Page 137 of The Devil May Care

She moves a step closer, as if she expects him to vanish. “But how? You conjured him?”

“What? No.” I shake my head, confused. “He’s real. From my world.”

Her brow furrows, full of wonder. “You summoned something that followed you through the mark. Through the Rite.” Her eyes are wide now, almost reverent. “That’s magecraft.”

“I’m not a mage,” I say quietly.

She crouches, gaze never leaving George. “But he’s still here.”

George, for his part, stretches his limbs and yawns, unconcerned by the awe he’s apparently inspired. The woman sits back on her heels.

“He doesn’t smell like this place,” she murmurs. “And he doesn’t listen to it, either.”

I’m not sure what that means.

We sit in silence for a moment. Her eyes flick to mine.

“I’m Sevrik.”

“Kay.”

Sevrik studies me. She’s still scraped open at the edges—whatever she faced in her trial clings to her like smoke—but she doesn’t try to hide it. Just lets it be.

“I didn’t think anything could follow us in here,” she says.

I run my hand down George’s back. “He always does.”

She doesn’t smile exactly. But her mouth shifts, like the idea of loyalty surprises her. Or hurts in a place she doesn’t show.

Then, after a moment: “Is that… normal? For your kind?”

“My kind?”

“You’re human.”

It’s not an accusation. Just a statement. And a curious one at that. It occurs to me that Caz might know more about my kind because of his title. His station. He’s probably had access to books and lore. TheDaemari might be in control in this world, the Vesperan relegated to less-than status, but that doesn’t mean every Daemari lives in a palace with access to books and magic and history.

“I guess,” I say. “For me, yeah.”

Sevrik looks down at George again. He’s curled tighter now, growling low like an idling truck in the middle of a dream.

“You can pet him if you want.”

Her hand is still trembling as she reaches out, pausing once, inches from my pet’s billowing, cloud-like fur.

“He doesn’t bite… hard.” I grin automatically, the joke a standard from the clinic, but Sevrik pulls back as if I slapped her. “That was a joke,” I tell her, “A bad one. Promise.”

“He’s soft,” she murmurs, like it’s a strange thing to notice as she runs her slender fingers through his fur. “I didn’t think real things were ever that soft.”

Something in my chest cracks a little.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly.

“For what?”

Her shoulders lift, then fall. A simple shrug for a non-simple answer. She doesn’t stay long. Just a few more breaths of quiet. But as she leaves, she doesn’t walk like a stranger anymore. She walks like someone who might say hello next time. Sevrik doesn’t look back, but I watch her go, a little stunned by how little that took. No threats. No barbs. Just sitting. Talking. Confused admiration over a housecat. It was so… human. I stay where I am after she leaves.

George stirs, stretches like royalty, then drops his head back on my thigh. I rub behind his ears, trying to ignore the ache behind my ribs. The emptiness there. My body’s back. My mind mostly too, but my grief is still sitting in my chest like stone. Heavy. Cold.