“Find me a way home, payilas.”

“I will. I promise.” With a deep breath, I pushed my shoulders back. “You’ll have to pretend to be enslaved when you’re outside the infernus. No more talking.”

“I know,” he said, annoyed. “You will have to be smart when I am not with you—if you can.”

A scowl pulled at my mouth. “I can handle it. And Zylas, if someone does find out this time, don’t kill them immediately. Darius knows about you now, so you can’t go around murdering people.”

He glanced thoughtfully at the closed office door. “You did not tell him about the grimoire.”

Though I’d explained almost everything to Darius, I hadn’t told him about my mother’s grimoire or Claude’s insinuation that Zylas was special compared to other demons.

“No one can know about it,” I whispered. “It’s too valuable and too dangerous. As soon as we’re set up with this guild, we’re going to find Uncle Jack and make him give up the grimoire.”

Zylas grinned viciously.

“You can’t kill him,” I added.

His grin faltered into a growl. “Why not?”

“Because he’s my uncle!” I paused. “You can scare him, though. I think I’d like to see that.”

Zylas laughed huskily. “Closer, payilas.”

“Closer to what?”

“To not being a weak hh’ainun.”

Scowl returning, I marched to the stairs that would take me down two stories and out of the guild. As Zylas’s laugh followed my retreat, red light flared. Streaks of power swirled around me as he returned to the infernus.

I wiped my hands on my apron, let out a weary breath, and picked up the platter. Balancing it carefully, I set it on the counter.

Zylas, perched on the stool across from me, stared at the dish.

“My best recipes,” I told him, gesturing at its contents. “Chocolate-dipped toffee butter cookies, salted caramel pretzel pecan cookies, red velvet and white chocolate cookies, raspberry almond shortbread cookies, and my personal favorite, marshmallow-stuffed s’more cookies.”

He blinked slowly at the heaps of fresh-from-the-oven deliciousness. Behind me, the tiny apartment kitchen was a disaster of batter-coated dishes. Flour dusted my apron and a chocolate smear had dried on my arm.

Amalia and I had moved into the small two-bedroom apartment yesterday, and my first act as a renter had been to buy all the baking ingredients I needed, plus an entire bakery’s worth of bowls, trays, utensils, and measuring cups. Our cramped kitchen could barely hold it all.

“Don’t you want to try them?” I asked Zylas, uncertain why he was just sitting there. “This is part of our contract. You don’t need to trade for them.”

“This is … a lot,” he muttered. “Why did you make so much?”

“Because you’ve been protecting me this whole time, and I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal. It wasn’t fair.” I twisted my hands. “I also wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

Head canting, he picked up a shortbread cookie, its center packed with sugary raspberry filling and the top drizzled with sweet vanilla icing. He lifted it to his mouth, nostrils flaring to take in the aroma, then bit into it.

I waited hopefully. Squinting at me, he held it in his mouth—then swallowed it whole.

“Chew,” I told him in exasperation.

“Ch.” He shoved the rest in his mouth, then picked up a s’more cookie with a crumbly chocolate-and-graham topping. He chomped it in half and gooey marshmallow stretched between the cookie and his teeth. He mashed the whole thing in his mouth.

“Do you like them?” I asked anxiously.

He selected a red velvet cookie. Ate it. Said nothing.

“You were so quick to tell me my blood tasted gross, but you can’t come up with a single observation about my baking?”

Smirking, he ate a fourth cookie without comment.

“You’re infuriating.”

His tail swished. He sampled the final cookie option, then licked a smear of sticky caramel off his finger. Grumbling under my breath, I turned to the sink heaped with dirty dishes.

“In my world,” he said unexpectedly, “there is a type of … tree.”

I faced him again, my brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“On the tree, it grows small …” He cupped his hands as though holding something. “… small fruits. The outside is poisonous, deadly, but inside is juicy and sweet. We fight over these trees. I have killed to take the fruit when it is ripe.”

He picked up another s’more cookie. “These are better.”

My heart swelled, but I waited warily. Whenever he said something nice, he always ruined it.

Shoving the cookie in his mouth, he crunched it twice between his teeth, swallowed, then chose a pretzel cookie and bit it in half. No further comments. No insults or disparaging smirks. I quashed my wobbly smile and hurriedly started washing the dishes, afraid if I thanked him, he’d say something mean and ruin the moment.

He thought my cookies were better than a fruit he’d killed to eat.

My hands, submerged in soapy water, paused. I’d have to make sure no one ever tried to take food from him. It sounded dangerous.

While I washed dishes, he devoured every last cookie, then wandered into the empty living room. A blanket was folded on the floor where I’d been reading earlier. Zylas stared around in a dazed sort of way, then sank down on the blanket.

Hmm. That might have been too much sugar for him.

Grinning goofily, I continued cleaning, periodically glancing over at the demon rapidly slipping into a sugar coma. He liked my cookies. I didn’t know why that revelation had sent me into a state of complete elation. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been able to share my passion for baking with anyone since my parents had died.

Or maybe it was because I’d gotten another glimpse of the complex being hidden beneath Zylas’s demonic exterior. There was still so much to uncover—so much I didn’t understand and wanted to learn. The workings of his agile mind were a mystery. His wants, his needs, were an unknown. He revealed so little.

He wasn’t safe and never would be. I hadn’t tamed him—I doubted that was possible—but this strange trust we had stumbled into was far better. We were allies. Partners in this battle of survival.

Lost in thought, I finished cleaning, then showered, dressed, and did my hair as best I could with no straightening iron. I’d have to visit my storage unit and stock the apartment with household supplies.

Zylas catnapped as the evening grew later. Half reading a book, I checked my phone every twenty minutes. Finally, at almost ten, the door opened. Amalia breezed in, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

“You’re late!” I exclaimed, leaping off my stool. “I sent you a dozen texts!”

“Sorry,” she replied carelessly. “The cab took forever to pick me up.”

“We were supposed to be there three hours ago.”

“It’s a party, Robin. You’re supposed to be late to parties.” She unloaded her bags on the counter. “I lost all my clothes when the demon burned my house down. I needed a new wardrobe.”

“This isn’t just a party,” I complained, wringing my hands. “Darius wants to introduce us to the guild.”

“Keep your panties on. I’ll get ready.”

I paced as she bustled around her bedroom, spending a ridiculous forty-five minutes on her hair and makeup. Finally, I ushered Zylas into the infernus, pulled on my jacket, and all but shoved Amalia out the door.

“We’re so late,” I fretted as we exited the drab apartment building. It was a dump, but it was cheap, close to the Crow and Hammer, and had immediate availability. We’d been able to move out of our horrible motel room the same day.

Maybe the place was too cheap, though. Along with completing my and Amalia’s guild transfer paperwork in record time, Darius had somehow convinced the Grand Grimoire GM to hand over my portion of the bounty for killing Tahēsh. I was reasonably flush, but without knowing how long I’d be surviving off the bonus, I was keeping my spending low.

Tomorrow, I’d begin the search for Uncle Jack—and when I found him, I’d walk away with every penny and every page of my rightful inheritance. First, I needed to survive this hurdle—officially joining the Crow and Hammer. During a party.

Social interaction. Public spotlight. A thousand opportunities to embarrass myself. At least Zylas had agreed to stay in the infernus unless I called him. One less anxiety to add to the pile.

“Calm down, Robin.” Amalia rolled her dark-lined eyes, the chilly November air frosting white with her words. “It’ll be fine.”

“But meeting the whole guild … what if they all laugh at me like the Grand Grimoire?”

“Considering it’s after eleven, it won’t be the whole guild. I wouldn’t be surprised if the crowd has thinned out.” She shrugged. “Besides, a belated Halloween party? What kind of dork guild is this?”

“Darius said their original party was canceled because of the demon hunt,” I told her. “And don’t be like that. He was extremely generous in offering you a spot at the guild too.”