Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 82

**OZ**

I give it a proper go. Three solid hours of flipping through brittle pages, skimming ancient languages, cross referencing outdated fear magic theories with modern enchantment practices. The library has everything from dusty grimoires to sleek magical psychology manuals, none of them helpful. I already knew this was a long shot. Still, I wanted to try. For her. Most fear related magic is designed to create fear, not remove it. And the few things I do find that dampen or block it are… Temporary, at best. Suppression spells, emotional buffers, numbing charms. The sort of thing you use for trauma recovery or battlefield stabilisation, not for day to day living. But even if they worked? Even if I could whip up a spell that made Kacia immune to my magic eyes, just long enough for her to look at me without collapsing in terror, it still wouldn’t be right. Because fear isn’t just inconvenient. It’s necessary. It stops us from walking into traffic. Keeps us from punching vampires in alleyways or picking fights with fae Lords we can’t possibly win against. Fear draws the line between bold and reckless. Without it, people unravel. They say things they shouldn’t, do things they can’t take back. Taking Kacia’s fear away, even for a few minutes, feels like tampering with something that makes her HER. That fierce, brittle edge she holds herself together with, that fire, that bite. Even when she’s terrified, she fights. That’s who she is. And I’m not about to mess with that just so she can look me in the eyes for five seconds without flinching. There are other options, of course. Blinding enchantments. Magical vision dampeners. Even one theory that suggests surrounding oneself with mirrors could reflect the magic back and break the connection. But none of them are practical. Most would be dangerous. All of them, frankly, are ridiculous. Short of Kacia developing a natural immunity, which, according to everything I’ve read, is basically unheard of, or me removing my magic entirely, which… No. Absolutely not. That just raises the same issue of taking away part of what makes me ME. There’s nothing useful here. Nothing I haven’t already thought of. Nothing I didn’t already know. I close another book with a dull thud, jaw tight, resisting the urge to sigh. Again. After the third hour, I give up on pretending to care about what the pages say. But Kacia’s still going. She’s in a reading nook across the room, completely engrossed, flipping through yet another book with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. Her expression is equal parts fascination and determination. Every so often she leans forward, scribbles something into a notebook she grabbed from the front desk, then goes right back to reading like she’s about to uncover the secrets of the universe. And I just… Watch her. From the corner of my eye, pretending to flip pages I’ve already read twice, I let myself look. Really look. She’s lit up from the inside. It’s not something I see often, her unguarded curiosity. Usually, she’s all clipped words and narrowed eyes and biting sarcasm, but here? Here, she’s softer. Focused. Hungry for knowledge, like this is the first time she’s dared to even imagine she’s ALLOWED to ask these questions. I wonder what she’s finding. What she’s thinking. Whether she’s learning something that excites her, or something that hurts. I want to ask. But I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I fake it. I keep flipping pages so she won’t look over and catch me staring. Because the truth is, I don’t want to interrupt her. Not when she’s like this. Not when she looks like the idea of knowing more about herself is finally less terrifying than not knowing at all. I suppose if I didn’t know anything about demons, I would probably find reading about them a little more too. Hopefully she likes what she finds. 

Eventually, Kacia finishes reading and she stretches. It’s the kind of stretch that comes from too many hours in one position, arms over her head, spine arching, a soft groan escaping before she drops her hands into her lap and blinks around like she’s just remembered the world exists.Her eyes are glassy, smudged faintly red at the corners. She blinks like she’s coming out of a trance, then pushes her fingers through her hair, again, leaving it even messier than before. It’s sticking out under her beanie in soft waves, strands caught in a wild tangle where her hands have been fussing with the ends absently while she was reading. She’s still wearing the hat, of course. There are humans around. But I’ve caught it sliding back more than once in the last hour. A twitch of her fingers here, a distracted tug there, and twice now I’ve seen the curve of a pointed ear peek out. She hasn’t noticed.  Or… Maybe she has, and she just doesn’t care as much anymore. That realisation hits me like a warm drink I wasn’t expecting, quiet and a little startling. She’s not quite relaxed, exactly, she’s still Kacia, after all, but there’s a softness in her edges today that wasn’t there a week ago. Something uncoiling. Loosening. Less armour. More… Possibility. Which isn’t something you can commonly say about someone who has multiple assassins being sent after them… She drifts over to my table, arms full of books and expression somewhere between dazed and delighted.

“I found so much!” She says, practically glowing despite her eye strain. 

“Did you know that half fae can use magic? That we’re born with the same potential? I always assumed I just didn’t have any, but apparently, that’s not how it works. We don’t get magic. It has to be given to us.” She explains. Kacia then launches into the rest without waiting for me to respond, pacing a little as she rattles off the important points. Her voice is quick and eager, laced with disbelief and a quiet hope she hasn’t fully admitted yet. I watch her, letting the words wash over me. She’s so alive right now and I love it. And yeah, it’s fascinating. I’ve never heard of a half fae with magic, not truly. But then… I’ve never met another half fae. Just her. She pauses, her fingers curling around one of the library books as she looks down at the worn cover. Her tone shifts slightly, still curious, but heavier now. A thread of something more uncertain running beneath.

“All this reading has made me… Curious… About my father. Kasian. If there were books about him, I’d read those too. But that seems unlikely. I don’t know anything about him except his first name and that he was fae.” She sighs, frustrated. I tilt my head, studying the strands of purple hair escaping her hat. The colour’s brighter under the library lighting, Soft violet hues catching in the glow of the odd magical lighting.

“I’m also going to guess he had purple hair and eyes.” I murmur, reaching out and gently running my fingers through the ends of hers. It’s meant to be teasing, but the moment stretches longer than it should. Her hair is warm and soft and real under my hand. Kacia blinks, momentarily thrown off. Then she nods. 

“Right. Yeah. That too.” She agrees, but she doesn't step away. I force myself to lower my hand slowly and glance toward her again, trying to focus. 

“Well… Can you think of anyone who might’ve known him? Someone other than your mother?” I ask, trying to be helpful. Kacia frowns, thoughtful.

“He’s been gone my entire life. It’s sort of hard to know. I guess it’s possible he’s been to this library. Maybe someone who’s been around a while, someone long-lived, might have seen him. But that doesn’t mean they talked to him, or that they’d remember now.” She points out. She sounds practical. Detached. Like she’s already preparing herself not to hope.

“But there’s no harm in asking, is there?” I say. She hesitates, just a flicker of doubt, but then she nods, chin lifting.

“I guess not… Let’s do it.”