Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 27

**KAICA**

As the sun sinks behind the skyline, the library begins to change. And not in the metaphorical, ‘people quiet down and the lighting dims’ kind of way. I mean it actually literally transforms. Like some enchantment woven into the walls lifts its mask and says, ‘Alright, the mortals are gone. Let’s be real now.’ It’s subtle at first. The faint thud of footsteps replaced by a rhythmic clop of hooves on tile. The rustling of wings overhead, soft and leathery, like bat wings, not feathers. Someone hisses something in a language that makes the back of my brain itch. A breeze moves through the building, but the windows don’t open and the air smells like cinnamon bark and citrus. Magic isn’t being hidden anymore, it’s humming through the air like background music you can’t help but notice. I watch through the little window looking out of this study room onto the hallway and library. The lighting changes too, shifting from that institutional white yellow glare to a much softer glow, cooler in some corners, warmer in others. I realise, after watching for a while, that it’s responding to whoever is nearby. There’s a little knot of sirens judging by the softly glowing tattoos and that unnatural hair, and the light around them shifts to a dim blue twilight, like underwater moonlight. When a vampire stalks past, his long coat flapping dramatically, the corridor behind him seems to flicker into gothic candlelight. Even the bookshelves seem to move. Not much. Just enough to be noticed if you’re watching carefully. Like they’re… Adjusting. Resettling themselves to better suit the supernatural crowd. A row of thick tomes shifts downward, presumably within easier reach of a goblin who passes by with a string of enchanted crystals jangling from his belt. And, of course, there’s Vidar. He’s spent the whole day looking like some kind of gym rat librarian in thick glasses, intimidating, but human enough to pass. But now, as the glamours drop, he lets his fall too. And… Yeah. Imagine if a statue of a Greek hero and a cathedral gargoyle had a baby, and then enchanted that baby to look slightly annoyed by everything, but also willing to help you if you’re polite enough. His skin goes from ordinary tan to a deep, storm cloud grey. His features, already sharp, now look almost too perfect, literally chiselled, but not in an unnatural way. He has flaws, his nose is a little crooked for example. But the flaws just make him seem less… Statue like. His wings, now visible, are folded behind him neatly, like he doesn’t want to take up too much space despite clearly being the biggest damn person in most rooms. It’s like someone spent a hundred years sculpting a man out of mountain stone, then decided he also needed wings, claws, and just enough facial symmetry to make you feel awkward about finding a literal rock monster handsome. Now that he’s fully revealed, his hair doesn’t look greying at all, it’s more like white fire, silvery and bright, an odd contrast to the deep slate of his skin. It’s not quite the ash grey Oz turns when he drops his glamour. Oz still looks skin- extured, he has hints of colour in his skin, if you cut him, it’s pretty obvious that he would bleed. Vidar looks like an actual slab of enchanted granite with opinions. He looks like if you tried to cut him, you would just blunt your knife. I’m oddly mesmerized. I’ve never actually seen a gargoyle drop glamour before. They don’t do it often. Not because they’re shy, they’re just practical. Why reveal something if there’s no need? But here, in the soft hush of a post sunset magical library, everything unravels. Everything is true. Everyone is what they are. And somehow, that makes this library feel safer than any fortress. Especially with Vidar protecting it. I don’t blame Taryn one bit. If I had to stare at that from a garden all day and couldn’t go in to flirt? I’d be in agony. But right now…. All I want to do is poke him. Not in a weird way. Just, purely scientific curiosity. Does he feel like stone? Or does the texture just look like that? Does his skin warm up from body heat? Or is it cool all the way through? I can’t exactly ask. I can’t exactly move, either. Which is a shame, because if I WERE capable of standing up and offering an over the top thank you for keeping me safe  monologue, I could PROBABLY work a handshake into it. A handshake that just so happens to involve my hand making deliberate contact with his arm. For science. Instead, all I can manage is a vague, tired nod and a croaky thanks. Not my best work. Certainly not enough to satisfy the burning urge to determine if gargoyles are warm stone or cold stone… This is going to haunt me. Ugh, so annoying.

My stomach growls. Loudly. Like, embarrassingly loudly. Both Oz and Vidar turn to look at me. Vidar looks amused. Oz looks sympathetic. Fair enough, he hasn’t eaten either.

“We should… Get food.” I croak out, sounding like a frog that’s been through hell. Vidar nods. 

“The library has a cafe” He reminds me. Oz raises an eyebrow, clearly baffled. 

“Why would a library have a cafe? And why is it open this late?” He asks. Vidar shrugs like it’s obvious. 

“Because after dark, this library stops being just a library. It turns into more of a supernatural community centre. Of course there’s food. The night librarian should be in by now. I wouldn’t recommend raising your voice, though. Clarence has very strong feelings about that.” He warns. I manage a smile, even through the dry mouth and bone deep exhaustion. Clarence is an elderly witch who TECHNICALLY works here as a librarian. Sure you can borrow books from him, but mostly he just patrols the aisles breaking up fights and enforcing magical quiet time.

“Sounds good.” I say, hoarse but determined. Oz gives me that skeptical face. The one that says, really?

“Can you even make it there?” He asks, not unkindly.

“Of course I can,” I snap, offended on principle. Then, after a beat of honesty, I amend my statement,

“...If you’re willing to give me a hand?” I ask, a little embarrassed. His grin is instant and way too smug. 

“Hand, arm, leg, Kacia, darling, I’ll give you whatever part of me you like.” Oz answers flirtatiously. Vidar bursts out laughing and I go absolutely crimson. I hate him. I don’t, but I do. 

Apparently, despite my insistence, Oz decides I’m not walking anywhere. He scoops me up like it’s the easiest thing in the world and carries me into the hallway. We don’t get far before we run directly into something, or rather, someone. Or more accurately, THROUGH someone.

“HEY! That’s not very nice, Mr. Demon!” Chirps a small voice behind us. Oz whirls around with me in his arms. There’s the little girl again. Blonde curls, grey dress, very much unbothered by being just walked through. She’s smoothing down her skirt like we wrinkled her.

“What the hell?” Oz mutters, frowning at her. Then his eyes brighten, like something’s clicking. “Oh… You’re a-” Before he can finish that sentence, Vidar slaps a hand over his mouth. Hard.

“A little corporeally challenged.” Vidar says smoothly, then turns to her with a smile. 

“Izzy, why don’t you head to our reading corner? I’ll join you in just a second and we’ll keep reading The Whispering Woods. You don’t want to leave the forest spirits waiting, do you?” He says gently. Izzy claps her hands in delight. 

“Yes, Mr. Vidar!” She chirps, and darts off down the hallway. I suddenly notice that it’s completely soundless. No footsteps. No weight. Just a fluttering presence. Vidar slowly removes his hand from Oz’s mouth.

“She’s… dead.” Oz says, staring after her. 

“She’s a ghost.” He stammers out. Vidar sighs, like he’s had this conversation too many times. 

“Yes. Obviously. She knows, on some level I think. But we don’t talk about it. Not to her. The last time someone said the word ‘ghost’ in her earshot, she went full poltergeist and took out two wings of nonfiction.” He explains. 

“Oh…” I breathe. There’s a hollow weight in my chest. That poor kid… Oz frowns. 

“How long has she been here?” He asks. Vidar shakes his head. 

“Longer than me. Her full name is Isolde, but she likes Izzy better. She’s… Old. I think. Or she knows old things, anyway. But she chooses to live as a child, so that’s what she does.” Her explains. There’s a strange finality in his voice when he says it. Like he’s made peace with it, even if it never makes full sense. Vidar looks at both of us sternly. 

“It’s my job to protect the library, and that means everyone in it. Even the ones who don’t breathe anymore.” He warns. Oz nods, serious now. 

“Agreed.” He says sincerely. 

“Absolutely.” I echo softly. And we continue down the hall, in a place where the dead read fairy tales, the food is always warm, and raising your voice is the real danger.