“It doesn’t matter, Foster,” she would say. “Everything I have ever been pales in comparison to the most important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Silly boy.” Angela would smile wide, twirling his hair around her finger. “The best thing I have ever been is your mother.”
He pouted. “That’s unfair.”
“You are aGod,” she laughed shortly. “This entire encounter is weighted in your favor, and you speak of fairness?”
“I will have you know; I find equal footing to be an essential foundation of any relationship."
"We do not have a relationship,” she admonished him. “How very forward of you to presume such, from a simple conversation.”
“Even an acquaintance is a relationship,” he argued, “and I hope we could possibly even become friends.”
“I don’t even know your name.” And yet she was drawn to him, curiosity and attraction mingling in a heady combination.
“Yes, you do,” he said softly, and a certain sadness snuck into the edges of his smile. “My name is Lucifer.”
Angela blinked slowly. She did know him, if only through legend.
“The Morning Star,” she said, almost numb. Of all the Gods, this one was the most infamous.
“Now you know who I am, and here I know only that you are a very beautiful and unusually powerful mortal.”
“Perhaps I should maintain my brief moment of control,” she found herself smiling, his easy manner outweighing the shock of his pedigree. Besides, she had never put much stock in the rumors of Lucifer’s ‘evil’. She owed him quite a debt for her own lineage, in fact.
His eyes went wide, pleading with mock desperation, “Have mercy!”
“Hmmm,” Angela tapped her chin with a slim finger, as if weighing her options. “I suppose itwouldbe unfair to withhold my name, especially with your proclamations for equal footing.”
“Precisely,” he nodded solemnly, but his grin was bright and eager.
“My name is Angela,” she smiled back, and extended her hand to him. “Angela Ortiz.”
He took it without hesitation, bringing the back of her hand to his lips for a courtly kiss. “As lovely a name as one so beautiful would be expected to bear.”
She laughed. “Are all Gods such blatant flirts?”
“Only when the woman is exceptionally intriguing,” he replied easily, and she felt her cheeks warming again.
“I hope I can live up to such high expectations,” she said.
“Oh, I expect you’ll exceed them.” Lucifer replied easily, extending his arm for her to tuck her hand into. “I have a very good feeling about you, you see.”
There must have been something to his intuition because they were married three years later. It had cost Angela her family—unsurprisingly, they had not been enthused that she wanted to be with a Divine being—but they had been blessed with a son. That son scowled now, struggling to rationalize his mother’s constant adoration for his father with the burning outrage he fostered. He stopped short with a groan at his own unintentional pun, shaking his head.
“Stupid,” he muttered, kicking a rock along the sidewalk and into the gutter. “Dwelling on the past when there’s the present to worry about.”
He looked up, surprised to find he had reached his destination, navigating to the church on muscle memory while lost in thought. Foster went up the steps and through the entry hall, glancing around and noting a few scattered visitors in various states of worship despite the odd hour. It was a surprisingly good turnout for after sundown on a weekday, but there weren’t so many people that someone would be likely to notice his impromptu visit.
He cursed Judas’s name as he made his way through the building. After the praeceptor had hemmed and hawed about giving Foster access to the Gospel of Lazarus, Foster had triedto let it go. Gabe had a copy of his own, but he had always been reluctant to let Foster have it, and if the praeceptor wouldn’t give him access...Well, he’d have to trust his mentor.
But then his friend had shown up telling him that it wasdangerous, and Foster needed to see the damn thing for himself. If he could just read through it, he could put his mind at rest that it was nothing nefarious, and he could get everyone off his back once and for all.
The praeceptor’s office was empty when he passed under the archway and peeked through the door, so he took a short flight of steps down to a lower level. It was cooler down here, making Foster glad he’d worn his leather jacket and not something lighter. The stairs let out into a pathway that looped around in a circuit of rooms, mostly storage or rooms used for meetings, prayer sessions, or the occasional party.
Foster went directly to a familiar door on the right marked ‘Archives’, and he gave the old knob a sharp twist and a firm yank to loosen the joint that always seemed to stick a bit. He stepped into the dim room beyond, conjuring a small flame on the tip of his finger and using it to find the switch. It took a moment for the weak incandescent bulbs to flicker to life, a few of them stubbornly refusing to conjure a spark in their old age.
