Page 60 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

Less than a minute later, Valefar appears in the kitchen doorway, the particular flick of his tail against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his gray slacks, comfortable and familiar. Like he belongs here. Because he does.

“Thanks for fixing the disposal,” I say, gesturing vaguely at the sink.

He fixed it three days ago, at seven in the morning, before I was fully awake. Valefar doesn’t sleep the way I do. He reads through the night, learning everything he can from home improvement books and even cookbooks since he made a stew a few days ago which Bethie and I practically devoured.

He shrugs easily. “Nothing my tail and claws couldn’t manage.”

I smile, avoiding the urge to jump him with how hot he looks in that long-sleeved black tee that fits like a second skin to showcase the hoard of muscles. He also fixed the leaky toilet and the kitchen wall, patching and painting over a hole from the butcher knife.

He surveys me, slow and unhurried. Not just hunger. He’s admiring something he considers his. “Have I informed you of how delicious you look in those pants?”

I glance down at myself. “They’re yoga pants, Vale.”

“I am aware.”

I reach for the nearby coffee mug to take a sip. “I was thinking, it’s a gorgeous day out, and Bethie could use some fresh air. I’ve got the jogging stroller. Do you want to come?”

Up till now, it’s just been walks. I’ve managed to jog more on my own during the times he watches Bethie. The first time I came home from jogging, Valefar was helping her spoon cookie dough onto the baking sheet.

He turns toward the window. The September evening is sharp and gold and smells distantly of woodsmoke. I love how the maple by the front walk bursts on fire with color.

He considers it for a moment. “If you wish me to, but I confess jogging does not seem particularly prudent for a demon.” His tail flicks. “The exertion would challenge my glamour, and I have no desire to give the neighbors anything to discuss.” He tilts his head. “I thought I would take the opportunity to address the grout in the hall bathroom. It has been bothering me.”

“The grout,” I repeat.

“It is not straight. It has not been straight since I noticed it on Thursday, and I find this unreasonable.”

I stare at him for a long moment. This enormous, ancient creature who has fought shadow demons and a stone hellhound and dissects sitcoms has strong feelings about grout.

Any second-guessing I might have evaporates. It’s so him. There’s no angle here, no hidden game. Valefar does not want to go back to the Pit.

And I’ll raise hell before I let anyone send him there.

I finish the last of my coffee, set the mug down, and go find Bethie.

* * *

The cropped sweatshirt hits just above my waist, and with the high-waisted pants and my hair up and my earbuds in one ear, I feel like a person who has her life together.

It’s perfect outside. Fall always feels like a gift. The air rushes clean and cold in my lungs, leaves skitter across the sidewalk, and Bethie points at a dog we pass, waving and giggling. Hmm…for the first time, I think that maybe, just maybe, we could get her a puppy. With Valefar now, the task does not seem so…mountainous.

Someone’s wind chimes. The familiar rhythm of my own feet echoes on the pavement.

I consider the past week with Valefar. How he took Bethie through the garden, row by row, holding up the tomatoes and the small sugar pumpkins and the bundles of sage. He named everything, teaching her with such patience, it humbled me. A demon…humbled me. She calls tomatoes ‘matoes’ now. She called a zucchini a green log, and he agreed with her assessment.

The three of us also went to a farmer’s market with a bounce house. I had to nearly physically restrain him from going in to “rescue” her when she did an extraordinary amount of somersaults.

I’m about halfway through the loop when it hits me. A wave of pain. Not mine. It moves through my chest like a hand of fire and ice squeezing my chest. My feet slow before my brain has finished processing it.

Pain. Not my pain. Valefar!

I turn the stroller around so fast Bethie grabs the sides with both hands, and I run. I don’t stop till I get to the house. I hurry to grab Bethie, hearing it before I reach the porch. My mother’s voice, reciting something in Latin, her tone and cadence reeking of faith wielded so hard, it’s become a weapon.

I shove open the door. My heart pitches in my chest when I see Valefar on the family room floor.

Curled against the base of the couch, he’s holding both arms over his head, his whole body shaking—not shivering, shaking. In so much pain, he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. His tail is tucked. His glamour is fractured at the edges, and I have never heard him make such unholy sounds.

My mother stands in the center of the room with a crucifix in one hand and a swinging incense burner in the other. Her eyes are screwed shut, her voice cracking on the words.