Page 24 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Vesper,” I call, maintaining a measured tone, “your offspring is playing an amusing but quite uneventful game.”

Vesper appears from the kitchen doorway and surveys the situation. When Bethie throws another ring on the floor, Vesper approaches the highchair. “Elsbeth.”

Bethie freezes with the immediacy of a creature who understands that undertone.

Vesper taps the tray, shakes her head, and wags her finger. “Be nice to Valefar. This—” she points to the tray, “—clean. Floor—” she points down, “—not clean. No more throwing.”

Bethie holds a single Cheerio over the edge. Watching.

“Don’t,” Vesper warns.

Bethie drops it. Vesper exhales, her expression growing more impatient and irritated.

I look at Bethie. She looks at me. An idea comes to me. Reaching over, I select one Cheerio from the tray and hold it up. “Little beastie. If you throw one more—” I pop one in my mouth, “—I shall eat them all myself.”

Her brows knit together. Her mouth purses. A great internal battle must be occurring in her mind. Then…she grabs an entire fistful and stuffs them into her own mouth.

I grin, an unguarded gesture I didn’t know I possessed, and return my attention to the pink horse. Vesper straightens and sighs.

A satisfied Bethie holds out her chubby hand. This time, she does not drop the Cheerio. She hands it to me. I smile and eat it without comment. She giggles. We have reached an accord.

After a few minutes, I hear Vesper’s voice rise from the kitchen: “What kind of sociopath forgets to put the cheese packet in the box?!”

I rise. I have much experience with sociopaths.

I find her at the stove, glaring into a cardboard box as though it owes her something.

“Would you like me to torture them?” I offer.

She looks up at me. She tips her head back. She laughs. I love her laugh. “No. We don’t torture people over every little inconvenience,” she says, already turning back to the stove. “But I make a mean cheese sauce from scratch, so their mistake is our gain.”

My tail sways. I drift a step closer to the counter. “Can I help?”

She doesn’t hesitate. She points above the refrigerator. “Big container of flour. Very top shelf.”

I reach past her and retrieve it in one motion. She nods toward the black pot hanging near the window. I unhook it before she has to ask.

She glances at me sideways with an expression of approval and pulls a small, brightly illustrated children’s cookbook from the counter beside her elbow. She sets it near me. “This is a good starting place. The highlighted pages are what snacks she likes most.”

I pick it up carefully. It has a cartoon chef on the cover. “Does this mean you wish me to stay long enough to fulfill snack routines?”

She eyes me beneath those sultry lashes. “Maybe.” She says nothing else. I shamefully watch the lovely state of her ass in those jeggings.

After gathering a few cheese assortments, she is whisking now—butter melted, flour worked into a paste, milk poured in a slow, steady stream. The scent is warm and rich and worlds from anything the Pit ever offered. I stay close without crowding. I love breathing her in, memorizing the way the midday light from the window traces the line of her jaw, the column of her throat, the place where her pulse moves.

She is still being careful. I can see it in the set of her shoulders even now.

“May I ask you something?” she says, not looking up.

“Anything.” I lean against the fridge.

“Have other demons ever escaped hell? Without a summons. What does Lucifer actually do when one goes missing?”

Her tone is casual, but I can tell it is strained. Something in me locks into stillness. “It has happened,” I say. “Rarely.” I watch her profile, noting how she avoids my gaze, her attention fixed on her task. “Only the most powerful demons can cross the mortal barrier without a rift. Lesser ones cannot breach it at all.”

The whisking slows. “What’s a rift?”

Every muscle in my tail tenses. “A tear in the veil between worlds. The veil has weak points. It thins according to the season. The thinnest point in the calendar is Samhain.”