Chapter 12 Maeve
MAEVE
Adrian’s house is obnoxious.
Ugly, loud, and so fucking pompous.
Honestly, I get he’s important—and I say that because I’m not stupid, and I understand the privilege of his political position, not because I believe it—but this house…
It looks like money tried to impress itself and failed. The kind of mansion that was probably tasteful once, before someone decided “subtle” was for peasants.
Columns—actual marble columns—frame the entrance like we’ve accidentally wandered onto the set of a political drama. The front door is carved with some pretentious crest I’m ninety-nine percent sure Adrian made up.
And the windows… fucking hell, the windows. They’re enormous and shiny like the house is glaring at me, offended I exist on its driveway without a real security escort.
Because in the eyes of this family, Hadrian and Lucifer don’t count.
Even the garden feels aggressive. Perfect hedges trimmed into unnatural shapes. Flowers that look expensive, like they know they’re expensive, and they’re judging my anxiety for scuffing the gravel path.
I cross my arms and silently hope that Lucifer’s earlier plea to whichever deity he prays to finally listens and decides to smite Julian.
It’ll be very ironic.
And who cares if this eye sore is harmed in the process?
“You can’t tell me that you have an issue with the house as well,” Hadrian says dryly. He’s added a black leather jacket to his dark ensemble, truly making it clear to whoever is inside that he’s a dark pegasus.
The dramatics of a family reject.
“I’m sorry, you’re telling me that you look at this place and think ‘wow, so pretty’?” I scoff, shaking my head. “It’s an eye sore and should be demolished. Only someone as pompous as Adrian would live here—meaning it’s him or you, Jules.”
“Why me?” Julian whines.
“Exiled,” Lucifer says, holding a hand up.
“Disowned,” Hadrian adds.
“He’d not trust that I wouldn’t bomb the place,” I add, winking at their disbelief. “What? You really think your uncle, who is obsessed with me, doesn’t have me in his will purely for the public opinion of himself?”
Lucifer laughs. “Honestly, pretty princess, you’ve probably inherited the fucking lot. Tarun gets the throne—by default, of course—and Julian gets… well, I don’t think you’re getting much more than that new scar, Baby Cuz.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Julian mutters. “I’d like to see you walking around today with that kind of wound.”
Hades and Lucifer exchange a look before they both laugh. My chromius coils around herself, a vicious breath of anger washing over me, and I change the subject.
I refuse to examine why she cares.
“So… do we knock, or is this one of those the-help-announces-your-arrival houses?” I wonder, looking at the intimidating door.
Lucifer shoots me a flat look. “How you’ve not decided to just barge in is beyond me.”
“Normally, my family is greeted,” Jules says.
“Greeted by… staff? The unicorn himself?” I stage-whisper, pretending to be so awed and impressed.
I’m not.
“Maeve, just—” Julian hesitates, hand hovering over the door handle, before he sighs and looks to Lucifer for help. “If I knock, she’ll make a thing about it.”
“Oh, no,” I gasp, dramatic. “Not a thing. The horror.”
Continuously proving he’s on my side and not that of his cousins, Lucifer cackles and shoves Julian out of the way.
“Don’t worry, little horsie, Big Cousin Lucifer is here to save your delicate ego,” the devil taunts. He shoves open the front door, and I marvel at how easy it is.
No creak, no hesitation, not even a scratch along the marble tile in the foyer. Not going to lie, but a door that heavy would have me on my ass if I tried.
“Don’t worry, baby pony, we’re not going to get eaten,” I tease, stepping past Julian into the house.
He side-eyes me, but there’s a twitch in his mouth like he’s fighting a smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“Thank you.”
“Ugh, I have not missed this place,” Hadrian says, as Lucifer shuts the door behind us. He just lets go, but it’s on one of those slow-release hinges that stops it from slamming.
Pity.
I’d have loved to be able to slam this door back when I lived here.
The foyer smells the same as it always did—cold air, old money, and the faintest trace of some ridiculously expensive candle that probably cost more than my entire childhood wardrobe.
The marble floor gleams like it’s auditioning for its own reflection, and the staircase curves upward in that obnoxious look-at-me-I-come-from-generational-wealth way.
Yeah, I know I also come from generational wealth, but I’m not desperate for every person to be able to tell from space.
“Fucking hell, does anyone even live here or do you think they just use this space for show?” Lucifer asks, not even attempting to hide his disdain.
“Nah, they live here, but your aunt has a contract with spirits who come tidy up every night,” I say dryly before giggling softly. “Just kidding. The people your uncle imprisons do that instead.”
“Sadly, the spirits probably get treated better,” Lucifer says, continuing my fake story.
“It’s the way of life, little devil,” I taunt, and he sneers.
“Not little.”
“I’m not calling you big devil. That’s just weird.” I look at my nails and pretend not to notice the way the twins are shuffling their feet, both as anxious as each other.
I don’t know—or really care—what’s up with them, but I do prefer them silent. Lucifer and I have enough conversation without their needed input.
“What about sexy devil? Handsome devil? Favourite devil?” He flutters his lovely, dark lashes at me on the last one.
“Crazy devil, insane devil, screw-loose devil.” My offers are met with a psychotic grin, and I know he much prefers them.
Crazy devil.
Julian opens his mouth—probably to defend the décor—but Lucifer shoots him a warning look, and he snaps it shut again.
Silence stretches. Heavy. Expectant. Like the house is holding its breath, waiting to judge who we are, why we’re here, and who’s going to start the first argument.
No one moves.
Julian shifts his weight, suddenly looking like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew. Hadrian’s shoulders lock in their usual don’t-look-at-me posture. Lucifer goes stone-still, eyes narrowing, every sense sharpened.
My chromius presses tight against my ribs, tense enough that I feel her tremble.
And then, I hear it, too. The click of heels.
Soft. Precise. Measured. The sound echoes across the marble like a countdown, and within ten steps, a familiar face beams at us.
Helen stands there, perfectly composed, eyebrows raised like she’s been listening to us bicker for longer than we’ve noticed her presence.
She’s wearing the most gorgeous golden dress that complements her olive skin-tone, and her makeup is done to perfection. The three-quarter sleeves would kill me, and so would the fact that it falls to her shin.
At least her heels are pretty.
They glimmer in the light, and the sparkles adjust with each step she takes. Her brown hair is tied up in a high bun with a few strands free.
Her dark brown eyes narrow, and I breathe in her strawberry and mint scent, relaxing at the lack of power associated with it. Just her typical avian scent.
Helen’s a nightingale shifter, the mythical sort, of course. Not the most powerful or rare, but very sweet and docile—like her.
“Hello, my love,” she murmurs, smiling at me. “How are you feeling? I’ve truly missed you.”
“I’d say, “same,” but missing you means missing everything else,” I say bluntly. “You remember your nephews, yes? The exiled, the disowned, and the wounded.”
I can’t help but taunt her, and her eyes fill with tears as she peers at Julian.
“Please, Jules, know that your uncle and I had… words over that situation,” Helen says, calmly. Julian shrugs but accepts the hug from her. It’s strange watching how easily the two interact and how unbothered they are about such casual touch.
I mime retching to Lucifer, who doesn’t hide his laughter. The arrogance of this man is usually annoying, but right now, I leech onto his confidence and try to pretend I have some of my own.
While Lucifer doesn’t seem tense, I feel the unease from the twins merging with my own. Neither me nor my chromius thinks this is ending drama-free.
And fate? She’s never been that generous.
Some are hoping for it—me.
Some are going to cause it—also me.
And some, well, some are desperate to run from it.
Three for fucking three, because this one is also me.
“You seem settled,” Helen says, turning to Hadrian. He doesn’t blink as she cups his cheek. “I’ve missed you, my darling. Are you feeling okay?”
He grunts and shrugs at the same time. Clearly, Helen can read through his sounds and nods with an understanding air about her.
Ugh.
“But you,” she says, spinning around to glare at Lucifer, “have a lot of making up to do, and a lot of answering for. Ignoring my calls? Getting kidnapped?”
“Who fucking tattled?” Lucifer snarls, and my eyes widen.
“Kidnapped?”
“You got kidnapped?” Hadrian demands at the same time as his brother.
“Really, Hell?” Lucifer demands with a heavy groan as he gives his aunt a frustrated look. “Now you’ve done it. They’re going to think they’re better than me or something now.”
I blink, stunned. “Kidnapped? By who?”
Lucifer rolls his eyes so hard I swear I hear them crack. “It wasn’t a real kidnapping, it was—”
“Oh, do not even try to downplay it,” Helen snaps, stepping closer like she’s going to hug him or squash him. I have no idea, and I’m quite confused.
I thought… I thought he’d hate her, too.
Is it strange that I now feel more alone than ever in this den of vipers? I knew I’d not really be able to count on the twins, and without Draven here, I thought I’d at least have Lucifer.
He hates his uncle.
“You disappeared without a word, Nephew. I had to hear it from Tarun, who is quite convinced you were either hoodwinked or sold.
Lucifer bares his teeth, but another part of my heart cracks at realising it’s towards Tarun and not his aunt.