His lip curled. “Mmph,” was his response, and then he swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.
THEFINGEROFRESPONSIBILITY
MEPH SHOWED UP AT THE HOUSE A FEW DAYS AFTERthe incident.
A part of Belial wanted to slam the door in his face. He couldn’t deny he was still a little pissed at his brother for riling him up and making him feel like shit about his life. But mostly, he just felt guilty, and he knew he owed him a conversation.
So when he saw Meph sheepishly grinning on his doorstep—his right hand wrapped in gauze—Bel stepped back and let him in.
“Nice hair,” was the first thing Meph said.
Bel ran his fingers through it. He hadn’t bothered getting a haircut after his last rage attack. He supposed he was tired of fighting the inevitable.
New mansion, long hair … Maybe he was having a midlife crisis.
He and Meph sat outside on the patio with coffees. Thesilence was weighted, but it wasn’t awkward. They’d spent too much time together for that to ever be an issue.
“So …” Meph shifted in his seat and stared at the pool like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“Damn it.” Bel propped an elbow on his chair’s armrest and dropped his head into his hand.
“What?”
“I’m supposed to be the one apologizing. I was trying to work up the nerve, but you beat me to it.”
“Nah.” Meph fidgeted with his cup, spinning it in circles on the table. With his left hand, of course. The one with all the fingers still attached.
Bel lifted his head. “I chopped your fingers off.”
“I know.” Meph held up his bandaged appendage, that goofy grin appearing on his face.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?”
“Because, in hindsight, it’s hilarious. I can’t wait to tell this story a million times.”
Bel shook his head.
“I shouldn’t have said all that shit,” Meph said, picking up his cup and staring at the coffee in it. “Ash came and tore me a new one after, and he’s right.”
“Ash did?”
“Yeah.”
“I hardly even remember him being there.”
“You know Ash. Always quiet in the corner, observing our idiocy, and then giving us shit for it later.”
“True.” Bel nodded knowingly. He may have felt like the burden of responsibility fell on his shoulders, but he’d always known Asmodeus carried a heavy load of his own. Especially back in Hell, when Bel had been even more unstable than he was now.
“I remember what it was like when I couldn’t control mydemon,” Meph said, “and I had to keep him caged with that sigil that kept me from shifting. That sucked.” He looked at Bel. “But I guess it’s worse with the anger, isn’t it? Because there’s nothing you can tattoo on yourself to keep it in. You just have to … force it to stay in check.” He shook his head. “That sounds shitty.”
Bel grunted noncommittally. It was. But there was no need for him to go on about it.
“So, yeah.” Meph shifted in his chair. “I think it’s cool what you’ve done here, getting set up in this cushy house and shit.”
Bel cocked a brow.
“I do. Maybe I was a dick because … I’m a little jealous.”
