21. Vesper
Vesper
The stone has done its work.
One week of nothing. No shadows other than furniture. No creepy hounds at the park. No drops in temperature. The ward stone sits on the cabinet above the threshold, and the house feels safe. Like something with its arms around it.
It didn’t hurt Valefar. It protects us. That’s all that matters.
I have been standing at the kitchen sink for four minutes, not doing the dishes, just watching them from the counter.
Valefar is on the couch with Bethie in his lap. He is holding a picture board book with bright, simple images.
“Where’s the truck, Bethie?”
She locates it immediately with one chubby finger, pressing it into the page with great authority.
His hand squeezes hers in encouragement. “Excellent. Now, where is the train?”
She finds it. “Twain.”
He produces a chocolate chip from the reward tupperware and holds it out. Bethie takes it, considers it, and then holds her open palm up to his mouth. Aww!
He bends his head and accepts it with complete seriousness. “Thank you kindly, little beastie.”
A slow warmth blooms through my chest and radiates outward like light rippling through water. I turn back to the sink before I do something embarrassing like tear up over a demon accepting a chocolate chip from a toddler.
As far as Valefar is concerned, everything my daughter does is magic.
He is more patient with her than I am, and I am a pretty patient person.
I’m absolutely, honestly, perfectly gone for this big guy.
And I’ll just say our time in the crypt was earth-shattering.
Well…an angel statue actually did shatter, but that’s a whole other point.
From the other room: “Where is the family?”
Bethie slaps the page twice. “There. Famiwy.”
“Indeed they are. Clever girl.” A beat. “One more. Where is the dog?” A pause. “Perfect,” he says, without hesitation. “That is a confident answer.”
I press my lips together hard and rinse the last bowl.
By the time the book is finished, I’ve finished the dishes and am wiping down the counter, trying to seem less besotted than I really am.
“Go pick out another book, Bethie,” I hear him say quietly. “I’m going to talk to your momma.”
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.
“STOP.” The word comes out of me at full volume. “RIGHT NOW.”
She stops. Her eyes open. They find Bethie first—in my arms, both fists knotted in my sweatshirt, crying, silent and confused. The cry of a child who doesn’t understand what is happening, but she knows something is deeply wrong.
Valefar scrambles, moving into the corner by the bookshelf, still shaking, both hands braced on the floor. His gaze finds mine. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to forget the horrors.
“Vesper—” my mother starts, glancing at the key hanging around her neck. “I am trying to protect you—”
“I gave you that key for emergencies,” I say, sharp with a bite. “This is not an emergency. This is you hurting someone in my home.”
The room is quiet, except for Bethie, whose arms strain toward him. “Pwecious,” she whimpers.
Valefar is still curled against the bookshelf, tremors slowly working their way out of him, but the second he hears Bethie’s voice, he turns to her. Something in him shifts.
“Go ahead, little bug.” I set Bethie down. She runs straight to him. My mother’s jaw drops.
Valefar barely has time to open his arms before she collides with his chest and climbs into his lap. His claws retract instantly. One massive arm closes around her while his tail curls across her little legs.
“Pwecious,” she says again, patting both hands against his face.
“Little beastie.” The words come out rough and broken, but the shaking begins to ease.
I crouch in front of them and put both hands on his face. “Look at me.” He does.
I pull them both toward me. For a second, Valefar still feels rigid, like he hasn’t finished deciding whether it’s safe to stop bracing. Then something gives, and his arm comes around my waist while the other remains locked around Bethie.
I hold them tighter. Behind me, I hear my mother’s intake of breath.
I give it a moment. Then I release them, stand, and turn around.
She is standing in the center of my living room, still clutching the infernal objects, an expression of righteous concern, entirely certain of its own justification.
At least she doesn’t stop me from taking away the incense holder.
I’d prefer this discussion to have only one type of heat.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Mother. This is what’s going to happen.”
She opens her mouth.
“First,” I state, “you are going to apologize to me for entering my home without my knowledge or permission.”
“Vesper, I am your mother. I didn’t—”
“Second. You are going to apologize to Vale for hurting him.” I gesture to him.
She wrinkles her nose. “I will not apologize for trying to save my daughter from a monster.”