Page 71 of Bone Year

“Grumpy demon.” He shakes his head slowly. “Three hundred and seventeen years old, fought in the last two cycles, killed more twisted creatures than you’ve ever seen. And she calls me a grumpy demon.”

“Would you prefer cranky?”

“I’d prefer dead, but no one seems willing to grant that request.”

I pull the chair from the corner, the one that isn’t buried in debris, and drag it to his bedside, sit down, and look at him properly for the first time.

Up close, the scars are worse. Some of them aren’t fully healed, even after what must be decades. Fissure wounds, I realize, the kind that never really close. His chest rises and falls with effort, each breath a small battle.

“You want to die,” I say quietly.

“I want to stop being a fucking science experiment.” He slumps back against his pillows. “Every day’s a new treatment. A new theory. A new young healer who thinks they’re going to be the one to fix me. I’m tired and have been tired for longer than you’ve been alive.”

The question slips out before I can stop it. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Of what? Death?” He shakes his head. “I’ve been dying for eight months. The scary part is over.”

“No, I mean...what comes after, or what doesn’t.”

His dark eyes sharpen on me. “Ah. You’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“The ones who lie awake at night wondering if the void is all there is. I used to be like that, when I was young and stupid and thought I had something to lose.”

“What changed?”

“I’ve seen enough bad to have to believe in the good.” He shrugs. “Otherwise what was the point of any of it?”

“So you think the gods are going to welcome you with open arms? A demon?”

He barks out a laugh. “Girl, if the gods don’t want me after everything I’ve done for this world, then they can go fuck themselves. I’ll find my own afterlife.”

I can’t help it. I smile. “I think I like you, Cael Brannock.”

“Don’t get attached.” He says, but there’s warmth underneath the gruffness. “I’m still planning on dying.”

“Not on my shift.”

Before he can argue, Poppy appears crawling around my legs, gray fur ruffled, round black eyes blinking in the light. She climbs up onto the bed and sits back on her haunches, studying Cael with that knowing look she gets.

He freezes.

“What,” he says slowly, “is that.”

“My eidolon. Her name is Poppy.”

“Your eidolon is a raccoon.”

“Yes.”

“A raccoon.”

“She’s very smart.”

Poppy waddles closer to him, sniffing. Her tiny hands reach out and pat his scarred arm once, twice, like she’s checking if he’s real. Then she sits back and tilts her head at him.

Cael stares at her. She stares back.