Page 43 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

I close the distance between us and hop, completely confident he’ll catch me. He does, and I wrap my legs around his waist. “There’s a sushi place I’ve been dying to try,” I murmur, “and a mini golf course right next door. We’ll do it properly.”

“Miniature golf.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it.” His tail curls eagerly around my thigh. “But we can plan that for tomorrow since I have a day off. So, I think it’s time I introduce you to another important human custom.”

His ears prick forward. “Which is?”

I grin. “Netflix and chill.”

“I know Netflix.”

“You’re about to learn the rest.”

16

Valefar

ONE MONTH LATER — JULY

I have survived seventeen centuries in Hell, endured executions, infernal wars, and punishments devised by creatures who consider agony an artistic pursuit.

None of this prepared me for the sprinkler.

The first blast strikes me directly in the chest.

I stagger backward more from surprise than force while Bethie erupts into delighted shrieks, her small bare feet pounding across the wet grass as she flees the rotating stream.

“Pwecious! Run-wun!”

“I am running.”

“No, you aren’t,” Vesper calls from her lawn chair where she is doing something called “tanning” and nearly driving me to distraction with the article of clothing titled “bikini.” “You’re stalking dramatically,” she points out.

I increase my speed. Apparently, this is the correct response. My tail thwacks about like a crazed serpent, which I’m certain is most undignified, though the toddler clearly does not care. Bethie screams with laughter and bolts around the yard, curls plastered to her forehead and little swimsuit already soaked through. I pursue her until the sprinkler rotates toward us again, at which point she changes direction, and I am forced to do the same.

My feet slip. I land flat on my back in the grass. Bethie stops. Then she launches herself at me. I barely have time to brace before thirty pounds of wet toddler lands squarely on my chest.

“Got you!” Vesper translates through her laughter.

The little beastie sprawls across me and pats both wet hands against my cheeks. I have discovered very few activities in this mortal realm as exhilarating as being hunted by a toddler through summer water.

Her other preferred game involves my tail.

This began when she discovered that chasing it produced considerably more entertainment than chasing the cat. It progressed when Vesper introduced something she calls the Tickle Monster, which initially concerned me until she explained that the title is not exclusively applicable to me as a demon, but rather a social euphemism for an adult threatening affectionate attack upon a child. I found this reassuring.

Bethie finds my tail particularly effective for this. It curls around her middle now and gives one quick flutter against her ribs. She squeals and collapses against me. “Tickle! Tickle!”

“As commanded, little beastie.”

Vesper laughs so hard she nearly spills her iced tea. I look at the two of them beneath the bright July sun and experience the strange, familiar pressure that has taken up increasingly permanent residence behind my sternum.

I no longer attempt to name it every time it appears. The storybooks call it something, which must be impossible for a Duke of Hell. But I do not seek to deny it.

I simply let it stay.

AUGUST

I have acquired a drawer.