Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 34

**KACIA**

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m taking longer in the bathroom than usual. Way longer. At this point, I’m well past normal grooming and fully into strategically buying time. First, I fix my hair. Not just tidy it, really fix it. I’ve taught myself over the years to work around the whole pointed ear situation. I’ve got styles that frame my face just right, that subtly conceal the parts of me I don’t always feel safe showing. Still, I can’t help but sigh. I wish I could wear it loose like other women do. Just… Let it fall. Natural. Effortless. I do actually LIKE my hair down. But I can’t. Not unless I want to out myself in the middle of town. So instead, I settle for something sleek and structured, neat braids pinned in place, strategic tendrils loose around my face. It works. It always does. That doesn’t mean I always like it. Next up, my contacts. I pop them in with practiced ease, hiding the too bright, too obvious purple of my eyes. The shade is barely believable as ‘cosmetic’ even when I dull it with coloured lenses. Now they look more like a muddy brown with tiny hints of purple if you look really, really close. Still, it’s enough to pass. Enough to blend in. Enough to pretend. Then comes makeup. Just a bit. I don’t always wear it. Applying makeup is just too much effort most days, but this morning, I look pale. Washed out. Recovering from total paralysis will do that to a girl. A little foundation, a touch of blush, a swipe of lip tint. I even add a smudge of eyeliner for good measure. I’m no expert at makeup, but I can do an okay job. And I even put in a little extra care today. Because here’s the truth, I want to look nice today. Not for anyone in particular. Obviously. I’m not that desperate. Except… Maybe I am. Just a little. Oz is in my kitchen. Acting like nothing happened. Acting like we DIDN’T almost kiss last night. Like he didn’t lean in and then… Nothing. He pulled back. Looked at me like he was about to say something, then didn’t. Just left me standing there, embarrassed and confused and… Honestly? Hurt. And this morning? He looked freshly showered. Rested. Ridiculously good in the casual clothes he clearly picked out without any effort at all. Meanwhile, I looked like I’d been dragged backwards through my own laundry basket. So yeah. I’m taking some time. Call it vanity. Call it pride. Call it the lingering need to have the upper hand, even if I’m not sure what game we’re playing anymore. I WANT him to notice me. Not just flirt with me because it’s his default setting. I want him to regret pulling away. And if I can’t figure out what’s going on inside that frustratingly unreadable head of his, I can at least walk back out there feeling a little more like myself. Even if I'm still not sure whether I want to kiss him or punch him.

I’m just finishing the final step in my personal daily illusion, also known as dousing my hair in half a can of hairspray, when I catch it. Movement. It’s faint. Barely more than a shimmer at the edge of the mirror’s reflection. But it’s there. A flicker of something, someone, just behind me. I spin, heart hammering, already halfway into a fight stance, ready to yell at Oz for barging into the bathroom like a damn creep. But there’s no one there. The bathroom is empty. Still. Unchanged. I carefully check and find that the door is locked. The window’s shut. Nothing’s out of place. But the chill that lingers on my spine doesn’t care about any of that. I stare for a second longer, then shake my head and try to push the tension off. I’m just jumpy. That’s all. I’ve had a hell of a week, and my brain is still recovering. Even so… I can’t shake the prickling feeling that someone, or something, was watching me. By the time I step out into the living room, I’ve tucked it away under the rest of my anxieties. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like missing hellhounds. And Oz. Speaking of…

“Ready to go, lovely?” Oz greets me cheerfully. Too cheerfully.

“Almost.” I answer, distracted. I veer toward the wall where I keep my weapons. Today’s mission might just involve chatting with parents and searching for an absent minded hellhound, but after the whole basilisk thing, I’m not taking chances. That wasn’t meant to be a dangerous task either. Still, I have to be smart about it. Walking through human populated streets means no obvious gear. No thigh holsters or long blades or anything that might get me tackled by security guards. I pick out my smallest boot knife and slip it into place. Then I grab a wicked little blade and, after a second’s hesitation, slide it into the hidden sheath inside my bra. I glance up mid-motion, just in time to catch Oz definitely looking, and then just as quickly pretending he wasn’t. Huh. That’s… Interesting. Not that I was TRYING to catch his attention. But a little validation is nice. Especially after the emotional whiplash of last night. I pull on my favourite worn leather jacket, shrugging it into place like armor. One more blade goes into the pocket, perfectly concealed. It’s probably not strictly legal to walk around this armed, but when you’re a non magical half fae in a world full of teeth and claws and elemental fire, I figure a few shiny knives are just leveling the playing field. And if I do get arrested? Well. Mikey owes me a few favours. I might have an odd reputation at the station, but I’m seen as generally helpful so I think I’d be okay. And technically I’m on duty. Sort of. Probably. I glance at Oz. He’s watching me with that unreadable expression he wears sometimes. Guarded, but with the tiniest trace of something softer around the edges.

“Alright, now I’m ready.” I say, brushing a stray hair out of my face.

The drive to Dave’s parents’ house is short. Surprisingly short, actually. I realise with a jolt that they only live a few streets over. Which means I’ve probably passed their place a dozen times and never noticed. It’s strange how easy it is to overlook someone until they go missing. I focus on the road, eyes flicking between the street signs and my mirrors, but I’m aware of Oz beside me. Too aware. Because something’s… Off. It takes me a minute to place it, but when I do, it’s jarring. Oz hasn’t touched me. Not once. No casual brush of his hand against mine. No subtle nudge of his shoulder. No dramatic sighs as he leans far too close to make some ridiculous comment. Even his tail, normally expressive and impossible to ignore, is tucked neatly out of the way like it's on its best behaviour. The only contact we’ve had all morning is when I pushed his hand away from my plate earlier. If I hadn’t spent the entire morning wondering if I imagined the near kiss, this would’ve confirmed it happened. Because the sudden, deliberate lack of contact? That says everything. So. He is feeling awkward. Good. At least I’m not the only one spiraling. Not that you’d know it from how he's acting. Oz is humming along to a song on the radio, something annoyingly upbeat, and fiddling with the dials like we’re on a leisurely road trip instead of heading to investigate a missing persons case. His whole posture is relaxed. Easy. Like nothing ever happened. Except… It did. And I have no idea what to do with that. Still, I keep my eyes on the road and my mouth shut. For now. We arrive a few minutes later at a modest brick house tucked behind a low hedge. It’s tidy but lived in. A couple of bikes on the porch. A well loved garden in the front yard. The kind of place that makes you hope nothing too bad has happened, because bad things aren’t supposed to happen somewhere this… Normal. When we knock, the door is answered almost immediately by a tired looking woman in a knitted jumper that’s unraveling at the cuffs. Behind her, a broad shouldered man steps into view, clearly sizing us up. They’re wolf shifters, it’s obvious from the slightly golden glint I see when the light hits their eyes, the posture, the way they both instinctively scent the air as they greet us. But there’s no hostility. Just a low grade tension humming beneath their polite smiles.

“Hi, Clarence sent us. We’re here about Dave. I was hoping to ask a few questions?” I say politely. Their expressions soften.

“Oh, of course.” The woman says, stepping back to let us in. 

“It’s good someone’s looking. We’re not worried worried, not yet, but he’s been gone a little too long to sit still about it, y’know?” She says with a slightly exasperated sigh. 

“Yeah, it’s not unusual for him to run off. But he usually checks in. Especially if he’s hungry.” The man adds, scratching the back of his neck. Oz chuckles softly behind me, and I can feel his amusement like a warm breeze. But he’s still not touching me. We step inside, and I pull out my notebook. I’m here to work. Feelings can wait.