Page 78 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Well…” I squeak, glancing between them, “…um. I didn’t do that.”

Lucifer stares down at his burned hand, his chest heaving. Slowly, the absolute fury in his starlit eyes is replaced by something else. A flicker of genuine, pale fear. And then, recognition. “Hellish horseshit,” he curses.

Suddenly, a massive rush of incredible warmth floods the backyard from behind me. A deep, radiant, comforting warmth that smells of ozone, summer rain, and fresh-cut lilies. Out of the corner of my eye, a bright, white, glowing movement materializes beside my lawn chair.

The presence appears. The sheer majesty of the light is so blindingly bright, and the shock of who is standing in my backyard is so absolute, my knees go weak.

My mouth falls open, and I gasp, “Harold?”

Harold’s gaze sweeps over each of us, but it settles on me. Then, he smiles, playful and knowing. “Actually, you did indeed do that, Vesper. You burned the Devil himself.”

26

Valefar

The light is not of Hell.

It is a presence of absolute, staggering warmth. The sheer radiance forces me to squint; the glow is so bright, it erases the very shadows cast by the black candles.

At the edge of the pentagram, a man materializes.

I recognize him from the honorary portrait in the shop. He wears a worn trench coat, which hangs a little too heavily on his frame, a neatly tied bow tie tucked beneath the collar. A profound smugness overcomes his features as he regards my Mistress.

Harold Finch. The Druid. Vesper’s deceased mentor.

Lucifer recoils, his hand still smoking from the white-hot backlash of his own flames. The prince of Hell bares his fangs with a volatile mix of fury and genuine, sudden apprehension.

“You,” Lucifer spits, the word carrying a weight that vibrates through the earth. “What is the meaning of this intrusion, you stinking spirit? I was performing an execution.”

Harold sighs, adjusting his coat collar with a dramatic, weary flick of his wrist. “Why did I get stuck with Devil duty?” he mutters, shaking his head. He looks at the ruler of Hell with a haughty annoyance. “You lost this round, Morningstar. Put the toys away and run along back to Hell.”

Lucifer bristles, his posture stiffening as he draws himself up to his full, terrifying height. “He is mine. His tether is anchored in the Pit. You have no jurisdiction over his contract, spirit.”

“I don’t need jurisdiction,” Harold continues. He sweeps a single translucent hand through the air. “Let me show you exactly why you no longer have a claim on him.”

A sudden, high-pitched chime rings out through the yard, like the striking of a crystal bell. Both Vesper and I freeze, our jaws dropping. Vesper lets out a breathless gasp. I see it in her eyes first.

Above my head, floating in the space where my crown of horns sits, a beautiful, molten orb of glimmering gold light appears. It is not a flat halo, but a perfect, rotating sphere of liquid starlight, radiating a resonant warmth which vibrates in perfect harmony with the bond in my chest.

A soul. I stare at the reflection of the golden light in Vesper’s wide, shocked gaze.

I have a soul.

Lucifer stares at the golden orb, his pale face draining of all color. The absolute, undeniable truth hits him like a physical blow. A demon with a soul is no longer a demon. The Pit has no claim over a living soul.

The ruler of Hell tips his head back, releasing a deafening, furious roar, thundering the ground all around us. With a sharp, explosive crack, his physical form disintegrates, disappearing into a thick cloud of harmless, black ash and brimstone smoke.

Vesper is trembling as the adrenaline of the confrontation begins to fade.

I do not hesitate. The basalt-black chains binding my limbs dissolve into nothingness the moment Lucifer’s presence is gone. Within a fraction of a second, I am there, pulling her into my arms. I hold her safe and sound against my chest, her hands clutching at the heavy fabric of my Jinu robe as she shivers.

“I have you,” I murmur, my chest pressing against hers. “You are safe. And I am here.”

“Vale,” she whimpers, burying her face in my shoulder.

Harold walks forward without making a sound. He stops at the edge of the circle and looks at us, his expression softening, though his smug posture remains intact. He clears his throat. “You have a choice to make, Valefar.” His voice carries the weight of a quiet, ancient law.

I do not look up from Vesper. I tighten my arms around her, my tail wrapping protectively around her waist. I raise one clawed hand toward the spirit. “Whatever it is, I choose Vesper,” I state without a single second of hesitation.