Epilogue
“Morax! The hellhound puppies are escaping again!”
I look up from the appointment ledger I’m reviewing to see three fuzzy black shapes streaking through the clinic reception area, trailing wisps of brimstone smoke and yipping with unholy glee. Behind them, Finn appears in the doorway of exam room two, looking simultaneously exasperated and amused.
“How is it that you commanded thirty legions in Hell, but you can’t keep three puppies contained?” he demands, hands on hips in mock outrage.
“The legions were disciplined warriors who feared my wrath,” I explain patiently, already moving to intercept the escaping pups. “These are chaos incarnate with no sense of self-preservation.”
With a flick of my hand, I create a small containment circle that the puppies immediately run into, trapped by boundaries invisible to human eyes. They yip in protest, tiny ember-eyes glowing with indignation.
“Show-off,” Finn mutters, but he’s smiling as he scoops up the captured pups. “Thanks. Mrs. Weatherby will be here in twenty minutes to see if she wants to adopt one.”
“You’re giving a hellhound to an eighty-year-old human woman?” I ask incredulously.
Finn shrugs, somehow managing to contain all three squirming puppies in his arms. “She’s lonely since her husband died, lives alone, and specifically requested ‘something that would scare off burglars.’ Plus, she used to train Rottweilers. She can handle a little hellfire.”
I shake my head, marveling yet again at how easily Finn integrates the supernatural into his ordinary practice.
In the six months since my confrontation with Valefar, our lives have settled into an unexpectedly comfortable routine—one that increasingly blends my demonic connections with his veterinary work.
The hellhound puppies are a prime example.
Abandoned by their mother near a portal I maintain for occasional business in Hell, they were too young to survive on their own but too dangerous to place with normal humans.
Finn’s solution? A special “exotic pet” program for clients he deems capable of handling supernatural companions.
So far, we’ve successfully placed two imps, a shadow cat, and a minor chaos sprite, along with providing discreet care for the existing supernatural companions of several clients who were relieved to finally find a vet who didn’t question why their cat occasionally phases through walls.
“Remind Mrs. Weatherby that hellhound waste is mildly corrosive and should be collected with the special bags we provide,” I call after Finn as he returns to the exam room. “And that they can’t be fed after midnight until they’re at least six months old.”
“That’s gremlins, not hellhounds,” he corrects, pausing in the doorway. “But I’ll remind her about the waste issue.”
The clinic has changed significantly since I officially became Finn’s business partner (both professionally and personally).
We’ve expanded into the vacant space next door, added specialized treatment areas for supernatural creatures, and hired a second veterinarian—Dr. Figgins, who took the revelation that demons exist with remarkable equanimity and now specializes in scaled ethereal beings.
Our waiting room rarely has empty seats these days, filled with an eclectic mix of ordinary pets and their oblivious owners alongside more unusual creatures carefully glamoured to appear normal to the casual observer.
The bell above the door chimes, and I look up to see a nervous young man enter, carrying what appears to be a perfectly normal cat carrier. But my enhanced senses immediately detect the distinctive energy signature of a lesser fae creature inside.
“Welcome to Hughes Veterinary Clinic,” I greet him, using my more human-passing form—still tall and imposing, but with minimized horns and no visible wings. “How can we help you today?”
The young man glances around anxiously before leaning closer to the reception desk. “Um, I was told you handle… special cases? My, uh, ‘cat’ has been acting weird lately, and my regular vet couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”
I nod understandingly and lower my voice. “What kind of ‘cat’ are we actually dealing with?”
Relief floods his features at being understood. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I thought she was a regular stray when I took her in three years ago. But she sometimes turns invisible, can walk on ceilings, and recently started speaking in riddles when no one else is around.”
“Sounds like a riddling coatl,” I diagnose. “Harmless trickster fae that often disguise themselves as ordinary cats. May I?” I gesture to the carrier.
When he nods, I peer inside to see a tortoiseshell cat with unusually bright green eyes that swirl with faint spiral patterns—invisible to human sight but clear to my demonic perception.
“Definitely a riddling coatl,” I confirm. “They go through a metamorphosis every few years, which explains the new behaviors. Dr. Hughes specializes in fae creatures. Let me check when he can see you.”
As I schedule the appointment, I reflect on how drastically my existence has changed in the months since I was first cursed into cat form. From commanding legions in Hell to managing appointment schedules and demonic pet adoptions—a transformation no less profound than my physical one.
And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for all the power in the infernal realms.
“Morax?” Finn calls from the back. “Can you help me with these vaccinations? They keep setting the exam table on fire.”
“Duty calls,” I tell the young man with the disguised fae. “Please fill out these forms while you wait.”
* * *
Later that evening, after closing the clinic and dealing with a minor hellhound-induced disaster (note: puppy-proof all brimstone containers), Finn and I retreat to our apartment—now fully renovated to accommodate my larger form, with higher ceilings, wider doorways, and a custom-built bed big enough for a demon with fully extended wings.
“Successful day,” Finn comments, collapsing onto the couch with a contented sigh. “Two regular spays, one hellhound adoption, and Mrs. Fitzgerald finally paid her bill from last month.”
“After I reminded her that payment delays have consequences,” I note, settling beside him.
“You didn’t threaten her, did you?” he asks suspiciously.
“I simply explained our payment policy in a compelling manner.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t press the issue. We’ve reached a comfortable compromise regarding my more intimidating tendencies—I don’t actually threaten clients, but Finn doesn’t object when my naturally imposing presence encourages prompt payment.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, sitting up straighter. “I got a call from Dr. Lieberman at the university. He wants to publish our paper on interdimensional parasites in supernatural companions.”
“With the appropriate redactions, I assume,” I note. Our research has been carefully framed as “theoretical” to avoid revealing the supernatural world to humans not ready for such knowledge.
“Of course,” Finn assures me. “But he called it ‘groundbreaking’ and wants to discuss a lecture series.”
I smile at his obvious pride. The academic recognition means much to him, even if the full truth of his discoveries must remain obscured.
“You’re revolutionizing veterinary medicine,” I observe. “Across multiple dimensions.”
He blushes slightly at the praise. “I have help. Not everyone has a demonic consultant with extensive knowledge of otherworldly creatures.”
“Partner,” I correct. “Not consultant.”
His expression softens. “Partner,” he agrees, leaning against me comfortably.
We sit in companionable silence, his heartbeat a familiar, soothing rhythm against my side. After a moment, he speaks again, his tone more serious.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About the possibilities.”
I know immediately what he’s referring to. We’ve had several conversations over the past months about the disparity in our lifespans and the potential solutions.
“And?” I prompt gently.
“And I think… I want to know more. About the options. Not for right now, but… eventually.” He looks up at me, uncertainty in his eyes. “If that’s still something you want.”
I shift to face him fully, taking his hands in mine. “Finn Hughes, I have lived for millennia. I have commanded legions, controlled territories, wielded power beyond human comprehension. And in all that time, I never found anything worth keeping forever until I found you.”
His eyes widen slightly, that adorable blush deepening. Even after months of hearing me express my feelings (once I finally admitted them aloud the morning after defeating Valefar), he still reacts with endearing surprise.
“So that’s a yes?” he asks with a small smile.
“That’s a yes,” I confirm. “Whenever you’re ready—be it years or decades from now—we’ll explore the options together. There’s no rush.”
He leans forward to kiss me, a gentle press of lips that still sends electricity through my entire being. “Thank you. For being patient with the whole mortal-trying-to-process-potential-immortality thing.”
“I have extensive experience with patience,” I remind him dryly. “I once waited three centuries to exact revenge on a rival who stole my favorite soul collection.”
He laughs, the sound still my favorite in any dimension. “Well, I promise not to make you wait quite that long for an answer. But I do need time.”
“Time is something I have in abundance,” I assure him. “And now, so do you.”
The promise hangs between us—not just of extended life, but of shared existence, whatever form that might take. It’s a conversation we’ll continue to have, weighing options, considering consequences. But the important decision—that we intend to face eternity together—has already been made.
Our quiet moment is interrupted by a familiar scratching at the window—a shadow raven, one of several I’ve trained to carry messages between dimensions. I rise to let it in, retrieving the small scroll tied to its leg before it dissolves back into darkness.