Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 92

**KACIA**

While I’m getting dressed, I start running mental circles around what my next move should be.

Not for the investigation, that’s already sorted. I’ll ask Angelo. He’s my best lead. No, this is about my OTHERl mission. Operation: Convince Oz to pull his head out of his ass and stop running away from me. What he said last night, when he apologised and admitted he doesn’t trust himself, kind of got to me for a bit and threw me off. At first I thought it was just about protecting me from whatever dangerous thing he thinks might happen. But now… I’m wondering if this isn’t just ‘noble protector’ crap. I’m wondering if Oz has some self esteem issues lurking under all that muscle, magic, and snark. So… How to approach this? I have two options. Option one, make it abundantly clear that he is being an idiot by choosing not to be happy. By choosing not to at least try. Option two, bombard him with so much praise and shameless flattery that his self esteem shoots through the roof, and he realises he is absolutely worth a little bit of effort from me… Or maybe both. Yeah, both. Both is good. I refuse to give up so easily. Last night, I was momentarily deterred. I got worried that I was making him actually uncomfortable. And there’s a difference, a big one, between flirting with a guy who’s holding back but secretly likes it, and flirting with someone who’s genuinely uncomfortable and wishes you’d stop. I lost a little confidence when he didn’t come join me in bed. I really thought he’d give in eventually, crack a smile, and take the easy option. But he didn’t. Which means one of two things, either he truly didn’t want to (unlikely), or he did but decided to torture us both out of sheer stubbornness (much more likely). So, time to get back in the game. Because I know it wasn’t about him not wanting to. And I refuse to let him give up so easily. I head back to the living room, mission locked and loaded.

“Hey, handsome, are you ready to go?” I ask brightly, layering on the cheer like whipped cream on a sundae. Oz just gives a short nod and doesn’t even crack a smile. Tough crowd. We head toward the door, and he hands me my beanie so I can cover my ears. His big, careful hands make the gesture feel deliberate, almost intimate. I flash him my sweetest smile.

“Thank you, Oz. You really are very sweet and thoughtful. I appreciate it so much.” I gush. He blinks at me like I’ve just handed him a compliment in a language he doesn’t speak. 

“Thanks?” He responds, clearly a little confused. I tug my beanie on and head outside before he can figure out why I’m being so syrupy. 

We’re stopped at a light in front of one of my favourite ice cream shops, the neon sign practically screaming at me from across the street.

“Wow, I REALLY want ice cream right now.” I announce, as if it’s the most urgent thought I’ve had all morning. 

“SO badly. It would make me SO happy.” I add. Oz glances over and raises an eyebrow. 

“The store is right there. We have time. Stop, and let’s get ice cream.” He says easily. I sigh, putting every ounce of drama into it. 

“Oh no, I can’t do that!” I insist. He frowns. 

“Why not? Is it because it’s early in the day? Because I don’t think the time of day actually makes any difference.” He comments dryly. I shake my head solemnly. 

“That’s not it. I can’t have ice cream, even though I can’t think of anything that would make me happier right now, because it’s BAD for me.” I say firmly. 

“Kaci…” His voice softens like he’s worried this is actually serious. 

“I really don’t think you have to worry about having some ice cream. You’re perfectly healthy.” He says awkwardly. I smile, all faux innocence. 

“Thank you, Oz. That is so sweet of you to say, and I love how considerate you’re being of my feelings. It shows real emotional maturity.” I lean in slightly. 

“But no, I can’t have any because it’s BAD for me. I might regret it one day. What if it makes me sick? What if I develop lactose intolerance? No, I’m better off just suffering without ice cream. Never being happy is a small sacrifice to avoid discomfort at some point in the future, right?” I reason. His frown deepens, and then I see it, the exact moment the lightbulb goes on. He exhales slowly, looking like he wants to jump out of the car. 

“You can’t compare being dosed with fear magic to having a slight stomach ache from eating ice cream.” He says, clearly exasperated.

“Can’t I?” I tilt my head innocently. 

“And I notice you didn’t disagree that being with you is like ice cream. Something sweet and wonderful that would DEFINITELY make me happy.” I tease. He rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised we don’t have to pull over. 

“I’m starting to think there’s no winning this argument, so I’m not going to try.” He responds. I give a theatrical sigh and let the silence stretch just long enough for him to get suspicious.

“Kacia?” He asks warily.

“Yeah?” I answer. 

“Just checking… Did you actually want ice cream? Because I can go get it…” Oz trails off. I burst out laughing, the sound loud in the enclosed car. 

“No, gorgeous. Ice cream isn’t what I want right now.” I say flirtatiously, throwing him a wink, and he groans, dropping his head back against the seat. I bite back a grin. Yeah. That was a pretty solid start.

Once Oz has composed himself, meaning he’s stopped groaning into the headrest like I’ve just singlehandedly ruined his day, he speaks again.

“So, I was thinking about those prophecies.” He starts. I perk up, interested. 

“Yeah? Which one?” I ask. 

“All of them.” He says, eyes fixed on the road. 

“But mostly the one that talked a lot about roots and vines and stuff. The first one about the Witness… I actually think that might not have been meant for us.” He admits. That makes me frown. 

“What do you mean?” I question.

“Well, we know Izzy is the Witness…” He says. 

“And she was there when the prophecy was given. Doesn’t it seem more likely that that particular foretelling was intended for her? It sounds more like a warning for her—. It talks about saving, protectors, shields… Stuff like that.” He reasons. I give a slow nod. 

“I suppose that makes sense. You’re so clever, Oz.” I add. It’s meant to be part of my ongoing strategy, lay the compliments on thick, remind him how great he is, but he barely reacts, too locked in on whatever prophecy related mind map he’s building in his head. Tough crowd, part two. He continues, oblivious to my cunning plan. 

“As for the other one, the one definitely given to us, I think we can safely assume you’re the ‘she’ it’s referring to. And it talks about a lord wanting to ‘prune you.’ That might be the fae lord who wants you dead. And it says he wants to do it to ‘save the roots.’” He reminds me. I tilt my head. 

“Meaning?” I ask. 

“Maybe to preserve his power somehow? Could be political. Could be magical. Could be both.” Oz concludes. I hum in agreement. 

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Then again, it doesn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know.” I sigh. 

“True.” He admits.

“I suppose we WERE told the prophecies would only really make sense once we already knew what they meant.” I point out.

“Which, honestly, is kind of annoying if you ask me.” I sigh again. 

“What about the next part?” I add. Oz falls silent, gaze flicking between the road and some point far beyond it, the way he does when he’s thinking so hard you can almost hear the gears grinding. His brow furrows like something is bothering him. I want to ask, but he looks like he’s figuring something out. Okay, I can wait a minute. Probably.