Page 64 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

While Bethie kisses my cheeks, Vesper drops into the leaves beside us, landing on her back, arms spread, leaves going sideways in every direction. One catches in her hair, but she does not care, which I find quite becoming.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” I say back.

Bethie launches herself sideways off my chest and lands on Vesper, who catches her by pure reflex and laughs breathlessly. They wrestle briefly in the leaves, Bethie giggling, Vesper entirely surrendering to the indignity, while I allow this love to move recklessly through me.

This is a family. I do not remember at what point I became part of one. I only know that I am, and the alternative is not something I wish to consider.

“Go and slide,” Vesper tells Bethie, untangling herself and pointing toward the small playset in the corner, something Bethie treats as her own personal territory. She doesn’t hesitate to scramble up and run for it.

Vesper sits up, brushing a leaf from her knee. I remove the one in her hair, but drape it along her cheek, a thrill rushing through me when she shivers. A soft smile forms. A blush in her cheeks. But…a reluctant sigh follows. “Rick’s supervised visit is this weekend.”

My blood runs cold. I am quiet for a moment.

“I see,” I say.

I know the arrangement. Once a month, ninety minutes, a court-appointed supervisor present. He missed the last one. And the one in July.

Vesper stares at her hands. “He’s also petitioned the court for expanded visitation. More than once a month. His attorney filed it a week ago. He says he got a new job, much better pay.” A pause. “The court probably won’t approve it. Given the history.”

I watch Bethie reach the top of the plastic staircase, pause to survey her domain with considerable self-satisfaction, and then slide down with her arms in the air.

“He petitioned,” I say.

“Yes.”

I think about a man who repeatedly betrayed her trust and is now requesting expanded access to her child, and thus to her life. Our life.

“I see,” I say again. A thousand thoughts course through me. But I do not have the right to say them aloud.

Vesper reads me anyway. She has gotten very good at that. “Vale.”

“I am perfectly composed.”

She looks at my tail, which has gone very still, the opposite of composed. I relax it and return my attention to Bethie, who has climbed back up the stairs for another pass.

“I want you to come this time.”

I lift my brows, both surprised, relieved, and yet…cautious. “You wish me to be present?”

“I wish you to be—” She exhales. “I don’t know. I want him to see that we’re fine. That I’m fine. That Bethie is fine.” She pulls a leaf from the ground and turns it over between her fingers. “And I want the supervisor to see that Bethie’s happy. That she’s safe and settled with us. And how happy Bethie is with you. I also want Rick to leave and never come back, but the court has a different opinion, so.”

And perhaps, this could be the beginning of another different opinion.

I think: Saturday. I begin counting the days with a precision I find extremely useful.

* * *

The supervised visit takes place at the park three blocks over.

Rick arrives eleven minutes late, wearing a black leather jacket that smells of department-store cologne. He is taller than Vesper but shorter than I expected. Handsome in the way that mortals of his age and stature are but could be more

I remain beside Vesper near the edge of the playground, exactly where she asked me to be. Close enough that Bethie can find me. Far enough that I am not interfering.

The court-appointed supervisor is a composed woman who carries a clipboard and bears the professionalism of someone who has seen everything and been impressed by none of it. She sits on the bench nearby the picnic table where I am stationed. Her gaze moves between Rick, Bethie, Vesper, and occasionally me.

Rick crouches in front of Bethie, enthusiastic but performative. He gives her a stuffed pink teddy bear. Bethie accepts it with the cautious politeness children reserve for strangers who smell wrong and try too hard.