Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 91

**KACIA**

I wake up slow, the kind of groggy where you’re not entirely sure if you’ve slept well or just stopped being awake for a few hours and now that my eyes are open I don’t know what day it is, hell, I’m not sure what year it is. My ribs still ache, but it’s the dull, manageable kind of pain, so I’ll take it. The room is quiet, too quiet for how early the sun’s streaming through the curtains. I pad barefoot down the hall, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and find Oz still in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, staring at his arms like they’ve personally offended him. The vine like markings climb up from his wrists, curling around his forearms in a pattern that’s almost beautiful, if you don’t know what they actually are. But I know better. They’re bindings. Magical chains. A prison, without the cell. There’s something in the way he looks at them that makes me pause in the doorway. It’s not just anger. I know anger when I see it. He looks… Conflicted. Like he wants them gone and doesn’t at the same time.

“Morning.” I say softly, breaking the quiet. He glances up, surprise flickering across his face before it smooths into something more neutral. 

“You’re up early.” He comments. 

“I could say the same to you.” I cross the room and drop onto the couch beside him. 

“Did you sleep at all?” I ask. His mouth twists in something halfway between a smirk and a grimace. 

“Not really.” He admits. I sigh and let my gaze drop to his arms, to the way his fingers absently trace the edge of one of the vines. 

“You keep looking at those like they’re going to give you answers.” I comment. Oz doesn’t reply right away. Just flexes his hands, the markings shifting faintly with the movement. 

“They’re… Complicated.” He responds. I raise an eyebrow. 

“They’re chains, Oz. There’s nothing complicated about it.” I respond. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I thought he hated them. What has him so confused now? His eyes meet mine, and for a second there’s something raw there, but it’s gone too fast for me to pin down. 

“Maybe not for you.” He says. Well thats about as clear as dirt. I want to press, to make him explain what that means, but there’s a heaviness in his voice that tells me I’ll get nothing but walls right now. So I don’t ask. I just lean back in the chair, tucking my legs up under me while we both sit quietly and wait for the sun to finish rising. 

Sitting with Oz is… Peaceful, even if it isn’t exactly happy. But eventually I know we need to move, plus my legs are going to sleep underneath me. 

“I’ll make coffee.” I say finally, pushing up to my feet. 

“If you’re going to be this moody this early in the morning, you’re going to need caffeine to back it up.” I declare as I head for the kitchen, pretending I don’t notice how he watches me go. By the time the coffe is ready, Oz has followed me into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the counter, arms folded, watching me like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to help or if I’m about to whack him with a wooden spoon for getting in the way. I hand him a mug without even turning to him.

“Dash of milk, two sugars. Don’t say I never think of you.” I say. His lips twitch. 

“I was starting to think you only kept me around for manual labour and moral support.” He responds. Oh, there we go. Some of his snark is returning. About time, he was starting to worry me. I shrug. 

“Coffee bribes are part of the free support package.” I inform him.

“Is that right? What would I have to do to convince you to make me breakfast?” He teases and I narrow my eyes. 

“Oh, sorry. But you would have to subscribe to the ‘relationship’ package for that service.” I joke. I’m not sure if my joking is going to make him smile or upset him further. I watch him closely for his reaction. It’s not much, but the smirk he gives me is genuine, and just like that, the sharp edge from last night dulls a little. Not gone, but manageable.

“Damn.” He answers lightly, then goes about making his own breakfast and mine. We drink in silence for a while, leaning on opposite counters, the quiet broken only by the faint clink of ceramic when I set my mug down and the sound of the toaster when it pops. I can feel him watching me over the rim of his cup, and it’s almost… Comfortable again. Almost.

Eventually, I break the quiet. 

“You realise we still don’t actually know for sure if it’s my grandfather pulling the strings.” I point out. Oz’s smirk vanishes, replaced by sharp focus. 

“It’s the most likely explanation.” He insists. 

“Yeah, but ‘likely’ isn’t proof. And if it is him… We need to know WHY he’s so determined to get rid of me.” I pause, swirling what’s left of my coffee. 

“Knowing why someone wants me dead seems… Useful. If it’s something I’m doing I could just… Stop doing it.” I say awkwardly. Oz narrows his gaze.

“You’re assuming it’s about you personally. Could be about power, politics, or something else completely. I doubt that it’s likely to be resolved so easily.” He says sympathetically.

“All those things are still about me.” I point out. He sets his mug down. 

“Alright. So we make it the next job, figure out if it’s definitely him, and if so, find out the motive.” He sums up. I nod, feeling the faint flicker of purpose replacing the heaviness from earlier. 

“Agreed. I’m not going to just keep waiting around for the next assassination attempt.” I say determinedly. 

“Good.” He says simply. 

“Waiting isn’t our style anyway.” Oz says with a slight smile. I feel the brush of his tail on my leg. I’m not sure he’s aware that he’s doing it. I glance up at him, and he’s watching me with the same steady look he always gets when we’re about to throw ourselves into trouble together. Everything that was said last night is still hanging in the air between us, but we aren’t going to be able to resolve that right now. For now, this will do.

Now we have a new problem. It’s one thing to SAY we’re going to ‘find out about my grandfather.’ It’s another thing entirely to figure out how. It’s not like he’s just going to drop by for tea and a friendly Q&A. I drum my fingers against my mug. 

“What we need is another fae, one who’s less of an asshole and might actually tell us something useful.” I decide. Oz lifts an eyebrow, the kind of slow, unimpressed look that’s basically no better than him laughing in my face. 

“That’s like asking to win a lottery you never entered. Beyond unlikely.” He points out. I sigh. 

“Surely there’s one out there SOMEWHERE, right?” My voice doesn’t exactly radiate confidence, even to my own ears. He tilts his head. 

“Maybe. But I have no idea how we’d find them, or convince them to help us if we did.” He answers. 

“Okay… So we start smaller…” I say, thinking aloud. 

“We find someone who knows how to contact the fae.” I decide. 

“Back to the library, then?” He asks, sounding like he already knows the answer. I shake my head. 

“Actually… I was thinking we should talk to Angelo.” I tell him. That earns me a frown. 

“Angelo?” He repeats, confused. 

“Yeah. He said that before he was at that bar, he was… ‘Owned’ by a fae. Won in a bet, remember? So he must know something about where fae hang out, especially the kind who don’t hide away from everyone else. Even if it’s just the shady ones.” I explain. Oz’s eyes widen slightly at the reminder, but his expression hardens quickly. 

“Not sure we want to meet the kind of fae that does that kind of crap.” He points out. I nod, reluctantly. 

“True. But it’s the only lead I can think of. If nothing else, he might have an idea where we can start asking questions. Plus… We should probably pick him up anyway. When I sent him off to Mikey’s, I meant for it to be a couple of hours, not a full-blown sleepover.”  I grimace guiltily. Although, from what Mikey said, Angelo and Sarah have been getting along great. Which is… weird. But kind of sweet. Oz exhales through his nose. 

“Alright. So, Mikey’s first?” He confirms. 

“Yep.” I agree.

“Great.” He says, pushing to his feet. 

“Guess we should both get ready to face the day.” He says, looking more than a little tired. I finish the last of my coffee and set the mug in the sink. 

“Let’s do it.”