21. Vesper #2
Something in me goes very still. A hellbent force within me rises.
A protective force. Something born of love and not fear.
“Mom.” My voice stays even, thanks to years of practice and paganism.
“You couldn’t get a single person to believe you, could you?
Not the priest, not the diocese, not anyone you called.
Nobody was willing to come here with you. ”
Her chin lifts. A tell I have known since childhood. “I took pictures. For proof.”
I stiffen, less from fear and more from anger and betrayal. “Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Then show me.” Mom hesitates. “You said you have proof. Let me see it.” I know what she is going to show me, because we tested photography months ago.
Her mouth compresses. Something sour moves through her expression before she finally digs her phone from her purse and unlocks it.
She doesn’t hand it over willingly. I take it anyway.
The first picture is Valefar in the back of Vesper’s Vessels, glamour firmly in place, while he carries five boxes labeled ‘Heavy’.
Swipe.
She took various snapshots of Valefar walking with us, playing at the park with Bethie, raking leaves, even fixing the front lantern. I stop at the picture of Bethie on his shoulders, laughing so hard, her entire face has disappeared into her smile.
“Mom.”
She sniffs, clutching the crucifix tighter. “That isn’t what I saw.”
“You spent weeks spying on us.”
Her jaw tightens. “Pictures don’t show everything.”
“Apparently not.” I hand the phone back. “Because from where I’m standing, your photographic evidence of the terrifying monster living in my house is a very tall man carrying boxes and taking my daughter to the park. And making us both feel beautifully happy and tremendously safe.”
“Vesper, I know what I saw. And he is the opposite of safe.”
“And you were so certain you were right, you came into my home armed with a crucifix and The Exorcist lines to hurt someone I love.”
“Love?!” Her face turns white as a sheet.
I stare her down. “And you still think he’s the monster in this room.”
“He is not human—”
“Real monsters,” I interject, narrowing my attention, “don’t have claws, glowing eyes, or a tail.
Real monsters are human beings who hurt others while convincing themselves they’re morally superior for doing it.
Real monsters go to church on Sunday, then spend the rest of the week weaponizing fear and cruelty while calling it love. ”
I deadpan with her, my focus flaming and daggered. “Not in my house.”
The words land in the room like a door closing.
My mother sets her jaw, her hand tightening around the crucifix.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Valefar holding my daughter, his body still shuddering a little.
But she’s playing with his tail, and flicking it in various directions seems to be helping him.
Turning back to my mother, I go on, “You hurt someone I love in my own home. And the fact that you cannot see that is the problem. Jesus preached radical love. And his anger was toward the same oppressive institutions that use morality to justify cruelty.”
Her color is high. “I was protecting—”
“Third. You are going to apologize to Bethie for all this needless drama.” A beat.
“And if I don’t?” she asks. Certain she already knows my limit.
“Then you are not welcome in this house, or in Bethie’s life.” I hold it steady, drawing the line in the sand.
“Vesper. You are overreacting.” She says it like she genuinely believes it. Like her version of reasonable is the only one.
A trigger fires in my chest, brief and hot. But I let it pass. “No,” I say. “I am being significantly more reasonable than I could be. And if I were a man standing here defending my family, you wouldn’t bat an eye.”
“He’s not your family!” She stabs a finger toward Valefar, and I swear I feel him go still behind me. “He is not human, Vesper.”
“He’s mine,” I define. “And I love him.”
It’s not a brave statement. Truth doesn’t need courage to exist. It just needs to be expressed.
My mother stares at me, her fingers white-knuckled around the cross. “You are not thinking clearly,” she says, finally. Quieter now. “You are asking your own mother to leave. You are asking me to stay away from my granddaughter. Vesper. I love you.”
I am quiet for a moment.
“I believe you,” I say. “You may love me. But you don’t respect me.
And you don’t respect my boundaries. And as long as those things are true, you cannot fully love me—because love without respect is just ownership with better intentions.
” I hold her gaze. “And if you can’t respect me, you can’t love Bethie the way she deserves to be loved.
Especially when she adores him. You didn’t just hurt him.
You hurt her. And I will not allow you to hurt the people I love. ”
Silence. My mother’s expression moves through several things at once. She is, underneath all the righteous certainty, a woman who loves me. That has never been the question. It has never been enough, either.
She opens her mouth once, then closes it. Then she crosses to the door, removes the key from her neck, and sets it on the entry table.
“I will be praying for you, Vesper,” she says at the door, without turning around. “I hope you will come to your senses.”
“Goodbye, Mother,” I say.
The door closes. The house is quiet, apart from the sound of my daughter’s soft coos while she holds Valefar’s tail. I release a grateful sigh. The tremors have stopped.
“Mam,” Bethie’s word is muffled.
I smile and kiss her forehead. “Hey, bug. Can you go get Pwecious a cup of water?”
She blinks at me, then tips her head to look at him. He smiles and eases his tail out of her mouth. “Yes, please, little beastie?”
She practically jumps off his lap, toddling to the bathroom where she can use the step stool and the plastic cups.
“Thank you,” he says low and serious.
“Are you okay?” I take his hands, urging him to his feet.
He nods. “I believe so. Are you—”
“She didn’t hurt anything important,” I tell him. “You are more important, Valefar.”
He keeps my hand. His tail briefly brushing my arm.
Outside, the light slants in wide, golden streams across the floor.
For now, we just hold one another, until Bethie arrives, spilling more water onto the rug than remains in the cup.
Valefar, steady and certain now, kneels before her, accepts the cup, and nudges his pinky out.
“Why, thank you, Princess Bethie. This is the finest tea I have ever tasted.”
The recognition dawns on her. Oh, she realizes what he’s doing. Tea party—one of her favorite games, especially with him. “Tea pawty, tea pawty!” she squeals, dancing around before clutching his arm.
I go into the kitchen and make dinner while a demon sits on the floor with his enormous legs folded, a plastic tiara on his head and a pink bedazzled tea set spread before him. My daughter serves him tea. All I can hope is she remembers these moments. Not what came before.
And just as I announce dinner is ready, Valefar snaps his head up. “Oh, dear me! The grout!”
I laugh softly and wave him toward me. “Dinner first, Big Guy.”
Bethie takes his hand, walking with him toward the kitchen. As he passes, I touch his arm and stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Love you.”
“And I, you,” he echoes.
“Wuv you!”
At first, I think Bethie is talking to me. Then Valefar and I both realize she’s still holding his hand, tugging insistently on his jeans. “Wuv you!”
Valefar goes utterly still.
Then the near-stunned, seven-foot Duke of Hell scoops my daughter into his arms, presses his nose to hers, and whispers, “I love you too, Bethie.”
My heart melts a thousand times over.