Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Zoe

I ’d have thought the room given to me would be like the one in which Lucifer had stuffed me last time, barely more than a comfortable prison cell.

Instead, the demon named Gilarion led me to a suite the size of which, as well as its décor, reminded me of European royal chambers I’d seen in movies, and the whole set of rooms was even larger and more extravagantly furnished than my suite in Azazel’s mansion had been.

Well, at the very least, I could tell that the furniture and decorative items had once been perfectly luxurious and pristine, but much like the rest of the palace, signs of destruction marred everything.

The curtains of the four-poster bed hung in shreds. Cracks spread across the walls and the floor, and the rugs covering the stone ground were half burned. The big mirror on the opposite wall was shattered, and apparently no one had bothered to sweep up the shards littering the floor. One of the armchairs in the seating area looked like it was about to expel its last breath before it collapsed into a sad pile of debris. And all of the paintings decorating the walls appeared like they belonged in an exhibition of a modern artist who liked to experiment with partially scorching his work in order to make himself look edgy or launch vicious criticism about the state of our society or some shit like that.

“What happened here?” I asked with a grimace.

“Pardon, my lady?”

Ugh, that my lady crap again. I waved at the obvious signs of decay. “Why does it look like a dragon went to town in here?”

Gilarion shifted his weight. “When His Grace lost Lady Lilith…he raged. For quite a while.”

I raised my brows. “Is that the reason the rest of the palace looks half destroyed as well?”

“Yes. The entire west wing has been demolished, and much of the east wing is in a precarious condition. We have mostly ceded it to the rats at this point.”

Yikes. And I thought Azazel had anger management issues. That was nothing compared to Lucifer’s temper tantrums.

I pivoted to level a curious look at Gilarion. “It’s been eight years, though. Why is it still like this? Why not repair it?”

A muscle ticked in Gilarion’s jaw. “His Grace has not ordered any repairs. He has yet to allocate resources and personnel to take care of it.”

My brows drew together. “And everyone’s just cool with it? Y’all keep living among rubble and won’t say a word to him about it?”

Gilarion bared his teeth in a remarkable display of temper, given that I apparently outranked him. “We like our heads on our shoulders more than it irks us to live in ruins. Seeing as you seem to hold favor with His Grace, perhaps you will manage to suggest cleaning up this place without him snapping your neck for it.” And with grudging politeness, he added, “My lady.”

“I see,” I whispered.

And I did. Apparently, there was no one close to Lucifer anymore who was able or brave enough to have some real talk with him about important issues. But there should be.

From what I remembered of the charts and diagrams Azazel and Azmodea had made me study about Lucifer’s court, he did have a council of close advisers, and demons who acted as lieutenants, assistants, or stewards. He didn’t rule all alone, single-handedly running this place. That would be madness. No realm of this size would be governed by just one person dealing with all the tasks that piled up.

For his personal estate alone, there needed to be a few demons fielding any low-priority claims or issues that arose. And then there should be at least one or two higher-ranking demons who were responsible for presenting the more important matters to Lucifer to assess.

I scrunched up my brow as I mentally went through the list of advisers Lucifer had, according to the study materials I’d immersed myself in before the Fall Festival. “What about Taob?” I asked, inquiring about one of them.

“He did not survive His Grace’s rage after Lady Lilith’s passing.”

Oof. “Okay… Saefam, then? Has she not said anything to His Grace?”

“It turned out she was involved in the conspiracy to murder Lady Lilith,” Gilarion said. “She is currently chained beneath the glass of the entrance hall.”

I winced. “And Namiros?”

“Lord Namiros has taken his leave from this court.”

“Why?”

“There is this saying among humans,” Gilarion said carefully, “about rats leaving a sinking ship, is there not?”

I felt slightly nauseous. This was not good. Not good at all. Being drafted into Lucifer’s service and forced to live here in the palace would have been terrible enough already at the best of times. Considering all the evidence of a crumbling reign around me, however, this was as far from the best of times as possible. I felt like I’d been shoved onto a rickety structure that might collapse beneath me at any point.

“I shall leave you to it, then,” Gilarion said, breaking into my morose thoughts. “If you need anything, my lady, just call.”

He indicated a plaque next to the door, one just like there’d been in the rooms at Azazel’s house and which were used to summon the merihem or other servants.

I raised one brow. “Anything?”

Gilarion inclined his head. “We’ve been instructed to bring you whatever you wish for.”

I frowned. Instructed by whom? Certainly not Lucifer. He’d made it clear I was not to expect any kindness from him, considering I wasn’t even allowed to visit my loved ones on Earth.

Then again, I was here in this weirdly luxurious, if a bit neglected, suite in the private wing of the palace instead of a spartan room on a lower level.

“Did he say that?” I asked with narrowed eyes. “His Grace, I mean.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The muscles in my face twitched from twisting up in even more confusion. Then understanding smoothed out my features.

Ah, yes, but of course. The confusion was a feature, not a bug. He couldn’t be predictable, could he? If he stuck to one way of treating me, I’d have the comfort of getting used to that. Lucifer did like to play his fucking mind games, after all.

There, now that made sense.

“Thank you,” I said to Gilarion. “That’ll be all.”

He nodded, bowed, and left me alone in the freakishly large suite.

As soon as the door closed behind him, my shoulders slumped, tension drained out of me, and I simply sank to the floor and stayed there for what felt like hours, my face pressed to the tile.

The stone was cool under my cheek. With my eyes closed, I listened to my own heartbeat thump with unrelenting steadiness, my breath drawing in and out of my lungs. Felt my power flowing through me, with a new taste, a strange yet familiar note of darkness to it.

My energy now resembled Azazel’s, in a way—because it was demonic.

I still couldn’t grasp it.

I was a demon .

Just a few years ago, I’d been a regular human, living a regular human life, with no idea that beyond my dull human perception, there lurked creatures from worlds I didn’t know existed. If someone had told me the course my fate would take, I’d have laughed in their face and then suggested a good therapist.

And now I felt like I needed a therapist to process all the things that had happened to me over the past nine years.

When I’d lived with Azazel, all I’d wanted in those quiet, melancholy moments when my lack of power and the weight of the difference between me and everyone else pressed down on me, was to be a demon like them, to be strong and fast and wield the same kind of magic and be able to hold my own.

But I’d known it was impossible. Lucifer himself had once told me not even he could change me in that way. No human had ever become a demon, and even Lilith had not quite made it to the same level as a full-blooded demon, despite the power she’d somehow accumulated.

And yet, here I was, human turned demon, with an interlude as angel.

I’d achieved exactly what I’d dreamed of. This should be a happy moment…only the one variable that would make it so was missing.

Azazel wasn’t here.

I wasn’t with him.

That hadn’t been the plan. This was all so wrong. He should have claimed me; I should be part of his domain, living with him in his mansion. At this very moment, I should be enjoying the reunion with the demon who held my heart, who’d plucked me from my regular human life and given me the deepest kind of love I’d ever known, who’d infiltrated Heaven just for the chance to see me again.

Who’d suffered excruciating torture as part of a reckless bid to bring me back into his life.

My eyes burned, my throat closing up. I wanted so desperately for him to be here. I wanted to hide away in his embrace, to feel his warmth, his power, breathe in his scent, yearned for him to pull me close and tell me everything would be all right.

But even more so, I wanted to wrap him in my arms, to tell him that his years of waiting were over, that he had me back, that all his scheming and hard work had paid off, and that I’d never, ever fucking leave him. I longed to assure him that he’d never have to face a single night alone again, that my love would always be his safe haven, and that I couldn’t wait to start the rest of my life with him.

He’d waited and planned and yearned for me for eight long years, and he’d been so close, so fucking close, only to have his chance at a future with me snatched away at the last second.

Because while I was now back here in Hell, as a demon, with all the perfect conditions for a hellishly happy ever after with Azazel, I was still out of reach for him. Instead of enjoying my reunion with him, I was lying on the floor in Lucifer’s palace, bound in servitude to the Devil for the foreseeable future—a future that might not include Azazel.

There was no telling if I’d even be allowed to see him in my one week down here.

In general, relationships between demons of different territories were permitted unless their superior demons were at war with each other, but given Lucifer and Azazel’s contentious family dynamics, I could very well imagine that Lucifer would forbid me from seeing him.

He could do it, too. He absolutely had the authority to prohibit Azazel from visiting, and to keep me from leaving his palace while down here.

God, would I even see Azazel again?

I opened my eyes, my vision blurry from the tears that had sprung up, my chest almost too tight to draw breath.

I wondered what Azazel was doing right now, whether he was even aware that I’d already fallen, that he’d be too late to claim me for himself. Maybe he was still recovering from his torture, thinking he’d have time to regain his full strength down here before he’d receive word from Naamah that I was about to fall.

The thought made me vibrate with anger.

He’d trusted her, just like I had. She was his mother , his long-lost, barely-just-found-again mother, and while she’d helped him substantially with his mission to infiltrate Heaven and get close to me, she’d also angled for a double cross the entire time.

Because this had definitely been premeditated.

From all that I could tell after my conversation with Lucifer, he’d been planning this for years. The prospect of being able to find Lilith’s reincarnation was likely the only thing that had kept him from sliding right into full-blown depression and/or insanity. He’d have set everything on making this happen, and given his vast life experience and the unrelenting patience that came with immortality, he’d have had no problem playing the long game and putting the pieces into the right places over years of careful planning.

He’d have found out that I was in Heaven, and he’d have likely—and rightly—figured that Azazel would try to get to me, which would have been Lucifer’s best chance to gain access to me. All he’d had to do was sit back and wait for Azazel to set everything up, and then make his move when the time was right.

With the help of Naamah.

She was Lucifer’s inside person in Heaven, and though he couldn’t communicate directly with her, given that he couldn’t set foot on Earth and she couldn’t enter Hell, I had no doubt that he’d found a way to exchange information with her that would be hidden from Heaven’s notice—and from Azazel.

All this time, Azazel had thought Naamah was acting in his interest, helping him get into Heaven and close to me in order to trigger my memory and convince me to fall from grace so he could claim me for his territory.

When, in reality, it had never been part of Naamah’s plan to let Azazel claim me.

She’d helped Azazel so far as his goals aligned with Lucifer’s interest, but when those two diverged, she’d sided with her father.

Deep within me, betrayal lacerated the softer parts of my being.

Back in Heaven, after I’d been arrested, I’d wondered why she’d fast-track my fall from grace, not understanding why she’d turn on me like that. And then I’d found out it was so that Lucifer could snatch me up instead of Azazel, but I’d puzzled over why.

I had my answer now. He wanted me to find Lilith for him, and apparently, Naamah had been working toward that goal—to get me to Lucifer—for years.

With each new revelation, that wound of betrayal within me only grew.

Had she ever been my friend? Or had I always simply been a means to an end for her?

When I’d told her that I needed time to find my mom, she’d smiled and agreed, letting me believe that she understood and would honor my request…when actually, she’d known perfectly well that in order to make sure Lucifer’s demon would be the one to grab me, I’d have to fall right away, while Azazel would not expect it yet.

Knowing she’d played me like that hurt so much I could barely breathe.

I just didn’t know why it had been that important for Lucifer to claim me for himself. Sure, he now had direct authority over me, but he was the supreme overlord of Hell—shouldn’t he have that authority no matter what? Couldn’t he have just as easily commandeered me into his service if Azazel had claimed me first?

Or— and here’s a thought —he could have just asked .

Instead of basically kidnapping me into indentured servitude, he could have allowed Azazel to claim me and then asked me to help him find Lilith, voluntarily and on my terms.

I would have very likely agreed!

But noooooo, he had to go full psycho and take away my choice.

Bastard .

The stone floor was heating from the anger boiling inside me. With a whoosh, flames shot out from me and licked over the ground, latching on to what was left of the rugs.

I uttered a yelp and jumped up. I had to put it out. How did I put it out? Panic rushing through my blood, I waved my hands wildly, trying to control the flames. The fire roared higher and brighter all around me.

Shit . Why was this so difficult? I was a demon now; I should know how to handle fire, dammit!

The blaze was inching closer to the bed, threatening to destroy what appeared to be a perfectly fine mattress and bedding despite the state of the bed’s curtains. Oh, no, you don’t.

“Stop!” I yelled while throwing out my hands as if to control the fire with some kind of Jedi force manipulation. “Simmer the fuck down!”

Of course, the fire did no such thing, the fiend.

“Noooo,” I wailed.

And I couldn’t even summon anything to put it out either because I didn’t know what kinds of things were available here to call upon. In order to summon something, one had to know it existed within the territory in the first place, either by having seen it in person or by having unshakable assurance that it was in a certain spot. Yeah, summoning was a whole science unto itself.

I was frozen in place, twitching and panting with mounting despair over this fire I couldn’t control, when a hiss and a gurgle sounded from somewhere above. The next second, a stream of viscous liquid shot toward the flames, dousing them within moments. Two more spit-splashes, and all the flames were extinguished, smoke curling up from the wet ashes covering the floor.

You are , a familiar voice sounded in my head, by far the worst demon I have ever seen.

With a gasp, I yanked my head up and stared toward the gloom-shrouded ceiling, where two yellow eyes glowed in the dark. “Mephisto!”