I Raised the Demon Queen (Now She Won't Leave Me Alone)

It started with a fire.

Not the usual kind—no exploding soup pots or shadowy fireballs of doom this time.

Just a small, perfectly average candle.

And a big, very not-average problem: Rhea's emotions kept lighting things on fire.

"I think we need to teach you magical control," I said.

Rhea, who was hanging upside down from the sofa, raised one eyebrow.

"I have control."

"You melted your toothbrush this morning because it poked your gum."

"It insulted my mouth with cheap bristles."

"That's not how that works."

I set the candle down on the table between us. It was short. Round. Plain.