Page 13 of Raising the Sun

“Mhm, yeah. That’ll be because I’m skint.”

He gasped, a hand flying to his chest as if clutching pearls. “How tragic.”A beat of silence for the fallen.“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here now, isn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” I said with all the dryness I could muster. “Always wanted my own fairy godmother, but I thought you weren’t going to help me until I paid for your services. That came out wrong, but the observation still stands.”

He shrugged. “Does it really count if I’m also helping myself? It wouldn’t do for me to starve, now would it?”

That almost startled a maniacal laugh out of me.

This was nuts. How could I still be so calm? This handsome being was quite capable of killing me with his pinkie finger—had a pretty reasonable motive for it, too—but there I was, discussing the state of my food stores instead of… I dunno, doing whatever normal people did in these types of situations. An exorcism? That seemed harsh, and I could not for the life of me find the energy to worry enough about it to resort to such drastic measures. Had I truly reached the point of skipping straight to the final stage of resigned acceptance? Perhaps my stress tank was already so full that no matter whatunhinged bullshit the universe threw at me, it just floated like a feather on the top—aimless, butthere.

Adding pressure to a sinking ship wasn’t going to make it any worse. It was already sinking. It would just sink a wee bit quicker.

“Fair enough,” I said absently, deciding to treat this as if it were any other regular ole inconvenience.

What else could I do?

I wrestled my trainers onto my feet without unlacing them before gathering my coat. “Well, I’m going to go see a guy about sending you home.”

“Aw, must you?” He whirled around, frying pan in hand, and pouted. “You could have breakfast first? We could get to know each other better.” He was trying to provoke me, totempt mefor Christ knows what reason. It was obvious, but I held firm.

The eggs, despite their slightly burnt tinge, smelled better than the pot noodles I’d been eating for the past week. My stomach even growled in protest when I shook my head.

I couldn’t get distracted.

“Would love to,” I half lied. “But I’m going out.” I shrugged on my coat before snatching my car keys and wallet from the fruit bowl. It wasn’t until I grabbed the door handle, ready to leave, that I spoke again. “For the sake of my health, if nothing else, please stay out of trouble.”

A smug grin to rival all others split his face, and I regretted even suggesting it.

“Can’t make any promises, pet.”

I had left a demon in my flat. Unsupervised. Not my brightest decision, I knew, but needs must. I couldn’t exactly have brought him. While his eyes and clothes could probably fly under the radar, the horns and fangs were a different kettle of fish. No doubt they could be magically hidden away—what with all those powers he’d used to conjure up the expensive butter—but even so, this was a small village, a tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone, and those peopletalked. The last thing I needed was to be hounded about ‘dating’ accusations, or for that particular vein of tattling to reach my mother’s ears.

That would surely drive me over the edge.

She was overbearing at the best of times, and yeah, alright, she just didn’t want me to end up alone, which I sort of understood—it was a parent’s worst fear, right? But ‘settling down with a nice fella and finding a more stable job’ wasn’t on the cards for me at present, no matter how much she nagged. I’d invested too much in this business to throw up my white flag already, and my life was too shambolic to be thinking of bringing someone else into the mix.

I was perfectly capable of multitasking, but a bloke could only juggle so much.

Besides, even if I wanted to start dating, which I didn’t, this situation wasn’t even a contender, and I wanted to keep it that way. This was about me dealing with the consequences of summoning a demon, and the fewer people who knew about that, or his existence, the better.

Witchcraft or satanic ritual probably wouldn’t be their first guess—assuming his demon partscouldbe concealed—but it wasn’t worth the hassle trying to defend myself. Once the gossips had decided the ‘facts,’ there was no going back. I could swear blind that he was my eccentric cousin, but the knowing looks, or the ‘your secret’s safe with me’s from the old dears who frequented the shop would still happen. Daily.

Spoiler alert, but a secret—even a fake one—wasn’t ever safe in a place like this.

Not for long.

It wasn’t that I’d be ashamed of people thinking I went out with someone like him. The opposite, actually. He was stunning; a bit of a tosser, but looks-wise, he was a catch, and I’d have been lucky to have people think he was mine. But that was irrelevant. He was ademon, a literal being from hell, and evenifI could ignore his ties to evil, it was crystal clear that we ran in different circles.

The way he’d screwed his nose up at the sight of my room had been enough of a clue. It was a shite hole, granted. I hadn’t exactly had the time to do a spring clean before his arrival, butcome on.His reaction had exceeded disgust and flown straight into deep-rooted snobbery. So what if I had a few shirts and socks acting as a rug? Any normal person would’ve plastered on a smile and passed judgement inside their own head, but he’d tiptoed around as if I were a peasant living in squalor.

I absolutely was not.

When I could be arsed—or was in the right mood—I took pride in my home. ‘Polishing a turd’ came to mind, but it wasn’t my fault that the cheapest place to rent was the poxy shoebox flat above my shop, so I worked with what I had. He was just a privileged twat, and we had absolutely nothing in common, so even if I could overlook the demon thing, we weren’t compatible.

And why on earth am I even giving it thought?

I squeezed the steering wheel tighter and forced my attention back to the road, grateful that my inner monologuing was good for something. It had killed the already-short journey, so I hadn’t the time to spiral further and start imagining what our babies might’ve looked like.

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