Page 75 of Demon’s Snack
“You’re alive,” she says.
“So far.”
“That answer lacks the spirit of celebration.”
“I am rationing optimism.”
“Good. I was worried you’d misplaced your personality in a drainage tunnel.”
I give her a look as I cross to the restricted cabinet. “You are fishing.”
“I am observing.”
“You are smirking.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“Mira.”
She sets the ledger down and leans one hip against the table, studying my face with the ruthless attention of a woman who has known me through fevers, punishments, forged ledgers, and one unfortunate incident involving stolen plum wine. “You saw him.”
“Yes.”
“That is the least interesting answer possible.”
“It is the safest.”
“You came back looking less like a woman escaping disaster and more like a woman who found a new category of disaster and took notes on its cheekbones.”
“Mira.”
Her eyes widen with false innocence. “What? I said notes.”
I unlock the restricted cabinet with more force than necessary. “Vaerith confirmed the public ritual.”
The teasing leaves her immediately. “Confirmed how?”
“Formal notice. North registry courtyard at sunset tomorrow. Select witnesses, guild representatives, estate officials, and interested parties. He is calling it corrective infernal contract enforcement.”
Mira’s mouth twists. “That sounds like murder with better handwriting.”
“Usually, yes.”
“You think he plans to bait Corin there.”
“I think the demonstration has several purposes. Publicly, Vaerith wants to appear decisive against infernal contamination. Privately, he wants to provoke Corin, observe the hunger, and determine whether my proximity alters his instability.”
Mira folds her arms tight across her middle. “And you are expected to attend.”
“As estate contract analyst.”
“Of course you are.”
“I need the old stabilization files.”
“You need sleep, food, and a better sense of self-preservation, but apparently the files are what we’re doing.”
I pull the scroll from the cabinet, the one containing the Dareth notation, then reach higher for the older black-banded records stacked behind Vaerith’s approved case studies. Dust spills over my fingers. The shelves smell of mineral ink and dried binding glue, and when I draw the first roll free, the wax seal flakes against my palm like old scabs.
