“I think it’s better than the alternative.” Mags frowned. “I am still wary; I’ll need to talk to Luce about it. But…I think it’s the best option.”
“Why?” Remi demanded. “Surely there has to be something,anythingelse.”
“Luce has been trying to find another way,” the smaller woman agreed. “But I can feel it in my bones, Remi. This is the most powerful, definitive vision I’ve had in a long time. And without this artifact…”
“Luce won’t be strong enough,” Rag spoke slowly, realization and horror dawning on him. “Because he hasn’t been the same since he gave us such a hefty portion of his power.”
The sink faucet released a drip with an unnaturally loud plop.
“I’m sorry,” Remi forced cheer into her tone, “are you saying it’sourfault that Luce can’t face this threat?”
“Technically,” Mags sighed, seemingly ignorant of the glare Remi leveled at her while she stroked the cover of the grimoire absently. “Since you can’t exactly return those powers now, I needed to find an alternative.”
They glanced uncomfortably amongst themselves for a moment, all considering the potential for things to go horribly wrong with this plan.
Rag was the one to finally break the silence. “Fuck it,” he declared. “If the world is going to shit anyway, we might as wellpiss off the King of Heaven. Can’t get much worse than the end of all existence, right?”
“This cannot be the right address.” Lucifer cringed at the sight of the building before him, slowly scanning from the filthy shingles and clogged gutter, down five stories to the chipped foundation and overgrown shrubbery that seemed torn between wilting into the dirt and consuming the stained brick façade. “It’s like a fire hazard and a ruin had a very unfortunate baby.”
He pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket and squinted doubtfully at the lopsided scrawl. Cwall had been adamant this was the place, and he should know, since he was the primary guard assigned to watch the prince.
The paper read ‘6060 S. Gold Street Apt. E3’. The rusted iron numbers 6060 were affixed to the building door, even if one of the zeroes hung at an odd angle. Luce turned and arched his neck to confirm that the worn sign on the street corner did say Gold and sighed heavily when he saw that it did.
“Well great. That means I have to goinside.” He shuddered, tucked the paper back into the pocket of his slacks, and reluctantly approached the apartment.
Frustrated, stressed and more than a little nervous, he paced the tiny hallway furiously. Why was he here? He should have called on a Projector first. Luce almost turned and walked back out. Those little boxes were a wonder, using magic to display images across leagues as if you had no more than a window between viewer and subject. But he sincerely doubted Foster would answer any message from him, and then Luce would only bemoreanxious, wondering and overthinking.
No, it had to be in person. He knew his son deserved that much, even if it made him that much more of a coward to be looking for another option. It certainly didn’t help that he was in a decidedly unwelcoming, surprisingly cold place. Luce cast a disparaging eye over the cracked plaster revealed by peeling, dingy wallpaper. The threadbare carpet gave the suggestion of having once been red but was now near black from years of dirty feet and slapdash cleaning. There was a bag of trash near the stairs next to—oh damned souls, was that the carcass of some sort of vermin?
He shuddered and his nose wrinkled, in distaste and in rejection of the faint odor of mildew mingled with heavy spices that intensified as he climbed stairs. He found it hard to believe that his son livedhere. His son, who at one point refused to leave the house before his hair was carefully styled and his shoes were polished to a shine? Impossible. But if Cwall said this was Foster’s home, Lucifer had no reason to doubt him.
He scanned the hallway again as he reached E level, which was at least cleaner than most of the floors he had passed. Maybe he was doubting Cwall just a little.Enough.Luce brought himself up short, spinning on his heel to face door E3 head on.
He had passed through a rift to the mortal plane, he had taken acabbecause he couldn’t portal somewhere he hadn’t been before, and he had climbed four flights of stairs in designer Italian loafers that would now need to be deep cleaned. It wasn’t as if he could simply turn back now. So instead, he took the last few steps and knocked sharply on the door.
A long, long moment stretched after his knock. Only a few minutes. Less than a blip on the timeline of an immortal, but long enough for Luce to reconsider his entire life and all the choices that led him to be here. A baby cried somewhere in the floors below, and Luce thought the child might not have the wrong idea. Standing in this abysmal, filthy hallway, waiting tosee if his son would open the door for him, the King of Hell felt very small.
The door swung inward with little ceremony, and Luce was greeted by the sight of a bowed head of brunette waves.
“Finally! I’m starving,” the unruly mop of hair rumbled, digging in a dark denim pocket. A wallet was unearthed and popped open, head lifting to lock identical brown eyes with the man at his door. There was a long pause, and Luce drank in his son’s face, so familiar and yet so different to the face he remembered. Foster’s face twisted in fury, closer to the last time Luce had seen him. “You aren’t the pizza guy.”
“No,” Luce began, then had to clear his throat to regain control of his pitch. “No, I’m certainly not.”
“Might as well be, for all I’ve seen you.” A snort. “Actually, I see the pizza guy more.”
Luce winced. “I deserved that.”
“You deserve a lot more and a lot less, honestly.” A disgusted shake of those dark waves. “Why am I wasting time talking to you?”
The door snapped closed.
“Well.” Luce forced a smile. “That went well.”
“Go away,” Foster called through the door. “You’re ruining my appetite.”
Two could play at this game. Luce eyed the carpet with distaste but swallowed his pride and sunk down to lean against the battered door, long legs stretched across and almost touching the opposite wall. “Who’s to say I’m not going to wait here and steal your pizza?”
“I’ll order another one, you petty fuck.”
