Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 97

**KACIA**

Once we step into the library, I make a point of keeping my arm looped firmly through Oz’s. If I let go, I know exactly what he’ll do, retreat behind that wall of distance, pretending it’s for my own good while he makes both of us miserable. No chance. Not today. We head straight for Vidar’s usual table, and my stomach flips when I see who’s sitting with him. Finneas. Calm. Waiting. Watching us with that sharp, unsettling stare of his. Of course he knew we were coming.

“Hey guys.” I greet, forcing a cheerful smile. Vidar’s gaze drops immediately to where I’m clamped around Oz’s arm, and his mouth quirks. 

“Hello again. Glued together as always. Although…” His eyes flick over me, assessing. 

“I am glad to see you’re conscious and appear reasonably unscathed this time.” He teases. I groan. 

“I am never going to live that down, am I? Just wait, one day you’ll be the one limping around, and I’ll laugh while I patch you up.” I grumble. Vidar chuckles, amused. But Finneas doesn’t even blink. His brow furrows instead, as if his mind is already far ahead of us, untangling futures. That look makes my chest tighten. 

“Hey, Fin.” I try again. 

“Oz and I had a few theories about those prophecies you gave us. Mind if we ask you some questions?” I ask, trying to be polite. 

“Not at all.” He says, calm but weighted. Beside me, Oz clears his throat. I feel the shift of muscle under my grip, tense, coiled, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are fixed on Finneas, hard and unflinching.

“The ‘weapon meant for her chest,’” he starts.

“That means me, doesn’t it?” He asks bluntly. For a heartbeat, no one speaks. Then Finneas arches one brow and gives a small, almost merciful nod. 

“Yes.” He confirms. Oz stiffens like he’s been struck. His tail flicks against the floor in agitation, and he tries to pull back, but I tighten my grip, refusing to let him. I don’t care if it looks like I’m clinging, maybe I am. His jaw locks, but he doesn’t fight me. I glance between them and try to cut through the heavy silence. 

“Well, that definitely makes me the ‘she.’ And apparently there’s an axe in the mix somewhere. I look forward to figuring that particular puzzle out.” I joke awkwardly. This time, Finneas almost smiles.

 “Believe me, I do too. It’s… Frustrating, being the only one who knows. Like reading a brilliant book ahead of everyone else, but you’re forbidden to spoil it. All you can do is hint and wait while everyone else stumbles through the pages.” He exhales, the sound edged with impatience. Vidar pats his arm in sympathy. Of course he gets it. A voracious reader like Vidar probably understands that itch better than anyone, the agony of sitting on knowledge while everyone else stumbles blindly forward. No wonder the two of them spend so much time together.

“Did you have another question for me?” Finneas asks pointedly, tilting his head with that all knowing calm that makes it impossible to tell if he’s teasing or serious. I fight the urge to laugh, because I know damn well he already knows what we’re about to ask.

“I think you know that we do. I want to know if you know anything about my father, or my grandfather. If there is anything else you can tell us about them at all.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, threaded with urgency. Finneas gives a half smile, though there’s a flicker of something else behind it, frustration, or maybe resignation.

“I… Do know a prophecy. It wasn’t originally mine, but I have known it for many years. Since I was about thirteen, when I ran into a strange man with hair rather like yours.” He pauses and I straighten instantly, breath catching in my throat.

“You met my father?” I demand, almost too urgently. Finneas nods without hesitation.

“I believe so. In this library. I doubt there are many fae men with purple hair wandering around. Though he never told me his name. He actually sought me out.” He adds. My grip on Oz’s arm tightens so much he shifts closer, bracing me without a word. My heart hammers. 

“Can… Will you tell me what he wanted from you?” The question comes out low, nervous, as if I already know the answer will be important. Finneas’s smile is faint, almost wistful.

“Much the same thing you do. To ask me questions and hope that my answers might give him hints at a desirable future.” He explains. Oz clears his throat. 

“But you said that HE gave YOU a foretelling.” He points out. Finneas inclines his head.

“He did. He gave me one that he had been told, and asked me what I thought. Strangely, what I told him was almost exactly the same as what I would one day give to you. In fact, it may have been identical, I just didn’t remember that I had told him until I saw you. It’s odd… Like reading a story years ago, then stumbling across it again, getting partway through it and realising you’ve known it all along.” He explains. 

“So… You told him the same foretelling you told us? The one with the vines, the axe, all of that?” I press. Finneas nods. Vidar looks startled, frowning.

“I didn’t know that the fae spoke to you back then. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, looking a little hurt. Finneas only shrugs.

“It seemed rather like he didn’t want to share. And people ask me questions all the time. If I told you about every single one, we’d never talk about anything else.” He justifies. Guilt twists in my stomach. Damn it, I’m doing the same thing. Chasing him down, pressing for answers, like he’s some kind of oracle instead of a person. He notices my expression immediately and waves me off.

“You’re fine. I never said I dislike answering. Just that I can’t tell Vidar about every single one. If I did, he wouldn’t have time to tell me about the newest books he’s read, or to moon over Taryn.” He teases. Vidar stiffens instantly, face flushing.

“I… I do not!” He snaps. The rest of us stay very pointedly silent. It says everything. Vidar mutters something under his breath and stomps away to the far shelves, leaving me biting my lip to keep from laughing. Once I’ve calmed, I turn back to Finneas, hope clawing up my chest.

“So… DO you remember the prophecy my father told you? I know it’s been a long time…” I trail off. Finneas shrugs lightly.

“It’s a strange thing. I can barely remember to get anything done, but I never forget a foretelling. Even one that wasn’t originally mine.” He says thoughtfully. My pulse races. He does remember.  Finneas clears his throat, then speaks slowly and clearly. 

*“The lord who calls himself pure will fall not to crown nor court, but to the one that is half his blood.*

*The son he scorned and bound to silence will trade power for his heart, his gift running to dust.*

*She will be a whisper kept from his lips, her life bought with his silence.*

*For if the half-blood claims her place, the roots of his empire will turn to ash, and he will watch his world burn, powerless to stop her.”* 

Silence swallows the room. My throat feels tight.

“Well… It’s… A little more obvious than some of the other prophecies you’ve given us.” Oz comments after a beat, though his tone is carefully neutral. Finneas sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know, right? Whoever created it didn’t have the same limitations I do. Or maybe they simply knew how to phrase things to get around those limitations better than I do.” He sounds envious. 

“Yeah, maybe.” My voice is distant, barely there. I can’t stop replaying the words in my head. Half-blood. Claims her place. Roots to ash. It basically says I’m going to overthrow my grandfather completely. No wonder he wants me dead. The good news? It sounds like there is a good chance that I might actually survive this. The bad news? I don’t think I can talk my way out of this one. Damn it.