Extinguish (20 page)

"Do it," he taunted. "I dare you."

She glared at him, remaining silent.

"That’s what I thought."

"What do you want from me?" she seethed. "You’ve broken free. You’ve got what you wanted."

"Not all of it."

"What else is there?"

"You."

"You’re a self-centered, repulsive traitor, filled with unforgivable sin."

"Are we reciting résumés? If so, you’re a fallen angel."

"I’ve not fallen."

"Yet."

"You think I don’t know?" Her voice quaked. "You’ve stolen everything from me."

"I gave you more than I took." He glanced around the dark room, his expression softening as his smile fell. "If it’s any consolation, I—"

"It isn’t," she spat, cutting him off as bitter tears sprung to her eyes. She reached up, wiping them away as they streamed down her cheeks. "I don’t know what’s going to happen to me."

"That’s why I came here," Lucifer said. "I want to show you something."

"I’m not interested, so you may as well leave."

"Oh, you’re going to want to see this. Trust me."

"I don’t trust the likes of you," she said. "I was stupid to think you were different. You’re not. You’re nothing but—"

"Satan, I get it," he said, furiously shaking his head. "You sound like a fucking broken record. Do you even believe yourself anymore? You don’t have to trust me. You don’t have to be interested. But you’re going to see this, whether you want to or not."

Lucifer darted toward her, so fast her diluted senses couldn’t keep up with him. He snatched ahold of her, yanking her to him, and apparated the two from the room the second she tried to fight him off. They appeared in the front yard of a suburban house, where he let go of her as she struggled against him. She looked around, recognizing it right away, a hint of panic bubbling up inside of her.

The Lauer residence.

She stared at the modest house, a subtle light flickering inside from lit candles. The electricity was off there, as it was everywhere in the community. Unexpected blackouts, they said, caused by the power station tripping. It had been down for a little over a week now, ever since Lucifer had broken his restraints.

It was no coincidence.

"If you’ve hurt this family, so help me God—"

He clamped his hand down over her mouth from behind the moment she spoke those words. "Don’t evoke Him," he hissed in her ear.
God
. "And I’ve done nothing to these pesky little humans. What do you take me for?"

"A monster," she mumbled against his palm.

He chuckled darkly. "Takes one to know one."

He refused to release her, grasping her tightly and pulling her to him, but his hand dropped from her mouth.

"Why are we here?" she demanded.

"Tell me about them."

She sighed exasperatedly. "The Lauers, Nicholas and Samantha. They have a daughter named Nicki."

"You feel a special connection to this family."

It wasn’t a question. Somehow, he knew.

"Three people, yet there’s four heartbeats," Lucifer said. "Why is that?"

Serah hesitated. "Samantha is pregnant."

"How far along?"

Serah stared at the house, seeing shadows move around inside. She could hear faint, childish giggles and realized they were making the best of the blackout by playing a game of hide-and-seek as a family.

"A few weeks," she said. "A boy."

"Five weeks and six days, to be precise," Lucifer corrected her. "Curious, isn’t it? They were only fated to have one kid. But yet, there’s another, conceived the very same afternoon lightning struck the sky from Michael’s blade of fire."

Coldness swept through Serah as her head grew dizzy. Her body seemed to slump back against Lucifer, his arms wrapping tightly around her as the lone word tumbled from her lips. "Samuel."

"A daughter, named after her father," he said. "And now a son, named after his mother—Sam."

"My brother."

"Not anymore," he said. "He’s her brother now."

"How?" she whispered, her vision clouding with tears. "How can it be?"

Sighing, Lucifer pulled her tighter to him, his arms enveloping her in a strong, warm hug. He rested his chin on top of her head. "I told you, when you fall, your mortality is secured. But what I haven’t told you is that when Michael takes your wings with his blade, the wounds are fatal. A mortal is no match for his blade."

Serah’s knees went weak at those words. "I’ll die?"

"You will."

She lost her battle with her tears again then as a sob tore from her.

"Samuel died free from sin," Lucifer said. "His soul was given a second chance. A clean slate."

"But not me."

"Not you."

She closed her eyes, fixating on the soft flutter of the tiny heartbeat inside the house, a life just beginning, the world at his fingertips.

"Will he know?" she asked. "Will he know what he is, what he
was
? Will he remember his other life? Will he remember . . . me?"

"Short answer? No."

If not for his strong embrace, she would’ve hit the ground.

"But it’s not that black and white," he continued. "Nothing is. How many times do I have to tell you that? He won’t know who you are, or what you were to him, or what he was, but if ever someone utters your name in his presence, he’ll feel a squeeze in his chest, a familiarity where your souls were connected. And he’ll know then—he’ll feel it—he just won’t understand."

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Serah pulled away from Lucifer and slowly strolled over to the house. She paused outside the living room window and peered in. Through the darkness, she could see Nicholas and Sam running around the room, purposely pretending they couldn’t see Nicki, who was wrapped up in the curtain, hiding. Serah raised her hand and pressed it to the cold glass, conjuring up every ounce of energy she could as she sought out that connection, the one that had been missing since the day Samuel fell.

Closing her eyes, images hit her fast and manic: a tiny baby taking his first shaky breath; a dark-haired toddler with bright eyes smearing paint all over the wall instead of a piece of paper; a young boy going to his first day of kindergarten, a nametag reading "Sammy" pinned to his dark blue polo shirt; an awkward preteen trying out for chorus; a teenage boy strumming the brand-new guitar he got for Christmas; a handsome young man forming a band with his friends. There were girls, first loves and second dates, high school dances and a wedding. There was a long life, filled with friends and family, children and grandchildren. There was music and success, love and happiness.

The perfect life for Samuel.

Serah opened her eyes again and turned back to Lucifer. "He’ll be okay."

"He’ll be more than okay."

"I won’t be."

He stared at her, his eyes watery as he whispered, "I’m so sorry, Serah."

Serah
. He’d never called her by her name before.

"They have terrible insurance," she muttered.

Lucifer’s laughter struck her. "That’s what concerns you? I tell you you’re going to die, that Michael is going to kill you, and you’re worried about this family's health insurance plan? Unbelievable."

Despite the heartache, she managed to smile through her tears as she cast another glance at the house. A burden was still a burden, no matter how trivial
it may seem to be.

"You’re taking this
a hell of a lot better than I thought you would."

She sighed. "I have no one to blame but myself."

"You could blame everyone else, too," he said. "Me, Michael, even Samuel. . ."

"I could, but there's no point," she said. "It won't change my fate. Besides, how can I fault them, or you, when it was my free will that did it?"

Deep in the eerie woods in a remote part of Europe, a medieval castle was alive with activity for the first time in centuries. The half-dozen towers jutted ten stories into the sky, the fortified stone structure flanked on all sides by a massive moat of toxic sludge. All hundred rooms were filled with figures, some in normal form, while others were mere monstrous shadows and overbearing masses of solidified evil.

The large conference room took up nearly half the second floor of the central tower, thousands of square feet of marble floor, a tattered velvet carpet leading from the doorway to a magnificent throne perched on a platform. The gold throne glimmered and sparkled under the candlelight, the seat occupied once again by a king.

This time, it was the King of Hell.

Luce held a small gold knife, haphazardly twirling it in his hand, running his fingers along the sharp blade. He deliberately sliced his palm, wincing as blood oozed from the cut, and watched with fascination as his body absorbed it again, the wound healing instantly, the scar fading in a matter of seconds.

It was usually a bitch, being caught between mortality and immortality, not quite human while no longer full-fledged Archangel, but he was enjoying it at the moment. Specks of Serah’s Grace still lingered in his cells, tipping the scales back to his supernatural, indestructible half.

The demon at the foot of his throne rattled on and on about this and that, but Lucifer hardly heard any of it. Legions and clashes, poisons and infections, natural disasters and man-made catastrophes—it all went in one ear and out the other as he fixated on the serrated blade. It had been his ages ago and had taken him an entire week to track it back down after being freed. The blade, forged with the same material that made Michael’s sword, was his only means of protection against his brother.

The demon in front of him continued his incessant chatter. They all knew to step into his presence they had to take on their human form, but the lowlife before him didn’t seem to grasp the message. His form kept shifting, his face contorting from run-of-the-mill John Doe to something out of a nightmare.

It stirred Luce’s rage.

"Nukes," Luce said, cutting off the rambling fool. "You’re suggesting I set off nuclear bombs?"

"Well, yes," he stammered. "It would be easiest, no? Wipe them all out in one big swoop."

"To what benefit?" Luce asked. "What will be left for me? A radioactive rock with
nothing
left on it except for a bunch of pissed off angels and scum like you?"

"With all due respect—"

Before the creature could finish, Luce flicked his wrist, the gold knife flying through the room at lightning speed. It struck the demon in the throat, cutting off his words. He erupted into flames before exploding in a puff of black smoke, disintegrating when Luce nodded his head, the knife flying back toward him. He caught it in his left hand while he used his right to wave the next one forward. Dozens waited to speak to him, to see him, to get the chance to stand in his presence and say his name.

"‘With all due respect’ is an ignorant man’s way of saying ‘I have no fucking respect for you.’ If I hear another one of you say it, I’ll make you regret ever
learning to speak at all."

One after another marched up to him, bringing news, offering suggestions. He listened to some, ignored others, destroyed a few, but took none too seriously. He was distracted, his mind continuously drifting to the angel who haunted his every moment. Thoughts of her fueled his frustrations.

He wasn't supposed to give a fuck, but she'd dug her way under his skin. And now she was in trouble—serious trouble. Although she blamed herself, Luce knew it was all because of him.

A particularly gruff demon stood before him, ranting about an unfair matchup between him and some angels. "They're just too strong. There are too many."

Luce twirled the blade in his hand again. "Do you know why I chose the castle?"

The creature hesitated. "No."

"On the first floor of this tower is the chapel," he said. "This throne sits directly above it. No man shall put himself above God. How many times have we heard it said?"

"Countless times."

"And yet, whoever built this place literally placed himself above God. In a time where everyone feared Him, this lone king blatantly defied His rules." Luce glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the demon once more. "Do you think that king would've sat here and whined that the enemy was just too strong? That coming out on top was impossible?"