by Nazri Noor
I shivered as Lucifer’s eyes locked with mine, though I saw nothing there but warmth.
“I realize that this looks somewhat extreme, but steps must always be taken to keep the other princes in line. Oh, I make it look like a democratic monarchy, but who are we kidding? It’s good to be king. Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, eh? You understand.” Lucifer smiled sweetly. “Or you will, in time.”
He was talking about my birthright, my father’s throne. What was I supposed to say to that? I glanced at the others, finding them transfixed and terrified by the sight of Belphegor practically breaking his spine from the spasms. Only Quill looked anywhere close to being unaffected, his face unusually blank. I wondered if he’d seen something like this before.
“Little magus,” Lucifer said. “I trust that this doesn’t need to be said, but I’ll say it anyway. This is what happens to those who overstep their station. Do you understand?”
Silent and stone-faced, Quill said nothing and only nodded.
“Excellent.” Lucifer stepped forward onto pavement, the very stone melting under the soles of his feet as he sank into a pool of boiling magma. “Send my regards to your mother, Quilliam.” Then Lucifer turned to me, smiling again. “And send my regards to yours, Mason Albrecht.”
The hairs on my arms stood on end. “Wait. What do you mean? I can’t. My mom’s dead.”
Half of Lucifer’s body was already consumed by the magma up to the elbows, and he held my gaze as he descended, smiling beatifically. Only the whites of Belphegor’s eyes showed as he convulsed, unharmed by molten fire, but I knew that what awaited him down below would be so much worse.
“Dear nephew,” Lucifer said. “What makes you think that your mother is dead?”
My heart lunged, the air stuck in my throat. Before I could say another word, the top of Lucifer’s golden head sank into the pit of fire. The hole in the pavement closed up, seamless and perfect, as if nothing had passed through.
Behind me, the elevator dinged. I gasped when I finally remembered to breathe. The doors slid open and out stepped Sterling, his katana crackling with arcs of electricity. He looked around the rooftop, frowning.
“What the fuck did I just miss?”
30
When the coast was clear – at least when I thought there was no more chance of Lucifer popping back up to take me by the throat and drag me down to hell – I sprinted over to Florian. He had a nice, warm blanket thrown over his shoulders and a cup of what looked like steaming hot cocoa in one hand.
I hugged him, then stepped back, gripping him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. “You’re okay. Man, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Then I glanced around. “Where the hell did that cocoa come from?”
He slurped noisily, then shrugged. “One of the Lorica people handed it to me. They brought me a blanket, too. Really nice guys, actually.”
I looked around some more, annoyed that I wasn’t going to get a mug of cocoa, but hey – Florian was safe. That was what really mattered.
“Thank you, Mace.” He smiled weakly. “For saving me. You guys risked everything to do that for me. That’s insane. I’ve never had friends like you.”
“And me.” Artemis slapped her hand across his back, and either her strength was so godly or Florian really was feeling especially frail, because he visibly wobbled. “Glad you’re safe, little buddy.”
I smirked. Trust Artemis to call a slab of tree bark and muscle over six feet tall her little buddy. Florian smiled gratefully at her, and I left the two just as Artemis started inquiring about his cocoa. I wanted one too, damn it. I hugged my arms across my chest. Nephilim or no, it was a damn cold night.
Yet the first thing I spotted wasn’t a warm, chocolatey beverage, but Quilliam J. Abernathy, standing close to the edge of the garden, looking over the city. I pursed my lips in annoyance, knowing that I had to do it. I had to play nice. He did have a role in saving everybody’s butts, after all. I walked up to him, and we nodded at each other as our eyes met. He shuffled a short step away to make room for me. So far, it didn’t look like he had any plans of shoving me off the building.
“So,” I said. “How the hell did you make it up here so fast?”
Quill rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen me do it before. Simple. Just helleportation.”
“Helle-what?” I chuckled, my breath misting from the cold. “Helleportation. Dumbest thing I ever heard. Why don’t you quit making shit up?”
“Why don’t you shut your stupid face?” Old habits die hard. He glowered at me, folding his arms. “I’m half demon, which is why I know about their signature magics. It also means I get access to the transportation network. It’s convenient, okay?”
“So that’s how demons get around? The Seven, too?”
He scoffed. “No. Those go wherever they please. You helleport if you’re not that good at teleportation spells just yet.” He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers sheepishly. “I’m still practicing.”
I scratched the side of my nose. Not once after his initial betrayal did I imagine a time when I would carry a conversation with Quilliam without wanting to run him through with a broadsword.
“Here. You’re chilly.” He thrust his hand out at me, a bundle of fabric in his fist. “Your jacket.”
“Oh, yeah. Um, thanks.” He watched as I shrugged it on, the hoodie feeling especially awkward against my bare skin.
“Nice tats.”
“Not my choice. They kind of just showed up.” I shrugged, zipping myself up. “Thanks for, um. Thanks for helping.” That last part, I slipped in as a mumble.
He shook his head. “Sure. Yeah. I did it for Mother. She wouldn’t be very happy if Belphegor skipped to the front of the line.”
I chewed the inside of my lip, considering my thoughts before expressing them. “Must be nice. Sounds like you care about her a lot.”
“Not like she cares for me at all,” he said, grumbling. “Who names their kid Quilliam?”
He had a point there, and I still didn’t know what the J stood for. “So, your mom’s one of the Seven, huh? Must be nice being that close to so much power.”
Quill shifted in place, chewing his bottom lip as his eyes flitted away from my face. “I don’t get involved in all that. Asmodeus will hold the title of Prince of Lust, forever and always. I’m just her kid.”
One of many, I thought. Surely demon princes could be just as prolific as, say, the Grigori, the fallen angels, or an equally fertile analogue, the Greek gods. “Prince of Lust, though? Is there a reason they don’t use princess?” I suspected I had an idea, but wanted to be sure.
“It’s the way infernal hierarchy has always worked. Those in power are called princes, plain and simple. Entities don’t care about petty things like gender. They only present themselves that way so that tiny human heads don’t explode from trying to grasp what they really look like. An angel is just a ball of fire wrapped in a human vessel so that your eyes don’t melt out of your head. A demon prince’s true form? You don’t want to know.”
I looked down at myself, studying my arms and my chest. “So I’m really a ball of fire, is what you’re saying.”
Quilliam rolled his eyes even harder, his lips parting as he prepared to say something scathing.
“And I’m a horse, and a giant, and a god, all in one.” The air shimmered, and Loki appeared between us, arms draped across our shoulders. Quill and I shook him off almost in the same instant. He leered at us, chuckling softly. “But the demon boy is right. Did you know that I’m both a father and a mother? I gave birth to an eight-legged horse. True story.”
“You’ve been here the whole time,” I growled, “and you did nothing to help? Not even when Belphegor was threatening your corporation’s existence? Isn’t that all you care about?”
“Wrong,” Loki said, wagging a finger. “I care about entertainment. Mischief. Chaos.” He spread his arms out, indicating the rooftop around him. “And the destruction of my garden was a small pric
e to pay for the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in ages. It was fun, boys. Until next time.”
Loki slid his hands into his trouser pockets, turned smartly on his heel, then walked off, melting into thin air.
I rubbed my forearm, still grimacing. “God. What a jerk.”
“Total jerk.” Quilliam frowned at the empty space where Loki’s body was just standing. I gave him a half smile, which he returned with a confused grunt. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends, you do realize?”
I bristled, raising my chin. “Of course not. You tried to kill me. Several times, in fact.”
Quill shrugged. “Mother would have loved you as a tribute. It started out as me wanting to wait for you to be weakened so I could bring you to her.” He showed me his teeth, and I realized that he was trying to smile. “But then you just got more and more annoying, so saying that I tried to kill you – well, that’s fair.”
“Bring me to Asmodeus as a tribute, though? Is that how you demons show affection? I know you’re only half, but that’s kind of fucked up. Whatever happened to flowers?”
He scowled. “I thought we just discussed this. I don’t have to explain myself to you. Like I said: We’re. Not. Friends.”
I shook my head. “You just have to ruin everything, don’t you? Fine. We’re not friends. But we didn’t try to rip each other’s hearts out tonight, so that counts for something.”
“If you say so.” Quill stepped away from me, moving onto a clear spot of floor. “See you around, nephilim. Stay alive.”
“Same to you, mama’s boy.”
“Peasant.”
Quill gave me an odd sort of smile, which I returned. He didn’t break eye contact, not even when his own eyes went orange as he uttered his favorite spell.
“Ignis.”
My hands flew up to shield my eyes when his body burst into flames, consumed from the ground up as he disappeared into nothing, this fancy helleportation of his.
Another arm draped over my shoulders – man, people just had no concept of personal space – this one heavy, hard, and freezing cold.
“Aww,” Sterling cooed. “Look at you, making friends.”
“Shut up, old man. You didn’t even make it to the fight.”
He flinched, nudging me in the chest. “Hey, pipsqueak. Me and the others were down there in the city, hacking at those stupid bloody flowers. Do you know how hard it is pruning with an electric katana? Of course you wouldn’t, because you were up here playing grabass with demon princes instead.”
I glowered at him. “Hey, I just risked my life tonight, several times. It’s not like I was – ”
Sterling pulled me in for another one-armed hug and ruffled my hair. “I’m joking, kid. You did good. You saved everybody’s butts.”
I tried not to look so pleased with myself, despite my chest puffing out a tiny bit. “Well, you know. Lucifer helped a little.”
“Yeah, about that. Making friends in low places, too. Better be careful.”
“I know,” I grumbled. “Listen, it’s not like I knew it was his sword that I, you know, borrowed. I thought the Vestments only let me take stuff from upstairs.”
He shrugged. “Hey, the guy used to be an angel, right? Maybe that counts. Mean old fallen angel. The meanest of them all.”
“Nephew,” I said, a late echo of what Lucifer had said. “He called me nephew. You knew my father, didn’t you, Sterling?”
“Samyaza? Yeah, for a hot minute. Didn’t trust him when I met him. But we fought alongside each other, and as far as angels go, he was pretty swell. He’d be proud of you, kid.”
It was so damn cold on that rooftop, as chilly as it could get dozens of stories up on a California night, but Sterling’s words warmed me from the inside. I smiled, at a loss for absolutely anything to say, my thoughts still lingering on what Lucifer had said about my mother.
Sterling ruffled my hair again, then squeezed my shoulder. “Enough nostalgia for one night. I heard someone’s walking around with a thermos full of hot cocoa. I’m in the mood for something sweet. Let’s go mug the bastard.”
31
Little drops of rain pitter-pattered across the street outside my favorite coffee shop, making oddly relaxing drumming noises against the awning just above the glass windows. I was sitting inside where it was nice and toasty, nursing a rich, aromatic cup of mocha, bundled up in a jacket, with no wings in sight. No flying sickness this time, either. Maybe I was getting better at this whole nephilim gig.
I made good on my promise to hang out with Raziel, and not just in situations where I clearly only needed his help. The angel of mysteries was full of miseries, at least when it came to our friendship. It was interesting, seeing how genuinely invested he was in meeting up outside of something that was strictly student and mentor. I admit, I definitely considered Raz a friend. It felt like he needed to be reminded of that.
Of course, I had to hope he could find me, first. The bracer made sure that he couldn’t just track me down anymore. Besides, extra instructions never hurt when Raziel was involved. He was like a befuddled uncle, one with expensive taste in clothing. Setting up coffee with Raziel was no easy task, let me tell you. First, I had to extend the invitation, which meant spilling some of my own blood and summoning him. Then there was the long, laborious task of explaining how to find the café in the first place.
“Why is it called Human Beans? That’s just silly. Why can’t they just call it, say, Coffee Shop?”
I slapped my forehead. After explaining the concept of business names, drawing him out a map, then reminding him at least three times that we were supposed to meet at four sharp, Raziel disappeared into a pillar of light that shot into the sky, looking confused, annoyed, and excited, all at once. I’d offered to just meet him in Paradise so we could walk to the café together, but he staunchly refused. It was the principle of it, he said. He wanted to learn.
And so there I was, taking happy little sips of my café mocha while the heavens peed in dribbles all over the world outside, waiting for my mentor, friend, and occasional pain in the ass to show up. And show up he did, looking like a drowned, harassed rat, his hair clinging in wet clumps to his forehead, his clothes in ruins. The glass door clattered shut as he stalked into Human Beans, the scowl on his face holding me personally responsible for his condition. My fingernails dug into the top of our table as I fought to keep a straight face, my insides quietly bubbling up with laughter.
“They’re called umbrellas,” I said, dabbing at Raziel’s forehead with some paper towels. “I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”
He spread his hands out to his sides, indicating what he was wearing: matching body-hugging black slacks and a sweater that hugged him even closer because he’d gone gallivanting in the rain.
“An umbrella would ruin my outfit, Mason,” he hissed.
“Actually, I’d argue that the rain ruined your outfit.”
He turned beetroot red, and I couldn’t help laughing at him then, half expecting steam to come out of his ears. I told him to clean up in the restroom and fetched him a caramel macchiato while he went to dry himself off. We all know that he didn’t bother, of course, and he was just in there materializing a new, drier copy of what he was already wearing. By the time I got back to our table with his coffee, he was already done primping, his hair somehow voluminous and styled. I thought I heard a blow dryer go off somewhere.
“Much better,” he sighed, taking his seat.
I nudged his drink towards him, which he accepted without question. There are few things quite as charming or exhilarating as seeing someone get their very first taste of caramel. The way Raziel’s eyes lit up, how he gasped in delight instantly convinced me that I had to take him on a food and beverage tour of the entire human world. I planned to tell him that, just as soon as he was done pontificating on the wonders of buttery burnt sugar.
“Now,” he said, folding his hands together on the table, smiling at me as if he’d practiced this exact moment so many ti
mes between then and our last meeting. “How have you been? Tell me everything.”
I almost laughed. Raziel’s delivery could have been lifted straight out of a sitcom or a TV drama, a scene of two girlfriends catching up over coffee. I started with Belphegor’s betrayal.
Raziel rolled his eyes. “No surprise there. But how is Florian doing?”
Florian understandably needed some time off, and I was happy to let him rest as much as he wanted. Part of the process included rolling around practically naked in the grass and earth of Paradise, something about the contact between skin and soil – and a lot of sun – allowing his plant power and physiology to regenerate. The more time he spent making dirt angels in the ground, the more alive he looked. The holes that Belphegor pierced into his forehead weren’t even there anymore, closed up when his accelerated alraune healing kicked in. The whole alraune thing had even more to do with nature than I thought.
When I left Paradise, Artemis was getting ready to spray Florian down with a garden hose. Priscilla had dug up a watering can and was clearly enjoying pouring copious amounts of water over Florian’s head, ferrying more and more from the river. I offered to put some fertilizer on him and got a clump of mud thrown at me in answer. Good thing I was already halfway through the exit portal when I said that.
As for Maharani and Royce? Suffice to say that the Lorica gave me a pass for basically saving the day. I mean, come on. Was one of them going to fly up to harass Belphegor with a divine sword? I didn’t think so. Of course, the problem was actually going throughout the city to erase the minds of the normals who had witnessed not just the overgrowth of Sloth’s crimson flowers, and not just the storm of petals he unleashed all over the city, but the massive supernova that emanated from Lucifer’s sword.
Now, I’m not saying I had anything to do with stopping Royce from suggesting that they should just lace the water supply with near-toxic doses of potions of forgetting, but let’s just say I saved the city twice that night.
