Chapter 10 #2
“I didn’t realize it was connected at first,” Cwall shrank back from his boss, but didn’t flee. “But I overheard him sayin’ it was for a ritual, an’ that he has ta do another one.
“We’re too late,” Camiel said, shaken, and gripped Mags’s hand reflexively.
“No,” Luce extended a hand to Mags. “The Gospel, please.”
Judas recoiled. “You have it here?”
“The Gospel of Peace,” Mags clarified, pulling the tome from her satchel and passing it into Luce’s hands. “Our last and best hope, especially if this has already begun.”
“This book contains essentially a step-by-step process on how to tithe for the fabled Armor of the Gods,” Luce said, casting his steady gaze around the table, “and instructions on how to forge each piece.”
Bal sank into his chair. “How is this going to fix everything?”
“And it better fix everything,” Remi snapped from where she was pacing up and down the carpet after wriggling out of Rag’s grip.
“Enough,” Luce snapped back at her. “I’ve had quite enough of your backtalk, Remiel, and if you all would just shut up, I could give you the answers you seek.”
They went silent, restless but willing to wait—or at least not wanting to piss Luce off any more than they had. Remi halted her pacing but glowered at the Devil, holding the back of her chair in a white-knuckled grip.
“Thank you.” Lucifer fixed each of them with his glare in turn to ensure he had a captive audience.
“There are five pieces that make up the Armor of the Gods, and once upon a time I began to forge them. Jehovah, in his ceaseless fear of being usurped, panicked after only one had been crafted and locked the book away in his Vault so the others would not be made.”
“Which one—” Sachiel started to speak but was quick to bite his tongue as Luce and Camiel both turned to glare at him, the latter placing a dainty hand over his mouth.
“Sorry,” she said sweetly, and Luce sighed.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving a hand. “I know where it is, and I'm working on a plan to reclaim it. The hard part will be crafting the others, as it has never been done before.”
He rifled through the pages of the book with one hand as he spoke, opening the book to display a glittering title: The Belt of Truth.
“Is that the first piece we’re making?” Rag leaned closer to try and view the page.
“If by ‘we’ you mean ‘me’, then yes,” Luce sighed. “Unfortunately, this is a task I have to undertake alone.”
“Why?” Glory peered up through her lashes at him, concern written in the lines on her brow and the frown on her lips. “Can’t we help somehow?”
Luce offered her a sad smile. “You’re sweet for asking, but no. I need to be the one to do this.”
“But—”
“If you want to help,” Luce cut her off gently, “you can focus on keeping things running behind the scenes. Hell won’t stop needing governance simply because I have other things to focus on.”
“I heard you’ll be taking over my shifts at soul intake.” Camiel leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and smirking at Remiel, who scowled back. “I’m looking forward to being able to focus more on the Pit.”
“Don’t make me regret that decision,” Luce shot Cami a warning look. “I have enough on my plate without having to worry about this realm falling into chaos too.”
“Of course not,” Cami dialed up the sweetness to sarcastic levels, and Luce narrowed his eyes at her. She sobered at his expression. “Aw, come on Luci, I’m kidding. You can trust us.”
The Devil had his doubts. But he forced a smile onto his face for the sake of morale, and nodded. “I know that, of course. With so much to be done, I think it best we should adjourn this meeting for now.”
Rag rose from his seat and laid a hand on Luce’s shoulder. “If we’re going to get to work, we should start by having the delicious dinner I’ve made for us all.”
Remi made a choking sound. “We need him to fix the world, we don’t want to poison him!”
Mags looked alarmed. “Rag! Why were you cooking?! I said I was making a lasagna.”
“I made mac and cheese!” Rag protested. “There’s no way I messed up mac and cheese!”
The tiny woman seemed to radiate pure threat as she glared up at the ginger. “I swear if you ruined my cookware again Raguel—”
“Mac and cheese!” Rag repeated with a note of pleading in his tone. He looked at Remi as if she might take his side.
“Don’t look at me.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You cook about as well as Luce bakes.”
“Hey!” Luce interrupted. “What is this, everybody harasses Lucifer day?”
“Isn’t that every day?” Judas deadpanned.
“Unbelievable.”
A laugh broke into their little squabble, and they all turned to see Glory giggling so hard she snorted, hands flying to cover her mouth and nose in surprise.
“Sorry, sorry,” she fluttered her hands, still smiling wide. “I just love this ridiculous family. Even with such darkness looming, you’re all a spot of brightness in my life.”
Judas narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“I may have had some wine,” Glory flushed. “Do I have to be drunk to be affectionate?”
“With this crowd of ingrates? Yes,” Bal said, arching a brow. “Drunk, high, or seriously delusional.”
“Not all of us are as jaded as you,” Sachiel protested.
“It’s disgustingly sweet.” Remi shuddered. “I definitely don’t understand it; I keep trying to get out of this hellscape.”
“You lie,” Luce said flatly. “I know, because I have tried to get rid of you and you just won’t go.”
“Well, someone has to stick around to make sure you’re actually running this place and not just hiding in a room making papier-maché dicks—” Luce shrieked, which she ignored, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken, “or letting your son start Armageddon, apparently!”
The tension they had forced out with their attempts at lighthearted banter swept back in like the tide. There was only so much dark humor could do to buoy them in the sea of despair.
“Good job, Rem,” Balthazar scowled. “Now I’m thinking about dead kids again.”
“Fuck off,” she snapped.
Camiel stepped between them, a perfectly manicured hand pressed to either of their chests. “Knock it off, both of you. Has anyone stopped to consider that all of this deflecting is part of the problem?”
Sachiel stepped up behind his wife, resting his hands on her shoulders and coaxing her to drop her arms. “We can’t help it, Cam. It’s too heavy to carry without trying to lighten the load.”
“We shouldn’t be trying to lighten it,” she protested, turning in his arms to cup her husband’s face in both palms. “We need to figure out how to stop it, before we lose Foster forever.”
“Well, there’s no way we can stop it on an empty stomach,” Rag reasoned. “Let’s move this over to the kitchen!”
“Speaking of kitchens,” a voice came from the doorway, and they all turned to see one of Bal’s sentries looking concerned and vaguely disgusted. “Something is either burning or rotting in ours.”
“My macaroni!” Rag’s face became a mask of horror, and he bolted from the room. Mags and Remi exchanged a wary look, and Mags sighed again, shoulders slumping.
“Don’t worry, I still have a lasagna.”
“In the meantime, I’d better go supervise my toddler husband.” Remi had the air of a woman who continuously expected nothing but was still disappointed as she followed Rag’s path from the room.
Judas kicked at the pavement in the alley across from Foster’s apartment, smoking a cigarette down to the filter as he debated if he was going to do this.
Luce had dropped a bomb at tonight’s meeting, and while the King hadn’t expressly forbidden anyone from talking to Foster about it, Judas knew Luce wouldn’t be happy he was here.
But wasn’t it worth sacrificing their upper hand, to try and do something to stop this from going any further?
Judas had been the only member of the Fallen to stay by Foster’s side after Angela’s death—that had to count for something.
He had always assumed the others were visiting.
He knew Luce wasn’t, but that wasn’t his business to meddle in.
He had his own family drama, and that was more than enough.
Judas sighed, dropped the butt of his cigarette to the pavement, and crushed it under his heel.
The street was quiet as the day started to wind down, the sun dipping ever lower toward the horizon.
The few mortals passing by wouldn’t be able to see him through his glamour, but he knew it would do nothing to deter Foster. Should he try to call first?
His fingers twitched toward his pocket for another cigarette, but movement in one of the upstairs windows caught his eye.
Judas glanced up, focusing in on the curtain that had been pulled aside on the fourth floor and the little Hispanic woman who stared directly at him.
Her judgmental expression had him reconsidering another smoke, and he lifted his hands in surrender.
She sniffed haughtily, nodded in approval, and let the curtain fall closed again. Judas shivered. He had never quite warmed up to Foster’s neighbor the way the other man had; she seemed to know way too much, even for a witch.
Shaking off his hesitation, Judas sauntered across the street and through the hole where a gate should’ve hung in the rickety fence.
This place was a total shithole, but it was what Foster could afford on the remnants of his mother’s estate, since he refused to use Luce’s money anymore.
Judas had tried to convince him to move somewhere less dilapidated, even offered Foster a loan, but the other man was as stubborn as his father.
Judas slid his spare key into the lock on the front door and headed up the stairs to Foster’s apartment, knocking briefly on the front door before letting himself into the apartment. Foster was halfway to the door and scowled when he saw Judas hadn’t waited to be welcomed in.
“The spare key is for emergencies, asshole,” Foster grumbled, but there was no heat behind it. Judas, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain his cool now that his friend was before him.