Chapter Sixteen - Lucifer
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lucifer
“THE ILLUMINATOR IS out of control,” I said. “I need your help.”
That name tasted wrong in my mouth.
Az spoke up, “He’s taken someone.”
Thyronis’s ears twitched, just once, as His eyes flicked to Azazael.
“Taken,” He repeated, slowly. Carefully.
“Evie,” I said. “My mate.”
The reaction was immediate. Something ancient shifted behind his eyes like recognition flashing like a blade catching light.
“She drew me to her,” He said, and something ancient locked in behind His eyes. “Even as I slept.”
His gaze lifted, sharpened, dragging over me with new clarity. “And now I see why.”
The jackal ground His teeth as a low sound rumbled in His chest, not quite a growl, but also not quite restraint.
“Taken,” he scoffed, shaking His head. “We should have done something sooner.”
“There are rumors,” I nodded. “He keeps them. People. Beings. He calls them The Beloved.”
Thyronis’s jaw clenched hard enough to creak, canines flashing briefly before He mastered Himself. The corridor dimmed a fraction, the emergency lights wavering.
“He was never meant to collect or do any of this,” Thyronis said quietly. “Only to illuminate.”
“Well He has, and we need to do something about it.” I glanced up at Him.
“I’ve already awakened Morathis,” I said.
That earned me His full attention.
“The Mirror,” He said, his eyes narrowing as his body shifted into something dangerous.
“The Oracle told me I only needed two of you,” I continued. “To help me get her back. You and The Mirror.”
Silence fell between us, and then Thyronis stepped closer, towering now as He looked down on me, his presence folding the space inward.
“You do not ask small things,” He said.
I met his gaze, unflinching. “No, I don’t.”
The Gatekeeper studied me, measuring for what felt like eons. I wasn’t sure if he was measuring my power or my intent. Finally, His mouth curved, but it wasn’t kind. “Then let Us open what should never have been closed.”
A commotion echoed somewhere down the corridor, voices sharp, hurried, the clatter of something metallic hitting stone. My head snapped up. Thyronis turned His jackal head slowly, his ears angling toward the sound as his attention narrowed with predatory focus.
Absolutely fucking not. The last thing I needed was anyone seeing Him, even here, even in a place already crawling with demons and half-breeds. Curiosity was a contagion, and so was fear.
I gestured sharply toward the service elevator. “Come with me.”
Thyronis followed, already folding Himself back into a shape that would pass at a glance if no one looked too hard. Az moved without question behind Him.
I pushed the elevator call button, and my mind flashed through options, places in my own damn hotel where walls didn’t have ears.
There was only one room I trusted to keep a secret from this building itself—The Reliquary.
It was warded. It was old, and it was built for keeping things that didn’t want to be found.
If anything in this place could keep the world from listening in, it was there.
Before the elevator arrived, I caught Topher’s sleeve and pulled him close, voice low.
“Change of plan,” I said. “You’re going to find Kora Vance and bring her to the Reliquary.”
Topher frowned. “One of the VIP liaisons?”
“She’s the other one,” I said, eyes flicking toward the corridor where the commotion was getting closer. “She’s The Mirror.”
His gaze sharpened. “Understood.”
I held it for a beat, and then I whispered, “She’ll answer to the name Morathis.”
He didn’t ask questions he didn’t have time for. He just nodded once, already turning the name into a route.
Destiny hesitated, torn between us and Topher’s retreating back. The elevator dinged, and she let out a frustrated sound before suddenly bolting.
“Wait!” she called.
Topher stopped halfway down the corridor and turned just as she reached him, breathless.
I stepped into the elevator with Az and Thyronis. As the doors began to slide closed, I turned back, catching one last slice of the hallway through the narrowing gap.
Topher leaned down, smiling, and kissed just below Destiny’s ear. She leaned into it, smiling up at him like the world wasn’t currently unraveling.
Then, the doors slid shut. I lifted an eyebrow at Az.
He rolled his eyes and snorted under his breath. “He’s whipped.”
The elevator descended, carrying us toward the Reliquary, toward silence, toward the kind of warded dark where truth could finally speak without being overheard.
A few moments later, the elevator dinged somewhere the Revel pretended didn’t exist.
The doors slid open onto a corridor that felt…
wrong. This place wasn’t exactly hidden.
It was just elsewhere. Years ago, Topher had moved the path out of existence, just slightly.
The noise of the casino vanished like we were underwater.
The air thinned cool and smelled faintly metallic, the way it does around old magic and older promises.
Az slowed without meaning to, letting his wings out to stretch. It had been weeks since I’d pulled him out of that hole, but they were still not what they used to be.
We walked until the hallway narrowed and the lights dimmed and gave out, recessed strips giving up one by one, until the only thing ahead of us was the door at the end. It was waiting, expectantly, like it already knew we’d come.
From the outside, it looked like nothing. A plain steel slab dressed up as a high-limit cage door, the kind meant to suggest rules and money and old men with cigars in their teeth who rarely smiled.
There were no markings. No windows. No invitation. It was simply a nondescript door most people would just pass by, and that was precisely the point.
I pressed my palm to the sigil carved at eye level.
Golden light bloomed up my arm and across my throat, the mark there answering without hesitation.
Lines of script spun out in the air, precise and mechanical, tasting intent, history, blood.
The wards paused as if considering me, and then unlatched with a sequence of soft, satisfied clicks.
The door opened, and inside, the Reliquary waited.
It was small. So small, Thyronis had to duck.
Since it was in the center of the building, it was also windowless and dense with layers of protection stacked so deep they hummed against each other.
Shelves lined the walls, crowded with old grimoires, stolen relics, and things that did not like being remembered.
A single table sat at the center, scarred by decades of studying relics, and four chairs were pushed in around it.
Az let out a slow breath. “I hate how quiet it is.”
Thyronis stood behind one of the chairs, flicking His ears. “This is where truths are kept.”
I stepped inside and shut the door behind us. The wards settled back into place with a sound like the hiss of pressurization.
I gestured toward the table. “Sit.”
Thyronis glanced down at the chair as if it were a suggestion he didn’t respect.
“I stand,” He said simply.
Honestly, He was right. I doubted the chair would honor His size.
He turned His head slightly, jackal ears angling toward me, gaze sharp and measuring. “What is your plan?”
The question landed clean. There was no judgment in His voice or sympathy, just the kind of curiosity that precedes action.
I pressed my lips together, considering how much truth to offer without the rest of the pieces in place. Then I exhaled and shook my head once.
“Let’s wait for Morathis to get here.”
His ears flicked up, alert now. “Morathis,” He repeated, letting Her name roll off his tongue slowly. “She’s… awake?”
“Yes,” I said. “She was the first one I found.”
Something dark and approving moved behind His eyes.
“And now,” I added, meeting his gaze, “you.”
Thyronis inclined His head a fraction, acknowledgment passing between us like a seal being set. Then He smiled, slowly, that same dangerous smile. “Then the house is already compromised,” he said.
I gave him a wolfish grin. “I suppose so.”
Azazael snorted, like his old self was coming back into place. “Well,” he said, rolling one shoulder like he was settling armor that hadn’t fit in centuries, “it’s about damn time.”
He glanced at Thyronis, his eyes flicking briefly to the jackal’s claws, the set of His stance, the way He claimed space without moving. Then Az’s mouth curved with the anticipation and humor of a soldier.
“I was starting to think I’d survived eternity without another proper cosmic mess,” he added. “Would’ve been tragic.”
He cracked his neck once. “So,” Az said, looking between the Gatekeeper and me, “How exactly do you plan to get us into Heaven’s realm?”
He paused, then added, almost cheerfully, “Because I’ve missed this part. The part where everything comes apart and we get to hit back.”
The Reliquary hummed softly around us as if it approved of his sentiment.
Thyronis didn’t answer right away. Instead, He paced once around the table, claws whispering over the stone, and the Reliquary responding to Him the way it often did to truth with a low hum like it was leaning closer to listen.
“You have been made to believe Heaven’s realm is locked. It is not,” He said at last.
Az went rigid beside me.
“The Illuminator taught you to think of access as authority,” Thyronis continued. “Permission granted. Permission revoked. A tear opened by His will alone.” His muzzle tilted slightly, something like disdain passing through His voice. “That is not how realms work.”
He stopped and looked at me fully.
“The boundary of realms are woven,” He said. “And anything woven can be unthreaded.”
I exhaled slowly. “So You can get us in.”
“I can find a seam,” He corrected. “I can loosen it. There is one nearby. I can feel it,” He added, eyes glancing briefly toward the door.