“Yeah,” Foster sighed, “I could use one right about now.”
“Come on, then!” Gabe snapped his fingers and the door swung wide, and he led the way out into the hallway. “Ugh, I always forget how tragic your apartment is. You still won’t take my offer of putting in a word with that nice realtor woman in the northeast?”
“No.” Foster smirked, watching with amusement as Gabe prodded the splotchy wallpaper with one finger, squinting, and gingerly swiped along the dusty, wobbling banister.
“Look at this!” he yelped, holding up his finger, caked in grime. “You’re so lucky you don’t get sick, no wonder that little girl had lung cancer!”
Foster sobered, grin falling. “Yeah, no wonder…”
Gabe frowned. “Ah. I’ve put my foot directly into my mouth. Apologies.”
“It’s fine,” Foster shrugged, adopting an air of indifference despite the uncomfortable sensation prickling at the back of his neck. “Let’s just get that drink.”
There is not enough liquor in this glass, Luce decided, and with a lazy wiggle of his fingers, another bottle of whiskey floated from the cabinet to his outstretched hand. He poured it liberally,sloshing a bit over the side, and cleared the mess away with a muttered curse and a wave of his hand. Lifting the glass, he admired the way the cut crystal and amber liquor caught the light for a moment before he brought the glass to his lips and drained it in two long swallows.
He poured another and reclined in his chair, regarding the glass with resignation and annoyance. “I thought you were supposed to take my pain away,” he muttered.
The liquor sat motionless in the cup, defiantly offering no answers.
“Terrible, useless poison,” Luce said bitterly, draining it again. “I drink you as punishment.”
“Please tell me you aren’t talking to your brandy.”
“It’s whiskey,” Luce corrected the blurry shape in his doorway, squinting until the figure resolved into Sachiel.
“That issonot the answer I wanted,” Sachi said sternly, but the grin stretching his lips betrayed his amusement. “Isn’t it almost impossible for you to get drunk?”
“It’s not easy,” Luce agreed, “but if you have enough liquor, it’s possible.”
“How long have you been drinking in the dark?”
“Not long enough,” the Devil muttered.
“So much muttering,” the other man chuckled, blond waves falling in his face in a way that had Luce’s feelings in a riot. “You’re normally more eloquent.”
“I’m depressed and drunk,” Luce snapped, taking out the days' worth of frustrations on his subordinate. “Cut me some slack.”
Sachiel sank into the armchair across from Luce’s desk. “The girls are looking for you.”
“Of course they are.”
“Rem says you drugged Mags.”
“I did not,” he protested. “I only put her under for a while with my magic, just long enough to make sure Michael was gone.”
“That’s kinda fucked up, Luce.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Luce glowered at the Fallen.
“Yeah, you never do.” Sachi leaned forward, looking troubled, and braced his forearms on his knees. “You have a real bad tendency of getting yourself so worked up that you don’t have any room in your head for other people’s thoughts.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to leave room forother people’s thoughts,” Luce sneered.
“You’re a King, Luce. What you do affects the whole Kingdom, so it makes sense that you should keep that in mind.”
“I love this Kingdom, and I always protect the souls in it.”
“There’s a windstorm raging out there right now,” Sachi said calmly, “and there’s a lightning storm over the Pit.”
