Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 52

**KACIA**

The bartender stares me down for a full minute. I keep my expression smooth, my posture loose, like I have all the time in the world, even though inside I’m freaking the hell out. My pulse is so loud it feels like it’s rattling my teeth. But HE doesn’t need to know that.

“I… I don’t know, I’d have to call the owner.” He hedges, licking his lips nervously. I shrug, casual and bored, like this is merely an inconvenience to my evening plans. 

“Then call.” I say lightly, cocking my head. 

“But are you sure your boss will appreciate being called down to deal with a fae problem?” I ask. His face drains of colour so quickly I’m almost worried he might faint. Almost. 

“I… Guess not.” He mumbles.

“Didn’t think so.” I say mildly. I notice Angelo standing off to the side, shuffling his feet, his eyes locked on the floor like if he just doesn’t blink long enough he’ll disappear into it. Poor thing looks like he might shake apart at the seams.

“But… The spell… I don’t know how to break it.” The bartender protests weakly. I roll my eyes dramatically. 

“Angelo, do you know how to break it?” I say sweetly. He bites his lip hard enough to turn it white, then gives a jerky nod. 

“Y-yes. It’s… In the locked office. There’s a contract with a magical seal on it that a witch made. If you… if you break the seal, I… I should be able to leave.” He whispers, voice trembling with a mixture of hope and terror. I smile brightly. 

“There you go. Easy peasy.” I practically sing the words. I turn to the bartender, eyes sharp as daggers under my sweetness. 

“Come on. Take me to the office. I’ll break the seal myself.” I demand. He hesitates, mouth opening like he’s about to argue, but I raise an eyebrow, just a fraction, and he visibly flinches back.

“Lead the way, Angelo.” I say, gesturing forward. Angelo looks like he wants to crawl under a rock and disappear, but after a moment of trembling, his shoulders twitch like he’s remembered his dignity. He lifts his chin and scurries ahead, leading me through the bar toward the back hallway. The bartender trails after us, practically wringing his rag between his hands, eyes darting nervously around like he’s hoping someone, anyone, will come save him from this situation. The office door is locked, obviously. I fold my arms and stare him down.

“Well? Are you going to unlock the door, or shall I break it down and add the repairs to your tab?” I ask calmly. His shoulders slump in defeat. With a trembling sigh, he pulls out a set of battered keys and unlocks the door. I push it open without hesitation, Angelo close at my side. The room is a disgusting mess. Sticky coffee cups with mould growing in them sit atop towers of yellowing paperwork. There’s a thick smell of stale sweat and old takeaway boxes. Everything is cluttered and dusty and chaotic. Of course it is. Angelo is the only one who cleans around here, and this room was kept locked away from him. 

“Where is it?” I demand, scanning the room. The bartender shrugs helplessly. 

“I… I don’t know! I didn’t even know about any seal!” He insists, his voice rising into a panicked squeak. I roll my eyes and wave a dismissive hand. 

“Then I suggest you help me look for it.” I say, my voice sharpening just enough to make him flinch again. Without waiting for a response, I stride forward and begin rifling through piles of paperwork. I’m not careful. In fact, I go out of my way to make sure I’m not careful. Anyone who keeps a slave deserves a little chaos in their life. Papers go flying. Files are knocked onto the floor in messy heaps. I open random drawers and rearrange them just to be petty. I even knock a cracked coffee mug onto its side, letting stale sludge spill across a stack of invoices. Oops. Eventually, I find a locked drawer at the bottom of the desk. I glance up at the bartender, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He just stares at me, wide eyed and useless.

“Pathetic.” I mutter. Instead of asking for a key, I grip the drawer handle, brace a foot against the desk, and yank. There’s a harsh crack as the cheap wood splinters and the lock snaps open. 

“Found it!” I declare in a singsong tone, holding up a thick folded document bound with wax seals etched with witch sigils. Angelo’s eyes go wide, shimmering with tears he’s too afraid to let fall. I turn to him, my smile softening a fraction.

“Would you like to do the honours, or shall I?” I offer. He stares at the paper like it’s a viper about to strike. His small hands curl into fists at his sides. Finally, his voice comes out in a tremulous whisper. 

“I think… maybe you should do it.” He responds. I nod once. 

“Suit yourself.” I answer. I pull a dagger from my pocket. It’s small, simple, and sharp as hell. With one smooth motion, I slice the seal in half. Then again. And again. I keep cutting until the pieces are tiny fragments scattered across the filthy desk. Then, just to be sure, I pull my lighter from my pocket, flick it on, and set the shredded remnants alight. The smell of burning wax and old paper fills the room as I watch the seal curl into blackened ash. 

When the flames die, I flick the last smouldering scraps into the overflowing metal waste bin and snap my lighter shut with a decisive little click. Nothing dramatic happens. No burst of light. No crack of released magic. No shimmering aura of freedom. Just… Ash. I frown slightly, I expected something a little more flashy. 

“Did it work?” I ask, unsure, glancing between Angelo and the bartender. The bartender just shrugs helplessly, eyes darting anywhere but at me. Angelo furrows his brow, his little hands twisting together anxiously. 

“I’m… Not sure.” He whispers, voice trembling with hope he doesn’t dare believe in. I nod, inhaling deeply to steady myself. 

“Alright, well, there’s an easy way to find out,” I say, forcing optimism into my tone. 

“Let’s try to leave.” I suggest. Angelo looks terrified at the suggestion. His shoulders curl forward like he’s trying to make himself invisible. The bartender hovers behind him, equally anxious but clearly desperate for this whole situation to be over. I suspect he’s already rehearsing the call he’ll need to make to his boss, but honestly? I couldn’t care less about his problems. I step out of the office and gesture toward the bar’s front door. 

“Come on.” I say, tilting my head in encouragement. Angelo hesitates in the doorway like there’s an invisible barrier he can’t push through. His small chest heaves with shallow breaths. His gaze flickers up to meet mine, wide eyed and searching.

“Go on, you’re free, Angelo. All you have to do is step out.” I urge softly, silently praying that it works. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. Then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he shuffles forward. One step. Two. His foot crosses the threshold… And he bursts into tears. A ragged, broken sob tears from his chest. His knees buckle and he catches himself against the doorframe, tears streaking down his lined cheeks, his shoulders shaking with quiet, overwhelming relief. Behind us, the bartender wastes no time. He slams the door shut with a bang that rattles the frame, the lock snicking loudly into place, as if to shut us, and this whole uncomfortable truth, out of his world for good. Whatever. Let him rot in there with his cowardice.

“Come on, Angelo, let’s get out of here.” I say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. He’s still crying silently, sniffling and rubbing at his face with the backs of his tiny hands as we walk across the carpark. I don’t even know where to take him. Back to the library? Back to… Where? He has no home. No place that’s his own, and I don’t think he’s quite ready to face the world yet. I glance at him, curled small in the seat, clutching his hands in his lap as tears still spill silently down his face.

“Alright, home it is.” I murmur to myself, decision solidifying. I drive back to my place in silence, the radio off, the only sounds the quiet sniffles from Angelo and the faint hum of the car engine. As I pull into my driveway, he finally manages to find his voice.

“Thank you.” He whispers, so quiet I almost miss it. I smile softly at him in the dim interior. 

“Don’t worry about it.” I say lightly. 

“That was easier than I expected. I didn’t even need to actually fight anyone today.” I joke. He gives a watery little laugh at that, wiping his eyes with trembling fingers. The sound makes my chest tighten painfully. He turns to look at me, still blinking back tears. 

“Um… I… If you don’t mind me asking… You’re fae?” He ventures timidly, his eyes flicking uncertainly to my pointed ears peeking through my hair.

“Half fae, technically.” I correct gently. 

“My mother was human. She raised me. I’m… Not really part of the Courts, if that’s what you’re asking. And I have no actual magic or power, that part was a total bluff.” I answer with a shrug. Angelo nods, like that answers a question he didn’t dare voice aloud. Maybe it does. Maybe, to him, that means I’m safe. 

“Come on, let’s get inside where it’s warm. We’ll find something for you to eat. Then… We can figure out what comes next. Together.” I say, reaching across to ruffle his hair lightly before climbing out of the car. He gives me a watery smile, eyes bright with gratitude. For the first time in hours, I feel like I can breathe again. I feel proud of myself. Maybe I can make my fae blood work to my advantage, as long as I can survive it first.