Page 6 of My Professor is a Demon

"Dr. Katz! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten our appointment."

"Faculty meeting ran long," I explained, unlocking my office. "Bureaucracy is the true eternal torment, not hellfire."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine in the somber corridor. "I'll remember that for my dissertation on comparative supernatural punishments."

As we entered my office, I noticed she'd brought not just research materials, but two takeout containers that emitted enticing aromas.

"I thought you might be hungry after your meeting," she explained, setting them on the desk. "The faculty lounge food is notoriously terrible."

The thoughtful gesture caught me off-guard, as did my unreasonably strong reaction to it. In centuries of existence, few had ever considered my comfort, much less acted to improve it.

"That's... considerate of you," I managed, taking a seat behind my desk.

She unpacked the food with casual efficiency, reaching across the desk to arrange the containers. The movement caused the top of her dress to pull tight across her chest, outlining curves that my eyes traced before I could exercise better control. Her proximity brought her scent to me—something floral mingled with the natural sweetness of her skin—and I found myself leaning slightly closer under the pretense of examining the food she'd brought.

"Research brain works better with proper fuel,” she said. “I got Thai from that place near the physics building. I hope you like spicy food."

"I do." Another small truth about myself I hadn't intended to share.

We ate while discussing her latest findings about the ley line patterns. Her intuitive understanding continued to impress me; connections I'd spent decades discovering, she pieced together through pure instinct and creative thinking.

"The energy signatures in the eastern quadrant are definitely artificial," she said, gesturing with her fork. "Someone is deliberately manipulating the natural flow, creating dissonance rather than harmony."

"To what purpose?" I asked, though I had my suspicions.

"That's what I can't figure out." She frowned, a rare expression of frustration crossing her usually sunny features. "It's like they're creating interference patterns, but not to open a portal like the blood magic ritual attempted. Something more subtle."

"Perhaps to influence emotional states across large populations," I suggested, watching her reaction carefully. "The increasing tensions between supernatural species in Midnight Creek aren't entirely natural."

Charlotte's eyes widened, her quick mind immediately grasping the implications. "You think someone is deliberately making things worse between witches and werewolves? Vampires and fae? But why?"

"Divided communities are easier to control," I said simply. "Or to destroy."

A shiver ran through her despite the warm office. "We have to stop them."

"We?" I couldn't help the skepticism in my tone.

"Of course we." She leaned forward, radiating determination. "My connection to the ley lines could help."

"It's precisely your connection that concerns me," I admitted, choosing my words carefully. "If you can sense the ley lines so acutely, there's every possibility they can sense you in return. Including whoever is manipulating them."

The implication silenced her momentarily, though her expression remained thoughtful rather than fearful.

"All the more reason to work together," she concluded. "You know things I don't about these energies, and I can sense patterns you might miss. We're stronger as a team."

The word "team" created an unexpected warmth. I had been many things in my long existence—agent, servant, instrument, weapon—but rarely a teammate. The concept implied mutual respect and shared purpose. Things demons weren't supposed to value or desire.

Yet I found myself nodding in agreement. "Your reasoning is sound, if optimistic."

"Optimism is underrated in supernatural crisis management," she quipped, her smile returning.

As we finished our meal and turned to the research materials, I found myself watching her more than the ancient texts. The way she tucked errant curls behind her ear without noticing. How her small fingers traced energy diagrams with intuitive precision. The serious concentration that occasionally replaced her usual cheerful expression, revealing the formidable intellect beneath the sunny exterior.

"You're staring, Professor," she noted without looking up from the grimoire she was examining.

I hadn't realized I'd been so obvious. "Your methodological approach is unconventional. I'm analyzing its effectiveness."

"Mmm-hmm." She glanced up, amusement dancing in her eyes. "And your conclusion?"

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