Chapter Fifty-Seven Charlotte
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Charlotte
Lucifer calls Dagon to pick us up in the Town Car outside Grand Central, because apparently, I’m in “no condition” to walk the several blocks down to Seventh.
My limbs feel so heavy with grief and fatigue that I don’t have the energy to argue with him.
I don’t want to risk an unwanted encounter with the media right now anyway. I’m in no state.
It’s one thing for Azrael to have hurt me.
It’s another for him to have hurt her. Hurt him again.
I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to forgive him.
We’re inside the sanctuary, waiting for Father Brown to see us as he prepares for his first morning service, when for what must be the fifth time, I ask, “Are you sure Father Brown is a prophet?”
“I’m not certain, but it’s likely.”
I rub my forehead. “And you’ve been seeing him?”
“Yes, darling.”
“And he took your confession, before you . . .” My voice trails off.
“Why is that the part that’s so bloody hard to believe? I wasn’t always the devil, you know.” Lucifer sits down in the pew next to me.
“I know. Believe me.” I bite my lip apprehensively. “Did you know initially that saving me, giving me God’s redemption, would allow the seals to be opened?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered, darling. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
My heart races. “There’s just a few things on my mind, that’s all.”
I recount to him my theories, all the inconsistencies I’ve been thinking about lately. How our connection has been growing stronger, how he’s the only one of his siblings who lost his power when his seal opened, how saving me changed, well, everything.
“I just can’t help but think there’s something we’re missing in all this.”
“And because of Azrael?” he asks, the hellfire in his eyes gleaming.
My face falls.
I glance down at my hands. “I want there to be a reason that explains why he did this to us, I guess.”
Why he didn’t choose Lucifer and me.
We both fall silent for a beat.
“What you said in the scene was true, wasn’t it? That you never intended to be only mine?”
I look toward him then, eyes watering. “I want to be yours. I do. But I also want to be . . .” I lower my head. “Does that make me a bad wife? That I . . . love someone other than you?”
Lucifer sighs, leaning forward. “No, darling. I don’t think it does.”
His eyes are so full of grief, of uncertainty and hurt, that I don’t think I realized how much this was tearing him up inside. “Is there something he gives you?” He ducks his chin, staring intently at a spot on the floor. “Something that I . . . can’t?”
When he does finally look at me again, the longing in his expression is so raw, I can’t help but ache for him. “Is that what you’ve thought, what you’ve been worried about this whole time?”
He nods slightly, and I can’t help but want to throw myself into him.
I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him for all he’s worth.
It’s pain and shared sorrow and longing all in one, but when I pull back, I hold his face in my hands.
“No,” I whisper against his lips, shaking my head.
“No. It’s not about that. It never was.”
“And yet you still—”
“Want him?” I hang my head. “Don’t you?” I give him a knowing smile.
He huffs, like he still can’t see what it is I’m seeing, or at least he still refuses to admit it. That for better or worse, Azrael is a sin that belongs to us both.
“I don’t love you in spite of your sins, Charlotte. I love you for them.”
“And Azrael?”
His expression hardens. “His sins are a bit different.”
“Are they?” I stare up at the stained glass image overhead. The image of Christ ascending. “Or are they just something neither of us wants to see?”
Lucifer arches a brow.
I inhale an unsteady breath, finally confessing what I’ve been thinking.
“At first, I thought I cared for Azrael because of the choice he offered me, but now I realize it was never really about that. You were already my choice. You were always my choice.” I let out a long sigh.
“But I think the reason we’ve both been so reluctant to trust Azrael, to treat him like an equal partner in the way he deserves, is because, well, Death shows us parts of ourselves that we don’t want to see. ”
Lucifer releases a slow exhale, his gaze holding steady on me. “And what’s that, darling?”
I swallow. “Your anger with God, with yourself, your desire to hurt Him how He hurt you. How you’ve allowed your pride to get in the way of your vulnerability.
And the . . . shame I know you still feel underneath all that.
The regret.” I hesitate. “You don’t need to forgive Him, Lucifer, but I think you might need to forgive yourself. ”
Lucifer’s breath becomes shallow, his eyes widening slightly like he’s struggling to hold my gaze, and then he glances away.
The vulnerability I see in him then is frightening to me.
I’m not sure if I’ll be strong enough to hold him together if he breaks.
Not when he’s the one I’ve always counted on to hold me.
But Azrael . . .
“And you, little dove?” He wets his lips, his throat writhing. “What does Death force you to see?”
I inhale, struggling to admit my sins out loud.
“That there are limits to my faith. That there are more similarities between you and me than I was ready to see, but that’s not a bad thing.
That sometimes I lose myself in you, and also .
. .” I swallow. “That there are some sacrifices I’m not willing to make. ”
The pride, the knowing grin he gives me, makes me smile in spite of the pain. He taught me that.
How to respect myself.
To value my own desires. My own wants and needs.
I won’t allow my trauma to make me abandon myself anymore.
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me deeply, our tongues mingling like he’s reminding me of all I’m worth. I only wish he could see the same for himself.
That he deserves God’s forgiveness just as much as me.
When we break apart a short while later, I’m dizzy and breathless, and feeling more than a little lost in him, but there’s still an underlying feeling of grief, of sadness that hangs over me. It’ll be there for a long time, I’m certain.
I recount to him what I saw in Jax’s prophecy. What I thought it meant.
My insides knot.
“It’s my fault she’s dead,” I whisper.
Lucifer scoffs, taking my chin between his fingers. “Did you want to open the fourth seal, little dove, or did my brother?”
“You know what I mean.” I hang my head. “I’m still sorry for it.”
“So am I.”
We sit in silence for a few moments, my head resting on his shoulder.
“You understand why I might have been a bit salty when I found out Azrael put the Holy Lance into play?” He strokes my hair gently.
I nod. “I figured you would be.”
“You knew?”
Another nod. “I already forgave him for it.”
I recount all that’s happened between Azrael and me, all we’ve shared. He deserves to know, I think.
“And what about this? Your friend? Will you forgive him for that?”
I shake my head, still unsure how to answer that or about how to tell him what sparked me putting my collar back on to begin with. I shift slightly in his lap, and his hand steadies me instinctively, his touch warm through the fabric of my dress.
His body surrounds mine, and I wonder if he can feel it too. The quiet ache in my belly that lets me know I’m his.
My hand flits to my collar. “I’m not certain it matters anymore.”
We’re both unable to say anything else as Father Brown leans into the sanctuary. “I’ll be with you both in a moment.”
He disappears, and I stare after him. “I don’t understand why you waited.”
One of Lucifer’s brows ticks upward.
“If Father Brown is a prophet, why not just use him right when you knew? Forget all about . . .” I stumble over Jax’s name. It feels like if I say it out loud, if I speak it, she’ll really be gone.
“I’d never ignore something that matters to you, darling. We’re in this together. Even if it appears I haven’t always acted that way.”
“And if Father Brown isn’t a prophet? If there’s no other way to stop your family than . . . sacrificing myself?”
Rebalancing the cosmic paradox that started all this in the first place.
Cutting the seals off at the root.
Lucifer shakes his head. “I won’t live without you.”
“Neither will I.” I take his hand. “Would you really choose to die alongside me? For humanity?”
“For humanity, no.” He cups my cheek. “But for you, I’d do anything, Charlotte.”
My hands start trembling. “And if it comes to that?”
Lucifer’s expression turns grave. “Then we do what I’ve always done from the start, little dove.” He squeezes my hand. “We give my family hell, and we go down fighting.”
“Together.” I smile at him, though there’s a bit of grief in it. I’d rather spend what little’s left of eternity in Hell with him before it all comes to an end than imagine any immortal life without him. I glance up at the image of Christ overhead. “Do you want to get married?”
Lucifer blinks. “Pardon?”
“Do you want to get married? Right now?” I nod toward the altar.
“We can still have the wedding, of course, since it’s already in the works.
Humanity might need all the pomp and circumstance to distract them from the world burning, and if we’re going to go down fighting, our wedding would make a great last stand, to give Michael hell, to wave a big middle finger at your Father, but considering all the press there’ll be, I thought you might want to . . .”
“Of course, little dove.” He chuckles. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The ceremony is private and fast, and I force Lucifer to make a pretty obscene donation to Father Brown and his congregation, but that doesn’t lessen the gravity of the moment.
Father Brown’s voice is steady as he leads us through the vows, though I barely hear him over the pounding of my own heart.
But Lucifer’s hand never leaves mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, calm, certain, like he’s branding me with his touch.
When he says “I do,” his eyes burn so fiercely into mine I almost forget the world outside these walls is ending.
When I repeat the words, I don’t falter.
I feel confident in this decision.
It’s the one I was always going to make from the start.
Even if the current circumstances are filled with uncertainty.
When it’s over, we wait in the sanctuary alone for Father Brown to retrieve extra copies of the paperwork.
My eyes flit toward the confessional. “You know, I’ve always wanted to—”
Lucifer hauls me up by my collar and into his arms. “No need to say another word, darling.”
The love he makes to me then is heated and quick, fueled by our shared grief of the end we both fear is coming.
When we both stumble out of the confessional, despite my grief, I feel almost . . . happy.
Peaceful.
He tugs me into his arms, pressing me against the outside of the confessional, until I’m once again heated and panting, aching for him, but then I glance over his shoulder, my eyes going wide as I yank him back inside immediately.
“Lucifer,” I whisper, hurriedly closing the door.
He drops down onto the confessional bench, pulling me into his lap. “Already ready for another round, darling?” He nips at my ear.
“No,” I hiss, a hint of panic shooting through me. “No, my father’s congregation is here.”
The Righteous? he says through our connection.
I nod, not wanting to speak.
I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact that we’re here, not now that they’ve declared open war against us. Especially since Lucifer is still mortal.
A sudden sense of panic overtakes me.
It was bad enough losing Jax, but I can’t even consider what I’d do if, before all this is said and done, I were to lose . . .
No. I shake my head.
No, I can’t allow myself to go down that road.
Not without losing my focus completely.
What are they even doing here? I think, more to myself than anything.
But I’m not exactly great about not broadcasting my thoughts loud and clear to Lucifer, so he still answers.
Father Brown, I presume.
We both exchange a meaningful look.
If the Righteous suspect he’s a prophet, and if they’ve been following me and Lucifer, then they . . .
The image of that flyer at the pier comes back to me.
The school photo of Lily Parker.
The fact that they’ve been threatening anyone who stands in their way. Anyone who supports us.
My eyes go wide.
If Father Brown dies . . .
Lucifer gives a stiff nod, his expression suddenly grave.
This is our last chance.
Or we both die, together.
And I’ve had enough death for today.
I place a finger to my lips, even though I’m certain I don’t have to tell Lucifer. I open the door to the confessional just wide enough to see Father Brown and a member of my father’s old congregation talking.
John Whitaker.
He’s a bit older than Mark was. Nearing middle age. With a bit of paunch.
By all appearances, he’s nonthreatening. A middle-aged white guy.
Like most American evangelicals.
But I still remember how he’d clap Mark on the back every time I flinched when he moved too quickly and say, “A firm hand makes a godly wife.”
Then glance at me like he was checking to see if the lesson had stuck.
Or how his hand would linger on my shoulder just a little too long as he smiled.
Always smiling. Just enough to make me question if the subtle threat I perceived in it was even really happening.
I bet he and so many others from my old life wonder what drove me to Lucifer.
I won’t allow what they did to me to control me anymore.
I slip the confessional door back closed, pressing myself against it.
They’re just talking. Maybe it’s just a casual visit?
Lucifer’s eyes narrow, and I don’t have to hear him inside my mind to know what he’s thinking.
I can fight.
No, he says. And that’s final. He touches my collar, reminding me of who exactly is in charge. After what happened today, you’re in no mental state to. Your life is not the only thing I would burn this world to protect, little dove. I’m unhinged for you.
He traces a finger down my collar to between my breasts, stopping just above my heart.
And I shiver.
Then what do we do, sir? I nod toward the door. We can’t just hide here. They could kill you. I can get you to—
Go get my sister, he orders. She still owes you a favor, and you no longer need it for her seal. She won’t turn you away.
And what are you going to do if they . . . ?
He unbuttons his suit coat and reaches inside his shoulder holster, removing one of the celestial blades he carries. I have a plan, obviously.