Stepping away from the bed, he pulled the curtains in and dimmed the lights so it wouldn’t be too bright if the other man woke before they expected. He mulled over Uriel’s surprising declaration as he set about cleaning and organizing his tools and workspace. Michael claimed Luce had hurthim? That was rich.
Though maybe it was true; maybe Luce should have confided his feelings in Michael, instead of protecting his morally rigid lover from complicity. What was the point in regretting that now? There was more than enough of that nonsense going around already, even though the real blame rested with a system that forced people to extremes of morality.
He lifted two vials of medicine, one deep violet and the other a shocking aquamarine.
“Dark and light,” Luce muttered, swirling them in their stoppered bottles before popping the tops and mixing a measureof each into a third bottle. The colors swirled and blended into a murky brown, and he scoffed. “Yes, that’s closer to the truth, isn’t it? We all end up dragged through the mud at some point.”
He scribbled a quick note for his slumbering patient—Don’t mind the color, drink this for any lingering pain—and set both on the bedside table. This job, at least, was done. He rubbed the bridge of his nose to work out the headache forming, giving himself a spark of magic to soothe it when that failed.
“Luce,” a soft voice interrupted him as he closed the infirmary door behind him with a soft click. His eyes flicked up to meet Glory’s, concern clearly written across her face. “I think something has happened to Mags.”
“What?” His heart skipped a beat.
“She just left the Garden. I ran into her as I passed, and it was like she was looking right through me.”
He frowned. “I think I know what happened. Try not to worry, sweets, I’m going to handle things.”
Her expression relaxed slightly but retained a touch of worry in the tightness of her jaw.
“You’ll get wrinkles frowning like that,” he teased gently, and she made a sound like a startled cat, hands flying up to prod and pull gently at her flawless skin. Luce laughed. “I’m kidding! You know you’re radiant, Gloriana.”
“You’re a real brat sometimes,” Glory pouted, and Luce patted her cheek fondly.
“We’re both divas, darling, it takes one to know one.”
She rolled her eyes, but he had succeeded in drawing out a smile.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, eyes widening. “I was coming to find you because Cwall is back.”
His mood instantly sobered, the levity giving way to concern. “Any news?”
Cwall’s surveillance had been invaluable to him during Foster’s rebellious phase, ensuring that Luce could keep his distance without entirely abandoning his son. It had backfired spectacularly, but it had seemed like the only way at the time.
“Some.” She worried her lip between pearly white teeth. Luce waited patiently despite the anxiety urging him to shake the words from her lips. Finally, Glory sighed. “Foster is seeking a second sacrifice.”
“What?” Luce drew back, eyebrows flying into his hairline as his eyes went wide with alarm. “I know my visit to him went poorly, but I had hoped...”
“You hoped it would at least give him pause,” Glory filled in softly.
“Yes,” he croaked, heart and throat constricting in tandem. He closed his eyes against the burn that threatened—the King of Hell simply didnotcry openly in the corridor.
He opened his eyes to Glory’s tortured expression, tears flowing freely down her porcelain cheeks. “I’m beginning to fear we’re going to fail him.”
Luce reached out and took her small hand in his, squeezing it with a reassurance he desperately needed himself. “I’ll try to speak with him again. There has to be hope, Gloriana.”
“There’s always hope,” she murmured back, even if she sounded a bit unsure. Luce gave another gentle squeeze before releasing her.
“Try not to worry,” Luce said, knowing full well that it was a useless sentiment.
Glory made a non-committal sound at his request, but Luce didn’t have the luxury of time to reassure her further. Instead, he angled towards the courtyard, fixing his face into a stern and distant mask. It seemed there was a pest issue in his garden that needed attending to.
Chapter Fifteen
Some things,Lucifer thought to himself grimly,you simply are never prepared for.It was a sentiment he often expressed, and he found it to be inherently true. The birth of your first child, the death of a loved one, and of course, seeing your ex after a traumatic breakup.
He loitered in the archway that led out into his Garden, pretending to take in the lush scenery while he fought down the panic that crawled stubbornly up through his torso to strangle him. The bewitched sunlight beamed down into the atrium, lighting on upturned leaves and delicate blooms and the golden curls of Michael’s hair where he bowed before the statue of…himself.
“Normally people know better than to intrude on my personal space,” he finally forced himself to speak, pleased by the level, slightly sardonic drawl that came out. He had been afraid of sounding like a nervous preteen, the way his pulse was jumping under his skin. “Or at least they ask my permission first.”
