Page 42 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

The door shuts. The Buick backs out.

The house is suddenly, enormously quiet.

Valefar is cleaning up the paints. I watch him silently at first. I watch him pick up Bethie’s paintings, the dry ones—mostly colorful handprints, smeared fingerprints. Warmth threads through me and down the tether as he handles each one with delicate care, claws retracted, and carries them to the refrigerator.

“Good luck finding a spot,” I snicker at the chaotic assortment of murals and pictures.

“Oh, I will indeed find one,” he states, tilting his head before turning to me. “Could you hold these for a few moments?”

I take them, doing my best not to crinkle them while he sets to work. “Vale, you really don’t need to. It’s not a big deal.”

He inclines his head to me with a guffaw. “Nonsense. The tiny human showed great exuberance, her hands themselves creating such art. All are worthy of display.”

Whatever emotion is pulsing through me right now, it’s too big to name. Tears sting my throat as I watch Valefar playing Tetris with all the creations and pictures with far better skill than I ever could. Somehow, he finds space for every piece. Now, I’m very grateful for all the magnets I’ve bought over the years.

It’s only been a week, but Valefar has already worked himself into our lives in a hundred quiet ways. Reading to Bethie. Learning her routines. Making me coffee every morning without fail. Treating finger-painted construction paper like priceless art.

If this is what one week looks like, I can’t imagine what a month will do to me.

The thought knots something anxious beneath my ribs. He isn’t from this world. This can’t possibly last.

There’s another reversal spell bookmarked upstairs. I could tell him about it. But I don’t.

Maybe I’m already more attached than I should be. But right now, I’d rather let the good parts of this have more room than the fear of losing them.

“You permit her to take the little beastie,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

I lean against the counter. “I do.”

His brow furrows. “She dislikes me. Openly. She suspects what I am. And you release your daughter into her care.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “My mother and I are complicated, Vale. She’s judgmental and controlling, and she treats boundaries like invitations to negotiate or cross. ” I heave a sigh and run my fingers through my curls. “But she loves Bethie. Those things can all be true at once.”

“That is a great deal of nuance,” he says finally, “for a woman who has just been interrogated in her own kitchen.”

“Welcome to families.”

“Hell is more direct.”

“Yeah, well, families are messy.” I glance toward the clock. “But we have two hours. Probably two and a half, knowing my mom. Not entirely a bad thing, as long as she checks in.”

Valefar’s entire body seems to respond before his face does. His shoulders straighten, muscles flexing beneath his shirt while his tail begins a slow, increasingly enthusiastic sweep behind him.

I smile. “Yeah, Big Guy. But I want to ask you something first.”

His brow arches. “Anything, Ves.”

Suddenly, I’m fiddling with my fingers, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Would you like to go out on a date?”

“With you?”

I laugh. “No, with the Queen of England. Yes, Valefar. Me.”

Relief visibly passes over him. “Excellent. I do not have sufficient time to learn the social customs required for interacting with royalty.” I snort. His eyes warm. “Although you are already a queen to me, Mistress.”

“Smooth.”

“Truthful.”