll my eyes, mostly at myself. I bet Ulric is going to love him. 

“If Ulric gives you a loyalty card, I’m throwing you out a window.” I mutter. Oz smirks. 

“A loyalty card sounds fun, how many points do I get for vacuuming?” He asks. I frown. 

“Why would Ulric give you points for cleaning MY car?” I point out. Oz leans in just slightly.

“Good point... Forget Ulric. I want YOUR loyalty card.” He says, his voice low and teasing.  I raise an eyebrow.

“My WHAT?” I demand. 

“You know, a punch card. Like, I make ten breakfasts and I earn the right to sit in your bed and call you darling without you threatening to stab me.” He explains. I have to work to keep my eyes on the road.

“You already do that.” I argue. 

“Exactly. I’m trying to retroactively earn credit.” He quips. I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Oz leans back against the passenger door with an exaggerated sigh, one leg bouncing lazily. 

“I’m just saying, I think I deserve at LEAST ten points for cleaning your car to your insanely high standards, princess.” He insists. I shoot him a side eye. 

“What makes you think I have high standards?” I ask. He snorts. 

“Uh... I’ve seen your house?” He says like it’s obvious. I open my mouth, close it again, then huff. 

“That proves nothing.” I mutter. He raises a brow. 

“Babe, your spice rack is alphabetised. Your fridge looks like it belongs in a catalogue. You own labelled storage bins.” He points out. 

“That's just basic organisation-” I start but he interrupts me. 

“You refolded the throw blanket I sat on. I was still in the room.” He says, like he's presenting hard evidence in court. I scowl at the road, trying not to smile. 

“Okay, fine. Maybe I like things tidy.” I reluctantly agree. He’s right, but I’m kind of enjoying the argument. 

“Which is why I deserve at least ten points, I vacuumed a car that was already cleaner than most surgical theatres. I think I found a single rogue sesame seed and it apologised to me.” He says smugly. I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. 

“You’re not getting points. Or a medal. Stop acting like deep cleaning something that was already pretty decent makes you a domestic hero.” I tell him. He gasps, hand on his chest like I just insulted his entire bloodline. 

“That was elite level emotional support disguised as sanitation. I expect to be adored accordingly.” He says dramatically. 

“You are so lucky I’m driving.” I mutter. There’s a pause. Then he smirks, pivoting the conversation all of a sudden.

“You know, I bet teen-you used to sneak into magic shops and buy totally useless ingredients just because they sounded cool.” He teases. I roll my eyes. 

“I did not.” I insist. 

“Come on, you definitely had a drawer full of powdered moonstone and fake unicorn hair. Like a little spell hoarder with a stationery problem.” He says, eyes twinkling.

“I did not-” I start, then groan. Even I can hear the lie in my voice. 

“Okay, MAYBE I bought one or two things. Once.” I reluctantly admit. He beams. 

“I KNEW it. What was it? Basilisk spit? Mermaid perfume?” He asks. I just know he won’t drop it until I give him an answer. 

“Siren-scale shimmer, which ended up just being glitter water by the way. The label said it ‘enhanced charisma.’ I was twelve. I thought it’d help me with presenting a group project.” I grumble, my face flushing red. He loses it, laughing hysterically. 

“Oh no. You thought sparkly brine would save you from social interaction.” He gasps out. 

“It was like forty percent of my grade. I was desperate!” I defend myself.

“You’re still desperate, you just hide it under knives and sarcasm now.” He says. I glance at him, deadpan. 

“And you hide yours under bacon and unsolicited housework.” I say flatly. He grins, completely unbothered. 

“Exactly. We all cope in our own ways.” He responds cheerfully. We pull up to the alley, and I shift into park. Oz leans in just slightly. 

“By the way, if Ulric does offer me a loyalty card… I’m using it to buy you more glitter water.” He says teasingly. I turn to glare at him, but he’s already halfway out the door, tail flicking smugly under his hoodie. Damn him.