Chapter Forty-Three Lucifer
Chapter Forty-Three
Lucifer
It takes a moment for my ears to quit ringing, and I pick a bit of bloody shrapnel from my cheek before the familiar chorus of humans screaming fills my ears. Another bomb pops off, the burst of sound creating an additional round of shrieks and agony. But this time, their screams don’t belong to me.
The Righteous struck first. Already two steps ahead.
Which means . . .
I’m on my feet, eyes combing through the chaos that now ensues. I’m used to this. The sight of bloodshed. The sound of the tortured and dying.
But by my hand.
Not by someone else’s doing.
I stagger forward, laughing a little at the sight of the zealots’ flag as it unfurls atop the front of the Met building. A pathetic attempt to claim my city as their own?
“Don’t tread on me?” Azmodeus is at my side now, grinning wickedly as he downs the glass of champagne that’s still in his hand and reads the words on their godforsaken flag. “Who do they think they are? Fucking Metallica fans?” He cackles with bloodthirsty glee.
It’d take a lot more than a few poorly placed bombs to destroy my siblings and me.
The effort is quaint, really.
My eyes comb the fleeing crowd. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“You sent her away,” Gluttony reminds me. “Or so I heard.” He reaches down and helps his twin, our wretched bitch of an only sister, to her feet. “I saw Astaroth shoving her back into the limo.”
“You and half of fucking New York City,” Mammon snaps, as if to say And your point?
“But that’s not nearly as interesting as what happened after.” This from Belphegor.
I look toward Bel, who’s now joined by our other siblings. Wrath and Envy. He’s wearing an all-black, see-through lace dress that covers a pair of metallic boxers that somehow manage to be camp instead of garish.
“What did you see?” I snarl.
“Nothing worth all the fuss,” Bel says, waving a lazy hand like he’s thoroughly enjoying needling me. “Just how he dumped Dagon out of the vehicle shortly thereafter.”
No.
I’m already moving, the shadow of my wings unfurling as I step through the ether, landing only feet away from where I left Charlotte, not far from the vehicle.
The crowd of still-fleeing onlookers shrieks even louder the moment I appear.
Dagon’s abandoned body lies in the street.
I glance down to find Charlotte’s cracked iPhone on the pavement, picking it up only to find the screen still glowing. My vision warps.
This wasn’t a part of the plan, which means ...
I snarl, entering the passcode to open Charlotte’s phone, not pausing even as the small slivers of glass cut through the flesh of my thumbs. I open her favorite social media app, pressing the button to go live as I lift the screen to my face and address her many followers.
I intend to reclaim this city. And the woman who’s mine.
“Find her,” I say, snarling at the camera in a way that demands they now work for me. In a way, I suppose they always have. “Find your queen.”