Chapter Forty-Five Lucifer
Chapter Forty-Five
Lucifer
It takes a few hours before Astaroth returns to me in my office, making a few piss-poor excuses about how Charlotte was snatched out from under him, captured by her own father’s fucking lackeys. I don’t believe a single word of it.
Gabriel is soon hot on his heels.
For once, my angelic messenger of a brother is a sight for sore eyes. Though the all-white suit he’s wearing, which contrasts all too readily against his dark-brown skin, is a little too on the nose, even for me. Must he really dress the part, just to rub it in all our faces?
“Lucifer,” he says, by way of greeting.
“Now?” I snarl. “Really, Gabriel? Per usual, your timing couldn’t be any more bloody inconvenient.”
Gabriel shrugs. “Dad sent me,” he says. “His orders. Before He left, anyway.”
“Of fucking course He did.” I wave a hand, downing the rest of my whisky. The drink burns as it goes down, but it’s not nearly fiery enough to appease me. To remind me of home. Back when it was all hellfire and deserving screams, and things were quaint. Simple. Not nearly this level of fucked. “You don’t do bloody anything unless it’s by His orders, do you?” I ask, pointing toward the ceiling with my middle finger. I phrase it as a question, though we both already know the answer.
Normally, I’m not nearly as unhinged as this, but being unable to locate Charlotte has driven me more than a little mad. It’s been several hours since my live video went viral, but thus far, her followers have failed me. Wherever her father’s chosen to hold her, she must be unconscious, knocked out or sleeping, because I can’t find her.
Even inside the ether.
My pulse races. My power barely leashed.
If any of them lay so much as a finger upon her head, I will rip out their entrails and feast on them for dinner. The old punishments still appeal to me.
I turn toward Astaroth, giving him a look that says I trust him completely. Even if I’m furious that he lost her.
Another lie.
“The Righteous,” he says, as if I’d ever believe that a group of pathetic, hate-fueled misogynists could ever get the one-up on me.
Not without divine help, of course.
I glance toward Gabriel. “You’ll understand if the delivery of Dad’s redemption trophy need wait for a few hours.”
Gabriel smirks. Contrary to popular belief, my Father’s angels are no less wicked than me. No better either.
I’m simply the fool who was brazen enough to act on what the rest of us were already thinking. The one faithful enough to believe that Father would still love me. Forgive me for my rebellion as He would His humans.
I won’t make the same mistake twice.
“Take me to him,” I say to Astaroth. “The Handler.” I sneer at the nickname.
Astaroth nods, like this is exactly what he expected of me.
Torture. Manipulation. Bloodshed.
Until I get the answers I need. To find the woman he’s stolen from me.
But I’ve yet to show my full hand. Play my ace.
The three of us step through the ether together, me dragging Astaroth along beside me. He’s not nearly powerful enough to manipulate time and space on his own. Within seconds I find myself standing inside an abandoned subway tunnel beneath the city. The air is filled with petrichor, the scent of damp concrete, and the stale stench of humanity’s unnatural and disruptive innovations fallen into inevitable disrepair. Just as they will no doubt return to the earth.
To my Father. Given time. Even when only the ruins of their civilizations remain, my siblings and I will still be here. And I look forward to bearing witness to it.
The Handler waits on a chair in the middle of the tracks, where he’s been tied. Not rope or even chains are good enough to hold him. Only my power will do.
Two of my demons flank him, standing sentry.
They step back as soon as they see me.
I turn toward Astaroth. “Get my trunk,” I order.
He nods, then disappears.
The Handler perks up, smirking a little at the sound of my voice. A voice that’s no doubt familiar to him.
Astaroth returns with my trunk in hand at the exact moment our captive’s wings unfurl.
“Brother,” he says, greeting me, just as my demons begin to pull the blindfold from him.
“Hello, Michael,” I say tersely.