XXVII
Lucky woke with a throbbing headache. He wasn’t sure what time it was, or where he was, but he felt like he needed to vomit.
It took him a second to realize he was in his penthouse, and the heavy weight draped over his body came from the heads of Luke and John snuggled up beside him.
He palmed the nightstand and flicked on the hellfire lamp, draping the room in a bouncing red flicker.
“Fucking fuckity fuck,” he groaned, rubbing the space at the base of his horn.
He turned his head to better rest it on the pillow as he attempted to wake himself up.
His phone was dead, but judging by the blood red color of the sky it was nowhere near time for him to be awake.
He simply couldn’t take it, though. He needed to go to Earth and apologize to Charlie.
Bub had implanted that thought in his head and it wouldn’t let him go. It was the only thing that made sense.
He’d gladly give up his job, his closet full of designer clothes and his penthouse.
Hell, he’d even give up his car if it meant he could go be with Charlie.
He’d march into the king’s office and quit, then he’d go to Earth and live his life disguised as a human, or in hiding somewhere he could keep an eye on Charlie.
He had to be near Charlie. It was killing him to be apart, and that aching cold chill was growing.
His flame was going out, if he didn’t do something he’d be dead soon, anyway.
He didn’t even know if Charlie had survived his waking moments, and not knowing scared him.
Still disheveled and smelling of liquor, Lucky made his way out of his home and back out into the streets of Hell to go and confront his old man for the first time.
The elevator ride to the bottommost level of Hell left Lucky with an excess of time to second guess his choices. He’d gone from scared to terrified. This could very well end with Satan killing him right there in the middle of his office, but he had to try.
The lowest circle of Hell was the most intimidating.
Cold and unfeeling, yet unbearably hot—much like his father.
The elevator opened to a cavernous space with craggy walls, with a desk at the far end of the cliff face that opened up to endless stretches of fire and pitch black nothing: the infamous Pits.
In the distance, Satan’s palace would shimmer like a dark beacon of black rock.
Meeting the king in his domain required one to stand on the literal precipice, and Lucky was fully aware of how delicate the situation was.
The door opened and Lucky stepped out into the king’s office with his hands placed nervously together and tail wrapped tight around his leg.
He saw the king sitting behind his massive desk made of obsidian, working on his never ending to-do list. Lucky’s eyes shifted to Lucius.
Somehow, he had a feeling his sibling would be here.
“What do you want?” Satan asked, voice reverberating in the cavernous space.
“I—” Lucky inhaled sharply. He brushed his hair back and tried to steel himself. “I did as you asked. The files are organized and Charlie is-is gone.”
“And?”
“Father, please,” Lucius said gently, turning their spotlight-like eyes from one devil to the next. “Can you not see he is distressed?”
The King of Hell’s own eyes shifted across the flaming visage to look at him, but he said nothing.
Lucky tried to come out and say it. His throat dried and he looked to Lucius for help since no one else was present, but he knew help wasn’t coming.
“I’m tired,” Lucky admitted.
“If you didn’t spend your free time partying and getting drunk you wouldn’t be.”
“I-I… my soul is tired.”
“You don’t have one of those.”
Lucius scoffed as they sat on the sofa in front of Satan’s desk. “There is no use in lying to the boy. It is quite obvious he does have a soul, and that is no one’s fault but yours.”
The king finally stopped typing and looked at Lucius with an unreadable expression.
The Patient God of Anger fixed the pleats of the black skirt over their long legs and checked their nails, doing so with a strong air of boredom that Lucky could only be jealous of.
He was freaking out, and they’d talked back to the fucking King of Hell like it was nothing.
“Watch your tone,” the king threatened.
“Lucky is the result of your insatiable appetite. You running out of interesting demons to breed with should not have meant moving on to humans,” Lucius said much too casually. “You have to face the consequences of your actions.”
Lucky flinched. He hugged his upper body tight and pondered the revelation about his mother but opted to keep quiet. Somehow, it made more sense than he wanted to admit. It explained a lot, but he needed to focus on Charlie, not the sudden revelation that he was half-human.
“Lucky was doomed to be different, and you cannot fault him for being exhausted,” Lucius said, once again keeping their tone flat.
“The same goes for Lorelei and so many of the others you treat so harshly. You expect supernatural wonders from half-human children, then find yourself upset over their inability to keep up, and mercilessly rid yourself of them as if they are mere tools. Lucky is different, you know that. He has surpassed even the most purely demonic heirs in numerous ways. You kept him alive and poured resources and time into him for centuries for a reason. But, you have also worked him to the bone, threatened him, and broken him. He listens, he is obedient, and you offer shouting and hate in return. And since no one else is standing up for him, I will. He is an ineffable asset, one you are surely about to lose if you keep this up, and I for one shudder to think of what Hell would be like without him. You may do as you wish, and I will not stop you, but I would be damned if I did not argue the points you refuse to see.”
“What would you have me do, then?” Satan asked.
“Why not ask him what he needs? He is allowed to speak,” Lucius replied, turning to Lucky.
Lucky’s breathing had sped. He exhaled shakily, and the plume of smoke that left his lips was thin and wispy. That seemed to catch the king’s attention. Satan closed his laptop and set his hands on his desk to push his towering frame up. Lucky flinched and stepped back out of fear.
“You’re dying,” his father said with an uncharacteristic unease.
“I attempted to warn you,” Lucius noted.
“I-I should go,” Lucky mumbled, brain racing and his ability to think leaving him at a rapid pace. He didn’t know if he could do this. Didn’t know if he could find the courage despite his deep love for Charlie.
Charlie. He needed to do this for Charlie.
He coughed into his arm and tried to stand upright, clutching at his aching heart as he did.
“I have a request,” Lucky said, voice small and scared.
“You need to go see the royal physician,” Satan demanded.
“No! I need to—”
A harsh rumbling interrupted his statement.
The room shook, and a chorus of horns echoed in the cavern.
Lucky knew that sound, and he was so screwed.
It was the Seraph’s Office, and judging by the way his spine snapped straight at the cacophonous noise they were coming with immense speed and a mission.
Flashes of light burst into the chamber, and one by one angels with six wings and crisp white business suits appeared.
Their halos spun rapidly, casting Heavenly light across the King’s office. Lucky had to shield his eyes.
“We’ve come to file a complaint against one of your psychopomps,” Seraphiel, the former Prince of the Seraphim—now going by the term CEO to keep up with the modern times—said with a chorus of voices escaping his pierced lip.
He was a tall, dark-skinned entity with pure white hair and piercing white eyes like stars burning bright.
The galaxy personified in God’s image. He was night incarnate.
He was the cosmos walking on tall, muscular legs.
He was the purest form of authority, perfection, and organization.
He was also a fucking prick with a stick up his ass.
Lucky really had royally fucked up if it was bad enough for Seraphiel to visit in person.
The massive six-winged angel snapped his fingers and Metatron—another tall, stupidly handsome, rule-following douche canoe—walked forward with a file in his hand that was flipped open with a disgusting level of grace and finesse.
The porcelain white, robotic guard dog held it before Seraphiel so the CEO could read out the atrocities that needed rectifying.
“You have no authority here!” Satan boomed.
“We do when your head psychopomp intervenes with the life, death, and afterlife of one of our saints. Not to mention that he convinced one of our archangels to steal his file, embezzle funds, pose as members of the church, and tainted the soul of a pure-hearted priest with an imprint that took forever to remove! On top of that, we are aware that your head psychopomp has also proclaimed that he’s in love with our saint! ” Seraphiel shouted back.
Any semblance of care the king had mustered for Lucky had vanished.
Lucky turned to look at his father before shifting back to the small army of seraphim in front of him.
“I was trying to atone for my mistake. Trying to get him home,” Lucky said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, and I sure as fuck didn’t mean to fall in love.”
Metatron whispered something into Seraphiel’s ear.
“We are aware. That’s why we’re here to make a deal.
Despite the mess, Mr. Wickham is home and can now return to his Earthly duties.
His Heavenly glow has diminished, but we have hope.
We can only pray he corrects his course and is able to attain his sainthood as was ordained by God himself, but we worry that he’s been influenced by his time in Hell—his time with you, Mr. Morningstar—”
“Junior,” Satan corrected with disdain.
“We are willing to overlook this and call the situation a done deal on the condition that Mr. Morningstar Junior never returns to Earth as long as Mr. Wickham remains alive, so as to not influence or taint his pure soul any longer,” Seraphiel said coolly.
“He would no longer be able to do his job. That is suicide for a devil like him,” Lucius noted, sharing a cold stare with the seraphim CEO as they stood.
Lucky noticed the tension between the two was thick enough to cut with a knife.
He could literally feel the disdain rolling off them.
It was suffocating. Two beings as old and powerful as Lucius and Seraphiel probably had built up animosity and rage waiting to boil over that had been kept at bay by the space between Heaven and Hell.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what had led them to this point.
As the two ancient entities squared up, Lucky noticed Lucius’ porcelain skin started to crack along the mouth again.
Perhaps scariest of all, the two massive beings both spoke with choruses of voices from deep within, so the office felt as if it had been filled with armies of souls barking at each other once they’d started bickering.
“Your failure of a brother’s future is not our concern,” Seraphiel replied angrily.
Lucius scoffed. “This is preposterous—”
“Would you guarantee Charlie gets his golden halo?” Lucky asked.
All eyes turned to him.
“What does it matter to you?” Metatron inquired with genuine shock and disgust.
“I promised him he’d get his golden halo.
Promised him I’d write him a letter of recommendation so he could try and get a job in your department.
It was important. Promise me he’ll get those things and you have a deal,” Lucky said, realizing this was the last thing he could do to ensure Charlie had that happily ever-after he deserved.
“Absolutely not! This is an outrage!” Satan shouted.
“Done. You are hereby banished from Earth, we will be watching to ensure you keep your promise. If you so much as walk near a portal, or inquire about Mr. Wickham, we’ll have no choice but to retaliate,” Seraphiel said with another snap of his finger.
In an instant, the angels were gone.
Lucky let his head fall back. A sense of relief finally washed over him.
Charlie was alive, awake, and his golden halo was secured.
That last act meant Charlie would be happy and get his eternity.
It was enough. The prince’s banishment to Hell was worth it, even if it meant his father would probably kill him in the next few seconds.
He simply hoped that it would be fast, that he wouldn’t be thrown into the Pits now that he knew he did have a soul.
That torture would be immeasurable, and he was too tired and scared to wrap his mind around that fact.
Instead, he started to panic over the fact he’d never get to say goodbye to Bub or thank him for giving him the push to stand up for himself.
Never get to tell Gabe thank you, tell them he loved them one last time.
Luke and John would be alone and scared.
Lorelei would get his car and his job, all of his hard work meant nothing.
He’d never get to inquire about his mother.
Never see Charlie again. The reality of what he’d done swept over him and he started to hyperventilate.
He could feel the room shake and heat up as the king approached.
“Can-can you make it quick?” Lucky begged. “I’d rather you kill me than send me to the Pits. P-please.”
“Father, please. Reconsider,” Lucius pleaded.
“I’m sorry for failing you!” Lucky cried. He broke down sobbing when Satan’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “I’m sorry!”
“I’m taking you to the royal physician. You need rest.”
Lucky breathed out a shaky sigh. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor as the edges of his vision went dark. He felt so cold. So alone. He missed Charlie.