Chapter Thirty-Seven Lucifer
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lucifer
“I don’t see why we couldn’t have had this conversation in your office.”
“You know I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.” I shrug.
Seraph and I are alone on the third floor of the New York Public Library in the McGraw Rotunda, the public’s access closed due to the current state of emergency.
The air is thick with the scent of the library’s aged tomes, and it won’t be long before this space becomes yet another shelter. Just like my penthouse, unfortunately.
Though using my home to house the apocalypse’s victims won’t prove to be the publicity stunt I once would’ve intended it to be.
Christianity is the world’s oldest PR campaign, and I’ve been waging my opposition for some time, obviously.
Seraph glances to the ceiling overhead, taking in the depiction of Prometheus delivering fire to man, though the painting has more than a few distinct similarities to our brother Uriel.
“Do you think they would have painted us in this many forms if they’d known what we really look like? In our heavenly bodies?”
Eyes upon eyes. Wheels upon wheels, she means.
In other words, goddamn terrifying.
Monstrous.
“Not likely.”
Humanity is nearly as in love with itself as it’s always accused me of being.
But at the moment, I couldn’t care less about any of that.
“This business with Uriel,” I say, prompting my sister to share what she’s been withholding. “Is it true? That we can retrieve Charlotte’s friend?”
“To the best of my knowledge, yes.” Seraph nods. “Michael’s furious about how well Charlotte did. That she survived. That your plan’s working.”
I snort. “It opened his seal in any case.”
“But that’s not his only endgame. You know that.” Seraph’s expression turns grave. “He still doesn’t know what her death would do to his cause. He intends to hurt her, Lucifer.”
“I already have several contingencies in place.”
“You mean Azrael?” Seraph wrinkles her nose.
She and my other angelic siblings have never been fans of him.
The thought of someone, or something, that precedes our Father’s divine order and our Mother’s chaos is unconscionable to them.
Affronting to their belief. “And what of the next seal? What if Father’s word forces Azrael to—”
“He won’t,” I say, more confident in that now than I’ve ever been. “We have an alternate plan.”
Azrael may be a free agent, may have even hoped to put an end to me by putting the blade into play, but he won’t hurt Charlotte.
Not physically, anyway.
My thoughts turn to how he looked at me in the playroom the other day, how he told me he loved me, the way he kissed me. If only he’d said what he did before I found out about his little arrangement with my Father, then perhaps he and I would still be . . .
Suddenly, I find myself in desperate need of a change in subject.
“What’s Michael’s sudden preoccupation with Charlotte?”
I have a few guesses, but targeting her doesn’t make sense to me.
Even from my brother’s high-handed stance.
Seraph scoffs. “He’s jealous of you, of course. Michael will always live within your shadow, Lucy. What other reason does he need?”
“A celestial one, no doubt.” I take out one of my cigarettes and stare at it longingly before I sigh and place it back inside my suit coat.
I’ve recently decided to quit whenever I’m topside, but it’s not proving so easy.
“Michael may be a fool, but he wouldn’t dare come for Charlotte over a petty, childish feud. ”
“And what might his motivation be?”
“To block me from regaining my power.”
Seraph rolls her eyes. “Now you’re sounding like—”
“Think about it, sister. If Michael truly believes I would use Charlotte for my own gain, gift her some of my power as a fail-safe, that must mean . . .” I gesture for her to continue.
“That he thinks you’re incapable of loving her.”
“And also,” I snap a few times, prompting her further.
“That sacrificing her to regain your abilities was your plan all along.”
“Exactly.” A feeling of unease shifts through me. This time, I’m unable to resist the urge. I take my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one, finally, having a draw as I allow my head to fall back. Once a devil, always a devil.
I can’t even stop bloody smoking, and yet she expects me to turn over a new leaf? To earn my Father’s forgiveness?
Not bloody likely.
“It fits. Michael never had any intention for her to survive the seals opening, even from the start.”
I exhale, blowing smoke into the darkened air. “And now that she’s a bigger threat than he realized?”
Seraph’s expression is one of distress. “He won’t hesitate to come for her directly.”
I end up somewhere down on Seventh a short while later, the church already filled to the brim with the city’s survivors. Father Brown doesn’t look at me as I approach, but I know he sees me. “A word, Father?”
He nods, reluctantly abandoning the unhoused woman he’s currently attending to, and leads me into a small recreation room off the main sanctuary that serves as the church’s office. “I’m very busy right now, Lucifer. If this is about—”
“You’re a prophet, aren’t you?”
His eyes widen. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Father Brown shakes his head, tugging at his starched collar as if he’s uncomfortable with this particular line of questioning. “I’m sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else.” He tries to leave, but I place my hand upon his chest, backing him against the wall.
The hellfire in my gaze blazes. “You cannot hide from me.”
“Can’t I?” he asks, the defiance in his features causing me to lift a brow, before he brushes past, clearly dismissing me.
My hand drops.
For a moment, I consider going after him with one of my blades. It would be easy.
But false prophets are everywhere these days. Besides, one misstep and the Righteous will descend like vultures.
Still, there’s something off about him. Like something I once knew but have long since forgotten. The same off-balance feeling I had when I saw Michael in front of Charlotte.
Like my power is no longer missing.
Just . . . resisting me.
I shake my head. We’re only days away from retrieving Charlotte’s friend, and even I don’t make it a habit of threatening unarmed clergy in one of my Father’s sanctuaries.
He’ll be at my disposal whenever it suits me.
When the time is right.
I plunge down into my realm shortly thereafter, preferring to avoid the penthouse for the time being. Charlotte’s father and I have her upcoming visit to attend to, and when I arrive at his chamber, I’m unsurprised to find Azrael already there, waiting for me.
“He’s ready for you.”
They’re the first words we’ve spoken to one another since he left me torn open like a lovesick fool outside of the Abyss the other evening.
I give a curt nod. “And have you told her?” I lift a brow as he stalks away. “About your deal with my Father?”
It’s the one weapon I still have within my arsenal to ensure she is mine.
He pauses, his back to me. “Not yet. I . . . need more time.”
I scoff. “Of course you do.”
Azrael heaves a long sigh like my response disappoints him.
Then he fades into the Nothing and is gone.