Chapter Thirty-Nine Charlotte
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Charlotte
That night, when I finally collapse into bed, I have the dream again.
The one I’ve been having since the very beginning when I met Lucifer.
But it keeps changing.
I run so hard I can feel my heart pumping, though I don’t know what exactly it is I’m running from. But when I reach the forest, the darkness no longer feels threatening.
Instead of the gnarled shadows cast by the moonlight chasing me, or the small, fresh-faced girl I expect to see, Lilith is already there, waiting for me.
I turn my head and the setting shifts, so that we’re standing in the middle of a darkened orchard, a garden that seems to exist at the edge of the world, the sickly sweet scent of rotting apples all around me.
Lilith’s dark skin seems to blend into the night, so that the whites of her eyes and her teeth gleam viciously, and when she speaks, her voice sounds like a shrieking chorus of a thousand furies made one. Of every woman who’s ever been scorned.
“The Daughter of Chaos approaches, born to deceive; in blood, she rises in the dragon’s name.
Birthed of the Holy Mother, against the will of the Father, she will strike where none dare tread.
For within her she shall wield a power yet unseen by the heavens.
For as it was written: ‘She who was dead shall bring forth the living to the wrath of the Last Judgment.’”
A chill runs down my spine, my breath hitching.
I expect her to stop there, to disappear like she has the last several times I’ve had this dream, but then she reaches out and touches me. On my belly.
I glance down only to find a generous curve there, and on my wrist, the snake, mine and Lucifer’s sigil, the one that marks me as his soulmate, burns suddenly.
I lift my head toward Lilith again, but she’s no longer alone.
Four men now stand behind her. The strongholds of the power she needs to unleash.
I recognize them instantly.
Pestilence, Famine, War, and—
“Death,” I breathe.
But Azrael refuses to look at me.
“Charlotte,” I hear a soft, familiar voice hiss. “Charlotte.”
I turn, just in time to find Jax lying beneath one of the trees, a bitten, rotting apple in her hand. It crumbles as she looks toward Azrael and then—
I wake up choking on nothing but dust, the smell of rotting apples still singeing my nose. But I hear the sound of my automated espresso maker running.
I flop back into my pillows with a groan, my heart racing. It was just a dream.
I roll out of bed a moment later.
After Azrael and I called it a night the other evening, I came back to the townhouse, and I’ve stayed here, hidden away, ever since.
I’m not ready to face the full brunt of the seal’s consequences yet.
Padding into the bathroom, I see the CVS bag still on my counter. Before I can lose my nerve, I grab the box and follow the instructions, mentally preparing to wait several minutes like the directions say, but the test turns positive almost immediately.
I drop back onto the toilet with a groan.
Fuck my life. Fuck making my own choices.
Rolling over for fate was honestly easier.
I place my hand to my belly, like I might be able to sense the budding life there, and suddenly I’m centered again.
The image of the little girl from my dreams comes to mind.
I always thought she was supposed to be Mark’s, what could have been if I’d stayed with him, but now that I think about it, I realize her coloring looks a lot like—
“Lucifer.” I groan.
How am I supposed to tell him I’m pregnant with everything that’s going on between me and Azrael currently?
Within a few months, my life has gone from relatively stable, if a bit stressful, to a full-blown catastrophe. A lot like everyone else in the city.
At least I’m shielded from the worst of it.
I wash my hands and make my way out of the bathroom, the townhouse feeling entirely too empty.
I get dressed quickly, but as I’m zipping up one of my dresses that is definitely getting too tight—I let out a noise of defeat—which only has me dreading my fitting on Monday with Xzander for Fashion Week, I notice the black Dior box sitting on my bedside waiting for me.
My collar.
The permanent one.
For a long moment, I just stare at it.
I took it off because I was afraid of losing myself. But now I think what I was really scared of this whole time is my own vulnerability. The way I crave him.
I’ve never been good at resisting him.
Abruptly, I take the box and shove it into my purse.
If I wait until I’m certain I won’t disappoint anyone, I’m never going to be happy. I snap myself back to the penthouse.
“Charlotte.”
I turn to find Imani. Or Salome?
I’m honestly not sure what to call her.
“Hey.” I give her a quick cheek kiss.
“Decaf as requested.” She passes me a disposable cup. “Did you—”
“Confirm?” I place a hand on my stomach. “Yeah, but you’re the only one who knows. Aside from the tabloid speculations.”
She pulls me in for a hug, one that’s longer and tighter than usual. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
She takes in my uncertain expression. “Or are you . . . ?”
“I’m keeping it. I just haven’t had a lot of time to process.”
“Who would blame you?” She gestures as if to indicate how the world is falling apart all around us.
I haven’t bothered to look at today’s headlines or at my socials, so I don’t know the extent of the damage. I can only take one thing at a time right now.
“Lucifer’s study?” I suggest, nodding upstairs.
It’s the one place we can still get some privacy. I don’t figure she wants the details of her past broadcast to everyone.
She nods.
We climb the stairs together, neither of us saying anything. The staff are even more active than usual, considering they’re being paid triple time due to the current circumstances, but the last thing either of us needs is someone overhearing.
When we reach the third floor, I clear my throat. “Did you have any friends or family who . . . ?”
“No, thankfully.”
I give a solemn nod.
I can’t believe I haven’t asked much about her personal life until now. I just assumed Apollyon was her baby, considering the hours she pulls despite being salaried. As close as Imani and I are, our relationship has always been strictly professional.
Well, as professional as working for the devil can be, anyway.
When we finally reach Lucifer’s study, I close the door and sink into one of the armchairs.
Now that I know I’m pregnant, it’s like all the exhaustion I’ve been feeling has amplified.
Or maybe it’s the prospect of learning that everything I thought I knew about my mentor was wrong?
Or hearing the full extent of the seal’s damage?
I’m not sure I’m ready for either of those conversations.
Imani drops into an adjacent chair. “I’m sorry if it hurt you to find out about my identity that way.”
“You’re only human, right? You don’t owe me anything. At this point, what’s another celestial secret?” I try to smile, but it fades quickly. “I guess this is why you never wanted to discuss how you started working for Lucifer.”
“Yeah, I’m human. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, Charlotte. It’s just . . .” She stares at her coffee. “I like who I am now better than who I was before.”
“I understand the feeling.”
That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time, after all, outrun my past, push down my resentment about who I was forced to be before by becoming something no one ever would have expected from me.
Until now, when I’ve finally arrived and I’m starting to question if I made a wrong turn.
I guess it was na?ve to believe I could ever escape myself, especially now that I’m being forced to reconcile it with the immortal I’m becoming.
“You don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to.”
“I think an explanation is only fair at this point, and I saw how you’ve been standing up for yourself with the other Originals, with Lucifer.
You can handle it.” Imani takes a slow sip of her coffee, sighing.
“The first time I ever met Lucifer was at the end of my first life. I’d been an innocent and scared girl, a lot like you.
” She grins. “But it was Rome during the Herodian period, and I was royalty, so I was raised in a den of vipers. I learned early how to survive from watching my mother, learned what power seducing a man could bring me.”
“You mean the dance of the seven veils?”
My father used the story all the time in his sermons as a warning—the girl who danced for Herod and demanded John the Baptist’s head on a platter. To him, she was proof that feminine seduction was the devil’s work. But it’s hard to believe it’s the same woman sitting here in front of me.
She nods. “The truth is less legend and more tragedy. I didn’t want John to die.
I just wanted my mother to love me. I danced for my stepfather, Herod, at my mother’s request. I asked for John the Baptist’s head because she told me to.
Not because I wanted John to die, but because I was desperate for her approval.
I wish I could say that it was more than that, than a young girl so hungry for her mother’s love she’d do anything to get it, but it wasn’t. ”
“She took advantage of you, used you for her own purposes.”
She glances down. “I’ve made peace with my choices, tried to move on with my life. I married twice, had two beautiful children”—she smiles at my middle—“lived a long life, but what I did to John still haunted me in the end.”
“So, you went to Hell? Because you asked for his head, called for his execution, and you weren’t sorry for it. You were angry.”
I know this story well. From all my years of Bible school. But the rest I can guess.
She nods. “I begged Lucifer not to punish me, to cut me a deal, and he did.”
“But at a price?”
“It’s always at a price. Like I tried to warn you in the beginning.” She sets down her coffee cup on one of the study’s tables. “Deals with the devil are never what they seem.”