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lenses. Ripping the covers off, I rolled out of bed and ran, limping down the nearest aisle between the rows of books. I screamed as I ran. In between my yells, I could hear his wings beating above as he pursued me.
    Eventually, the shelves ended, and I was facing a wall. I backed up against it and watched as he descended, his wings kicking up clouds of dust from the old books. My trip to the Beyond had shown me what these demons could do to human flesh. As he approached, I cautioned him not to come any closer or I would take action. He did not heed my warning. I have no idea why I did it, but I reached into my coat, pulled out the green veil, and threw it at him. Though it had been wadded into a ball, it immediately opened up in midair inches from my hand and fluttered to the ground like a feather. The demon grimaced and a strange sound welled up from his chest.
    I stood there, shaking, waiting for him to pounce, and then, after a long time had passed, I realized that he was laughing. He bent over, picked up the veil, and handed it toward me. When I reached out and took it from him, he said, “Physiognomist Cley?”
    I was astonished at his use of human language and could do no more than nod.
    â€œI am Misrix,” he said. Then he bowed slightly and brought his hairy, clawed hand up to shake.
    Perhaps it was the ridiculous nature of a demon wearing spectacles that told me finally that I had nothing to fear. I reached out and clasped hands with him. As we shook, his wings opened and closed slightly. Then he turned and started back down the aisle. Motioning to me with his tail as though it were an arm, he called over his shoulder, “Come, I’ll make us some tea.”

5
    â€œSugar?” asked the demon.
    I came suddenly to attention and nodded without realizing what he was asking. From the time I had taken a seat at the library table, and he had gone through the door to fetch the tea, I was unaware of both my surroundings and the passage of time. In my mind I kept replaying the scene of me throwing the balled-up veil at him. The memory of his laughter had left me reeling.
    â€œOne lump or two?” he asked, lifting the lid off a silver sugar bowl that was part of the service he had brought in on a lacquered tray.
    â€œYes,” I answered.
    He bowed his horned head and reached daintily into the bowl with two of his claws, like pincers, to pull out one cube at a time. Putting two in my cup, he lifted a spoon and stirred five times, his wings rising slightly with each orbit.
    â€œWe haven’t had lemon for a long time,” he said, averting his glance.
    I said nothing but continued to stare in disbelief at his cordiality. “A shy beast of prey?” I said to myself. It might even have been easier had I come to my senses and found Greta Sykes chewing my leg. All I could think of was having seen my friend, Bataldo, the Mayor of Anamasobia, attacked by demons in the Beyond.
    While preparing his own, he looked up every so often, showing enough fang to make me uncomfortable. He brought the cup to his lips when he was done and tested the mixture. The steam rose from the tea and fogged his spectacles, so he took them off and cleared them against the reddish brown fur of his stomach. His eyes intrigued me with their vertical serpent slits instead of irises, but at the same time they stirred some primal fear in me, and I could not look for long.
    â€œYou saved me tonight,” I said.
    He nodded. “I was out for some air, and I saw you running.”
    â€œThe werewolves,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he told me. “I have no control over them. I’m as frightened of them as you are. If I landed outside the walls and stayed on the ground, they would as soon rip me apart as you.”
    â€œThank you,” I said.
    â€œYou are welcome, Cley.”
    â€œHow do you know me?” I asked, lifting my tea.
    â€œMy father,” he said.
    â€œWho is your