by Eve Langlais
All unacceptable and unlikely because of the damned suitcase, which she’d obviously packed.
Which left him with the other possibility, the one that had him grumbling—and his blood running cold—as he instructed his sister where to drive. Because if Isobel had left, then there was only one place she’d go, one destination he dreaded even more than Hell. Where she’d run if she had a problem.
His in-laws’ house—dun-dun-dun…
9
The magic imbuing the Rasputin property made Bambi’s nipples hard. Always a sure indication that she didn’t belong anywhere near this place, no matter how many times the elderly Rasputin leered at her and asked if she wanted to see the etchings in his office.
Drawing her sports car to a stop in front of the mansion, she grimaced. “You sure you want me to leave you here?” Not the first time she’d asked on the drive over. But Chris would not be dissuaded.
“My wife is here,” Chris declared, and off he stalked. She watched as he banged on the door and came face-to-face with Isobel. Chris began to argue on the front stoop with his wife. At least Bambi wasn’t the cause of the strife for once.
Since he was busy, and she had better things to do, Bambi didn’t stick around. She sped out of there. After a night following her brother as he ambled the city on foot, an army of the dead—mostly rats and feline roadkill—trailing him like he was the Pied Piper, she could use a change of scenery.
The road past the gates stretched beautiful and wide, perfect to put the pedal to the metal and, if she were lucky, get pulled over by an officer of the law. She was wearing her good bra today and could use a morning snack. Except from one moment to the next, the road turned from sun-filled asphalt to rutted, red-and-gray, packed dirt, the air full of sifting ash.
The automated wipers swiped at the dust, and she cursed. Brought to Hell in her cute car. Dammit. The last time it had taken three cleanings to get all the flaky stuff out of the leather seats, and she’d had to get the carburetor cleaned.
She braked and waited. Only one person had the power to portal something as big as her vehicle.
Sure enough, the passenger side door opened, and her father—who preferred to be called the Dark Lord—slid into the seat.
“Nice wheels.”
Only the best, given the man who’d kept her as a mistress for a month, thought it prudent to gift it to her so that his wife wouldn’t find out about their affair.
“You didn’t call me here to discuss the merits of the engine under the hood. What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Does anything have to be wrong for a father to want to see his daughter?” Lucifer asked, failing at looking guileless.
Bambi cast him a side-eye. “The only time you pull this kind of stunt is when you want something. Don’t beat around the bush. Spit it out.”
“My wife has no bush.” He leered.
“Are we going to trade dirty jokes all day or get to the point?”
“Gaia is pregnant.”
“I know.”
“With a son.”
“Having second thoughts about it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Which means, what?”
“It occurs to me that, given my busy work schedule, I’ve not spent much time with any of my progeny.”
“Usually because you wanted that as an excuse to avoid child support.”
“Gaia has insisted I be involved with this pregnancy and child.”
“The horror,” Bambi said dryly.
“You understand,” Lucifer exclaimed with relief. “But here’s the thing, I am a busy man. Sin is booming. The new souls coming in daily are more than Hell can handle right now.”
“Hire more staff then?”
“And become efficient?” He gasped. “Perish the thought. Never. However, while I am doing an admirable job of slacking and delaying the signing of documents for assignments, I am getting too far behind. There’s a backlog in the system, and because the rules,”—a complex set of regulations that Lucifer abided by—“state that delays are to be taken off any declared punishment, I’m losing out.”
“You mean, the damned souls are getting credit for time served.”
“Exactly. Totally unacceptable. I need to speed up the process while not actually doing more work.”
“Like I said, get an assistant.”
“I can’t hire just anybody. The ruling on souls and their punishments is a tremendously important task. Only a true Baphomet should make those decisions.”
Oh, my goodness, this was the moment Bambi had been waiting for her whole life. When her father finally trusted her with more important things than seduction for information or as a messenger-slash-babysitter for her sister.
Lucifer rubbed his chin. “Thinking of asking Muriel to give me a hand.”
Nope. Once again, little lamb was his favorite child. “Muri might be a little too busy to help out. And don’t forget what happened during your little problem.” Namely, the months he’d spent as goody-two-shoes Lucifer because of a spell. Muriel had tried to do his job. Failed. Went on a killing spree. Cried a lot. Everyone in Hell breathed a sigh of relief when the true Dark Lord returned, and Muri quit.
“She would have some help from me. Not much, mind you. I did promise the little lady I’d be around more. Maybe even take a trip. She’s been talking about a water birth in some ocean in another dimension.”
“You could ask Chris to give you a hand.”
“That good-for-nothing wastrel?” The disdain spat from him.
“That good-for-nothing is your son, and he’s wasting his life as a grave digger on Earth.”
“Asking him to help out, though? Might as well just bare my throat that he might kill me and take over my kingdom. Never!”
“Then suffer. Because you and I both know there’s no one else who can help you.”
“Aren’t you going to suggest yourself?” he asked slyly.
“Not a chance. I’ve seen what the job did to your looks.” She fluffed her hair. “I’ll take pole dancing over pushing paper any day.”
Lucifer grimaced. “Why did we let the population grow out of control? What happened to full-scale famine, flooding—heck, even a plague—to scale back the numbers?”
“You complained then, too. It took you years to process the last major skirmish.”
“But it did wonders for growing the aerial legion of bareback wyvern fighters.” All those World War II pilots received a pass if they agreed to serve in Hell’s army.
“What are you going to do about the overload problem? And have you thought about designating an heir? You are not getting any younger.” Even if the Devil didn’t look a day over twenty-five. For a while, he’d sported the appearance of an older silver fox, but when the goody-two-shoes spell was peeled from him, so was the glamour hiding his true appearance.
Smoke curled from one nostril. “You aren’t helping. I came to you to fix this.”
“Can’t. Sorry. Not sorry. And I’m going to make your day even shittier by letting you know that, topside, things are getting wonkier.”
“In what way? I’m still trying to figure out how they got the caramel inside that chocolate bar.”
No point in explaining machines to Dad again. His old-school upbringing didn’t allow him to trust anything not made by hand. “Forget the caramel. Remember that thing you sent me on?”
“Did you find the strawberry-kiwi-flavored lube I like?”
“I told you they don’t make it anymore. I am talking about the other thing. The zombie thing. Chris has no idea he’s been raising the dead these last few weeks.”
“He’s lying.”
“Is he?” she queried, giving her father a stare.
Lucifer stared off into space for a moment then frowned. “Hunh. I’ll be damning myself; he isn’t lying. The fucker has no idea.”
“He also can’t use his magic unless he’s plastered.”
“If he’s only doing it while drunk, then tell him to sober up
. He’s screwing with my spell.”
“I thought you took away his magic after the wedding to prevent him from being a threat.” Chris didn’t know. He just assumed his magic had gone away, and Bambi had told Isobel it was to hide him from his mother. Which was partially true.
Paranoid Lucifer worried about those two hooking up, which left him with two choices: kill the Antichrist before he came after his father, or remove the magic and make him as mundane as other humans.
“I did siphon the boy clean, which means what you’re saying is impossible. He has no magic left.”
“Says you. I’m telling you, he was raising the dead and lobbing the shit like he had a deep well. Is it possible it grew back?”
Lucifer frowned, creating a mighty unibrow only Gaia could love. “It shouldn’t have returned this quickly.”
“He is your blood. Could be he’s got resistance to the spell. You might want to cast it again.”
Lucifer’s lips turned down. “I can’t. He won’t meet the conditions for a recast for seven years. I need the planets to be in a certain alignment.”
“Then you might have a problem.”
That drew his attention. “Has he said something about coming after me? I’ll fucking kill him if he tries anything.”
“My brother hasn’t said dick. But I sense a great upheaval coming, and you know what the seers say.”
“You mean said. Ursula is gone. Hell is safe. They don’t foresee me dealing with any major issues in the future.”
“For now, but the horsemen ride, and we both know the seals on her prison broke.” What they didn’t know was where she escaped.
“She wouldn’t dare act against me. Not after what happened last time.”
“Or her resentment’s been festering for all these years.” At least a few centuries by Earth time, a blink really for the immortal, but given how time progressed differently in alternate dimensions, it could have been eons for her.
“I would know if she was out there in the world acting against me.”
“Would you?”
“Of course, I would. Where does this doubt come from?”
“I met Famine last night. He might have fed on my confidence.”
“Pesky fucker. Messing with my kids. Might be time to do something about him. Especially since you, of all my children, should never doubt me. Your father. I am the Lord of the Underworld, King of Sin. I know what’s happening around me and on the mortal plane.”
“Except you don’t because you never suspected what Chris was doing.”
“A mere blip,” Lucifer stated.
“A blip?” Bambi turned to look at her father. “You had no clue. What else are you not seeing?”
“No more questioning me. I am the Dark Lord. The King of Lies. The—”
“Lucifer! Where’s my pickles and poutine?” shouted an aggravated female voice.
“Coming, wench. Gotta go. Keep an eye on your brother.”
As suddenly as her father had popped out of existence, Bambi just as quickly found herself back on Earth, speeding into a corner. She evaded a fiery death and then pondered the odd conversation with her dad, especially the fact that he couldn’t see everything like he used to.
Was he losing his grip? Could a change in management be imminent? If that happened, which side would she be on?
10
Isobel sighed. “You can stop yelling. It won’t help matters.”
“Whose side are you on?” barked her grandfather.
“There are no sides,” Isobel said, taking the spatula from him and rescuing the burning pancake. “The stove is not out to get you.”
“Then why does it insist on burning things?”
“Since when do you try and cook?” she countered as she threw the pan into the sink and made him a bowl of cereal instead.
He took the spoon. “Our cook still hasn’t returned. And I tire of this artificial…” Crunch. “Sugary.” Gulp. “Mmmm.”
Rasputin finally got something into his angry belly and mellowed out. The kitchen was safe until lunch, which would hopefully be easier, given she’d called a catering company to bring a platter of sandwiches.
It surprised her that Mother hadn’t hired a new chef. As a matter of fact, she’d barely seen her mother of late. Even when she’d arrived in the middle of the night, her mother—who’d messaged her—didn’t greet her; instead, she sent a note telling her to stay and keep an eye on Grandfather.
Only for a little while. Having moved out, Isobel wasn’t ready at all to move back in. This wasn’t her home anymore, especially since she had a house of her own—and a husband. The place didn’t feel the same since she no longer saw the ghost of her father. Everything had changed the day she married.
The one thing that hadn’t changed was the feeling of safety she got inside her childhood home. The layers of magic provided a soothing blanket of protection. She wouldn’t have to worry about the horsemen appearing. Even Lucifer would hesitate before popping in.
Chris wouldn’t be happy about it, though. At least it was only temporary.
As expected, Chris showed up first thing the next morning. Isobel left Goshen in the kitchen, munching on donuts, and skipped to the front door, only to encounter a thundercloud when she greeted her husband.
“There you are! What the fuck, duckie?”
“What’s wrong?”
He gaped at her. “Wrong? You’re here instead of at home. You left me!”
Her jaw dropped. “What are you talking about?” Her expression creased in confusion. “Didn’t you get my text?”
Judging by the look on his face, he hadn’t.
“Do you even have your phone?” she asked.
“I, um, might have kind of forgotten it.”
“It was beside your suitcase.”
His expression cleared. “Aha! So you admit to packing it and tossing it out.”
“Again, what are you talking about? I left your suitcase in the front hall with your phone. I would have brought it with me, but Charlie’s sports car couldn’t fit both pieces of luggage.” At 4:00 a.m. there weren’t many people a girl could call. Even Uber seemed a little dangerous given that the horsemen were out and about. Besides, Charlie owed her for running off and stranding her at that warehouse fight club.
“Fucking Jesus.”
This time, she didn’t correct it because it was becoming very clear that someone had an ulterior agenda. However, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to toy with Chris. “I didn’t fuck your cousin if that’s what you’re implying.”
“You’d better not have,” he snapped. “But I am still trying to understand why you left with him.”
“I needed a ride, and he has a car.”
“And why did you need a ride other than to leave me?”
“Again, I explained it in the text. On your phone. Which you forgot,” she added with a pointed look. “Mom called and asked me to watch Grandfather.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish, but no. My mom had to go away for a few days.”
“Now.”
“Yes, now.”
“So you didn’t leave me?” Judging by his expression, he really thought she had.
She laughed. “You silly man. Of course, I didn’t leave you. As for your suitcase being outside, maybe Charlie thought it would fit in the car, and when it didn’t, he left it on the porch.”
“Or the dick wanted me to think something else.” He glowered suspiciously.
“And you fell for it.” She shook her head. “Really, Chris. You should know me better by now. Then again, maybe it’s your guilt talking. After all, I’m not the one who’s sneaking off at night.”
“I’m not sneaking.”
“Before you go down that lying road, let me add I followed you last night. When were you going to tell me what you were doing?”
The corners of his lips turned down. “I don’t remember.”
“Bull.”
“It’s the truth. I
was drunk and blacked out.”
Isobel blew a wet raspberry. “Please. I’m not that gullible. Don’t forget, I know how much you can drink. You’re like a fish when it comes to booze and drugs.”
“Used to be. Now, I combine the two, and next thing I know, I’m waking up with a mouthful of dirt.”
“I was so wasted I can’t remember,” she drawled sarcastically. “That seems like a pretty convenient excuse. Why not admit what you’re doing? Admit you’ve been playing with your magic, which you’ve been swearing to me for months is gone.”
“It is. Was.” He stared at his hands. “I thought I couldn’t touch it at all. But Bambi said—”
“What’s your sister got to do with this?”
“She showed me a video. Of me. Last night.”
“And?”
He shrugged, his wide shoulders lifting and falling with defeat. “I was doing some badass shit with dead people and magic. But even seeing it, I don’t remember.”
For a moment, she stared at him, noting his drooping shoulders, his tight lips. “I’ll be damned, you’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“Sadly enough.”
She sighed, especially since she knew that even if he weren’t, his woes were of Lucifer’s making. Telling him would serve no purpose. He already despised his dad. “Come with me. Let’s get you in a shower.”
“Woof.” Goshen barked. The big furball had finished his breakfast and stood behind her, his muzzle ringed with icing sugar.
Isobel cast her dog a glance and shook a finger. “No, you can’t join us. You know what happened last time.” The giant furball had attacked the detachable showerhead, chomping on it and causing it to sever and spray all over until she could finally shut it off.
The largest set of puppy eyes regarded her. Testing her resistance.
She melted. “If you’re a good puppy, I’ll put the sprinkler on later.”
“Woof.”
The dog bounded off, probably to spend some time with his girlfriend, her mom’s Yorkie, Queenie—who had mellowed out since getting with the hellhound.
