“Well,” Remi snapped, “maybe if you had talked to him years ago, we wouldn’t be down to our worst options. It’s time for you to eat some fucking crow, Lucifer, and hope it’s enough.”
The truth of that statement hit him like a brick. This was a disaster in motion, and the burden of it fell squarely on his shoulders. The nagging voice in his mind taunted him, an echo from the distant past.
You hold a darkness within that taints all that you touch.
Despite the warring emotions within, he allowed Remi to lead the way with no further protest.
Chapter Three
Peter stared down his long nose at Mags, the horn-rimmed spectacles that balanced precariously on the bridge partially obscuring his stern brown eyes. He sighed heavily, drumming his fingers against the edge of the marble lectern that was set before him. “Lady Mary.”
“Saint Peter,” she said, hands folded demurely in front of her, fingers laced. She rocked back on her heels, casting a casual glance at the massive golden gates that loomed mere inches behind him. Standing before them always managed to make her feel so impossibly small.
“Why do you insist on trying to sneak inside the border? You know your name is on the list.” He gestured at the scroll stretched out on the lectern’s top, which Mags knew was enchanted to contain the names of every soul permitted to pass through the Gates.
She smiled. “Well, you know the line is justsolong. This gets me an escort straight to the front.”
“And do you think that’s fair to them?” Peter arched a brow, prompting Mags to turn and acknowledge the line of newly arrived souls, winding along the sandy path to a glimmering Rift some yards away.
As they watched, a petite blonde Reaper practically bounced through the Rift with an eager grin, a terrified young man trembling beside her. There was a sound like a chiming bell, and the Rift flashed from its normal icy blue to a bold ruby red. The Reaper gasped, turning in alarm toward her charge, and muttered something they were too far to hear before dragging him roughly back the way they had come.
Peter sighed. “These new Reapers are nothing like their predecessors. Do you know how often that happens? At least twice a week. Unbelievable.”
“Everyone takes time to adapt to their new responsibilities, yes?” Mags asked slyly.
They eyed each other warily, a long pause and much unspoken lying between them. Then Peter grinned and stepped down onto the cobbled path. “Stop acting like such a brat and come give us a hug, Mags.”
“You only had to ask,” she said sweetly, stepping into his outstretched arms and winding hers around his waist. “How is gate duty treating you?”
“Long, boring shifts,” he sighed. “But better than what Bartholomew is tasked with.”
“Oh?” The other Apostle was known for his mischief, and Mags wondered what trouble he had gotten into now.
“The Almighty is...displeased, with him,” Peter smirked. “He’s mucking stables for the King’s horses.”
Mags mock gasped. “Not the stables!”
“They’re made ofsunbeams, Mary. Can you imagine the burns?”
“The horror,” she intoned dramatically, but her eyes were still sparkling with mirth.
“Mock me if you must—” he pointed sternly at her, “—but please stop trying to sneak through the wall. You’re setting a bad example.”
“Am I?” Mags turned to the nearest soul, a timid looking woman with mousy brown hair, who had apparently died on her way to the bathtub if her fluffy pink robe was any indication. “Excuse me, do you think that I’m a bad influence?”
The woman blinked, looking confused. “Je vous connais?”
“Ah,” Mags said, flushing. “Non, excusez-moi.”
“Miss?” The middle-aged man behind the French woman waved her over, smiling slightly. “Have you...you’ve been inside before?”
“I have,” she said. “Many times.”
“So...” He cleared his throat, looking hesitant. “We’ll...be allowed to come and go?”
“Oh honey,” she softened. “No, I’m afraid.”
“Oh...” the man seemed to shrink a bit, his hopeful expression turning into something like grief. “Why?”
