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DIANA

“ W e’re caught in the deepest, darkest pit of Hell,” Lucifer growled. “And there’s no way out.”

“What?” I asked, confused as fuck. Where were we? How did Red trick us?!

Bash taught me all about the landscape and different areas of Hell, but he never mentioned a place like this.

I scan the room and do a mental headcount to make sure everyone is here: Me, Dads, Oisín, Judas, Mal, Zaz, and Bain—everyone accounted for. As the dust cleared around us, a scene straight out of the wild west came into view. There was sand everywhere, with little wooden buildings and tumbleweeds. I even spotted a big, needle-filled cactus with purple flowers. It resembled a town from one of those old western movies. All we needed was a cowboy hero and an outlaw staring each other down to the whistling music to complete the vibe.

“You’re trapped. Have fun getting tortured for eternity while I take over earth.” Red’s disembodied voice rang out.

The portal shut, cutting off the view I had of Ares and our troops at the compound. Mal, Zaz, and Bain sprang into action, using their magic to search for a way out. Judas stood by my side, his hands out as he did…something. I wasn’t sure what, but I could feel all four of their magical signatures swarming and weaving around us. Their frustrated faces didn’t bode well for our situation.

Lucifer was still fuming mad in his full demon form, a goat’s head with massive, black horns, hooved feet, and a demonic body. Plumes of opaque steam billowed from his ears. His huffing and puffing revealed a forked tongue and razor sharp teeth. Michael tried his best to calm him down.

“Luci, if you don’t get a handle on your anger you may not be able to shift back for a while… We need you to have your wits about you if we’re going to get out of this mess.”

Truth. As angry as I was at getting tricked, I urged myself to keep it locked down. I couldn’t afford to lose control right now.

My father had doubled in size when he involuntarily shifted, and he was so upset his eyes were bugging out of his head, showcasing black, rectangular pupils. He roared—like a straight up wild beast—so loudly and with such a deep bass a wooden sign nearby with the strange script on it vibrated. I walked over to it to get a closer look, because the message wasn’t written in English.

The script was carved into the wood in some kind of foreign language. It somewhat resembled the Cyrillic alphabet, but it was a loopy, swirly cursive with different letters and accent marks. My brother stood next to me, running his hand over the words.

“It’s one of the Fae dialects. I can’t read it word for word, but I do see the words welcome, pit, and some numbers at the top,” Oisín gritted out. “Dad…we’re not in Pit 13, are we? Please tell me you shut this place down when the Princeps Council ordered you to do so centuries ago!”

He took a few seconds to gather himself, then shifted back into his human-looking form. He almost looked contrite when he said, “Fuck the council. I didn’t shut it down, and yes, we are in Pit 13.”

“Lucifer Everything-Fucker Morningstar. You didn’t dissolve Pit 13?!” Michael shouted over the steam hissing from his ears. His face turned beet red, his bright blue eyes darkening as his outrage palpable. It was so strong, I felt second-hand shame on Lucifer’s behalf.

“What is Pit 13?” And why was I afraid to ask? I remember Bash telling me how The Princeps Council rarely involved themselves in magical matters. Only if it was life-or-death or negated one of the set-in-stone rules.

“Diana, your father let his inner sadist run rampant during the Medieval times and—” Michael was cut off by a loud bullhorn in the distance.

Even with my superhearing, I couldn’t pinpoint the sound’s origin, as if I was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. I’d never seen my crew look so confused in my life. They were not men who got caught off guard, because they ran shit . Michael and Lucifer were a power couple—now throuple because of Mom—who shook things up and made things happen. Mal, Judas, and Oisín were seasoned killers. Zaz may have been all about peace and love, but I’ve seen him handle himself. Bain…was creepy enough he could handle himself.

My intuition is not giving me good vibes right now.

The doors of all the wooden buildings flew open, some so hard they fell off their hinges. Mal jumped in front of me, effectively blocking my view of everything. I peaked around him, and saw a figure in the distance near the sunset. It was coming closer to us, as if it was floating through the dust and tumbleweeds. Maybe this was the cowboy? Or the outlaw…

“What in the actual fuck,” Bain complained. “I can’t get a read on if there’s other life forms here, even though I can see someone coming toward us. I’m completely cut off from my magic.”

I took a minute to introspectively check if my magic worked without actually using it. The light, buzzing thrum of it was still there, but it felt muted. Which meant that whoever was coming closer to us by the second was able to dull our power and was possibly just as powerful as us.

When the figure got close enough, I realized he was a tall, solidly built man with strawberry blond hair styled off his forehead, and pale skin with a dewy, glowing shine people paid estheticians thousands to recreate. His sharp, thick black-framed glasses sat on his pert nose, framing his clean-shaven face well. He wore a three piece charcoal gray suit with a golden pocket watch chain and a pocket square folded into three triangles. Very dapper indeed, but judging by how his devious grin met both his pointy ears, he was a shit stirring brat. I’d bet money on it.

I knew my own people when I saw them. We had a chaotic vibe about us.

He stopped a comfortable distance from us, his smile only growing when he saw Lucifer. “Hello Lucifer Morningstar-Not-So-Bright and crew,” he snarked. His voice sounded like something straight out of an old, black and white Hollywood movie. “Thanks for finally coming back and visiting me after you left.”

He sounded smooth and confident within an undertone of vindication, which immediately put me on guard. Only a bad motherfucker would act this self-assured around the literal embodiment of evil, his spawn, and their crew.

“Shut up, you Fae menace,” my father growled.

“Fine. You’ll get treated the way every other prisoner does, Lucifer,” he haughtily snapped.

Before I could think about what he meant by prisoner, he started to give a dramatic speech, complete with flourishing hand gestures.

“My name is Quelier—aka Fae Personal Assistant Extraordinaire—and I’ll be guiding you through your arrival to Pit 13. Please keep all limbs inside the passenger car and hold onto your safety bar.”

All of us immediately found ourselves trapped in rollercoaster cars that popped out of thin air. The safety bar dropped into our laps, forcing us into place. Mine wouldn’t budge, no matter how much magic I used to pry it up.

The sun set, and a disembodied spotlight shone on the mischievous Fae PA. He now donned a top hat and wore fancy white gloves from a bygone era. A time where men had a real sense for fashion.

“Get ready for the welcome of your life!” His voice magnified, as if he was using a microphone.

Everyone fell silent, glancing at each other as if someone knew what was going on.

Does anyone know what’s bloody happening? Bash groused.

No, and I can’t get myself out of this seat, Mal replied as he tried to pry the safety bar away.

Diana, buckle up, pun intended. This is going to be a fucked up ride, Oisín said, a hint of worry in his voice that put me on edge. I wouldn’t say my brother was a complete psychopath, but he didn’t worry. That emotion wasn’t in his repertoire, so for him to sound this unsettled wasn’t good.

The Prince of Darkness just grumbled, rolled his eyes, and sat still, staring down Quelier like he was a nuisance. Random show tune piano music accompanied by some wind instruments swelled, then Quelier burst into song and a choreographed dance.

The car took off following an invisible track. It felt as if we were moving, but we weren’t. The scenery stayed the same as the wind blew through my hair.

“Welcome one, welcome all! Pit 13 is such a ball. Where the worst are sent to suffer. They’re all screaming for their mothers!” he sang with gusto, kicking up dust as he danced around.

I was impressed by his expressive dance moves, despite how he trapped me in this stupid seat. He knew how to pull off some mean jazz hands. As the music progressed, others filtered out of the wooden buildings’ open doors. As they came closer, I realized they were all carbon copies of Quelier in different costumes—a rough and tumble cowboy, a saloon woman, a modern day construction worker, a person in blood-splattered scrubs. One of his copies was even dressed as a flight attendant, complete with a fancy chignon bun and kitten heels. They all joined in on what I assumed would be the song’s chorus.

“Pit 13, your personal nightmare! Pit 13, once you arrive you’re stuck here! Your personal Hell will surely be swell. Don’t worry about your life, it’s all torture and strife. We can’t wait to make you scream, you’re gonna love Pit 13.”

Suddenly, the entire scenery around us changed to the first class section of a plane. We all sat in groups of two, surrounded by more Quelier carbon copies dressed as various passengers. The level of detail on some of the copies was impressive. One had a laptop with an open document. Another scrolled through their phone next to one who was fast asleep. There was even a copy of him hyperventilating into a paper bag.

I guess that one doesn’t like flying on planes…

The music picked up, changing to a disco-like beat. A disco ball dropped from the ceiling, making a little strawberry blond haired baby cry a few rows behind us.

Everyone on the plane except us jumped out of their seats, bouncing around and singing as the original Quelier danced down the aisle.

I am so lost… Mal linked me.

This is entertaining as fuck, Judas said as he danced in his seat.

It’s a long story and as soon as this is over I’ll explain, Zaz promised. He sat in the aisle seat next to me. His fingers ran through his long, curly hair, his tell that he felt stressed.

Everyone around us sat down as the oxygen masks dropped from the little overhead compartments, then fixed their masks to their face. As one, they all started beatboxing. Mixed with the sound of the oxygen flowing and random percussion music, it was a unique beat. Quelier strutted down the aisle as he rap-talked over the beat.

“Good afternoon ladies, gents, and everyone in between. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to Pit 13, where our objective is to torture you and make your eternity a living, unbearable Hell. My name is Quelier, aka Fae Personal Assistant Extraordinaire, for those of you who may have missed it due to my spectacular musical performance.” A large burst of fireworks went off behind him as his clones wiggled the most impressive spirit fingers. “I’ll curate your torture experience during your stay, but the magic of the pit is responsible for sourcing your trauma to fuel said experiences. Place your carry-on items wherever you want and do whatever you want as we descend into the pit. Take a moment to review the lack of safety instructions, because you’re stuck here forever! Whether you get hurt or not.”

The plane shook through some turbulence, but he never wavered. Two other flight attendant versions of him flanked him on either side of the wide aisle, dancing behind him as he rap-outlined the terms of our stay.

“There’s no escaping Pit 13—you’re here because you were naughty, awful people too bad for Hell proper, and here is where you’ll stay, forever . Your worst fears and biggest pet peeves will come to life. Please use the touch screen in front of you to fill out a quick questionnaire so I can make your stay as uncomfortable as possible. I’ll know if you’re lying, so answer all questions honestly.”

I looked at the questions, and realized long forms were one of my biggest pet peeves. Seriously, they are so annoying. The torture was already beginning, and we hadn’t even landed yet. I glanced at my dads, and Lucifer looked so bothered that steam was billowing from his ears again. Michael was almost as angry, but at least he had some composure as he served our lunatic-tyrant-jailor some serious side-eye. Despite the randomness of everything going on, I could tell this whole thing was probably happening because of something fucked up Lucifer had done.

Every single fucked up thing probably happened because of Lucifer Morningstar.

The Prince of Darkness jumped up from his seat, seething with rage. “STOP THIS NONSENSE!”

The music cut, and everyone quieted. All of the Quelier carbon copies laser-focused on him, expressions of pure fury on their faces.

The one dressed as a female flight attendant strutted right up to him, slapping him across the face. “No, you stop! You ruined our welcoming number, right before my solo,” she wailed in a scandalized tone. She pinned him with an outraged glare. “It took us decades to come up with that, while you were off doing whatever you deemed more important than coming back to visit me.”

“What? Of course I came back to visit you…you must have missed me, though,” Lucifer bold-face lied, his cheeks turning red.

“No, you trapped me down here!” the original Fae shouted, his face turning tomato red with anger.

For fuck’s sake, do I even want to know what happened? I asked Oisín.

Probably not, he answered.

We had to turn this situation around if we ever wanted to escape. This interesting faerie was obviously the one in charge here, so I wanted to at least try to amicably solve this issue before I had to fight my way out. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I could fight my way out of this–I was exhausted, confused, and awestruck at this entire production. I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood, making my way to where the original Quelier stood in the aisle. As I made my way over to him, his carbon copies fizzled away into thin air. Interesting…

“Hello, I’m Diana Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” I gave Quelier a smooth, friendly smile and extended my hand. “Your performance was magical. I loved the way you took inspiration from Vaudeville, Broadway, and contemporary music and made it into something completely unique.”

An interesting thing about brats…we were known for acting out and disrupting the rules, but we lived for praise. Ate every compliment up like a crunchy, juicy chicken nugget with just the right amount of dipping sauce. They were our ultimate source of dopamine, and our greatest downfall.

He shook my hand, his smile beaming as a pink blush spread across his cheeks. “Stop it right now, Miss Blue Eyes. I’m sure you say that to all the handsome multi-genre performers you meet.”

I could feel Bash’s anger through our claimbond as his voice snapped through our mindlink. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to?

Calm down, before you ruin it. Let our girl work some charm so we can get out of here! Zaz admonished him.

“I certainly do not. Your dance moves? Next level. I want to learn to dance like you. And how did you make carbon copies of yourself? I’ve never seen anyone do that before!”

“I can teach you how to dance between your torture sessions, no problem. Unfortunately, carbon copying is a Fae trick.” He leaned in and sniffed me, then took several seconds to examine me with his shrewd gaze, as if he were sizing up an opponent. “And although you’re powerful and dangerous, you are no Fae. You smell like a cross between a witch, angel, and Lucifer fucking Morningstar. Please tell me someone as wonderful as you is not the spawn of that awful man?”

Michael had to hold Lucifer back. I seriously thought he was going to slap Quelier’s face off.

“Not by choice,” I said, which was true. No one chose their father, or in my case, fathers. “I do love him though, despite his many faults, hubris, short temper, absence in my life, unreasonable need for control and gigolo lifestyle.”

Quelier rolled his eyes, then shot Lucifer a glare carrying serious heat. My father returned it.

“I’m going to be honest with you–we were sent here as a trap by someone much worse than Lucifer. The things he wants to do to the four realms are heinous. There’s a war raging on Earth and we need to get back. How about we sit and work something out?” I offered.

His lips curled into a cryptic smile as he flicked through a tablet that appeared in his hands out of nowhere.

“You seem like such a sweetheart. I’m glad having a father like him hasn’t given you gross Daddy issues,” he cooed in a mocking baby-talk voice. “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can work out. The cosmic vacuum you dropped in through is an entrance only, hun. Doesn’t matter who your daddy is, or how much unfinished business you had before you got here.”

“Oh,” I frowned, because I really thought I could talk my way out of this, or at least convince him to hear me out.

“Don’t worry. We can work on your dancing and singing between torture sessions, if you can make it through them. We’ll have a blast, bestie ! I’ll process your forms while you wait in the Transition Void. Hold please .”

He clapped his hands, disappearing as the background simultaneously changed to that of a doctor’s office waiting room. The modular furniture was creaky and uncomfortable, but we all sat down in silence for a few moments.

“So we’re trapped here indefinitely with no way out?” Oisín clarified.

“I refuse to accept that,” Bash said.

“There has to be a loophole.” Zaz ran his hand through his shiny brown curls, then regarded Lucifer who guiltily stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. “You have to know a way out, Quelier insinuated that you made this place.”

“Michael and I were on-again-off-again… I was coping via a four year long bender. My blood was mostly whiskey and Hell Dust. I don’t even remember creating this place,” he sighed before rubbing his temples. “I remember talking to Quelier during a dungeon scene in a…club…about how some of the damned needed more punishment, and somehow this place was created and an invoice was sent to me.”

“I wonder what else Mr. Fae P.A. invoiced you for…” Michael groused, his earlier anger fading to annoyance. Lucifer took his hand, but he snatched it away. “Don’t even apologize at this point, Luci. If I got mad over every single person you slept with, I’d never feel another emotion again in my eternal life. If you’re actually sorry, get us out of here.”

Lucifer’s shoulder sagged, his face deflating at his verbal jab. Only Michael could put someone as arrogant and ridiculous as Lucifer Morningstar in his place.

“We don’t have enough intel to really do anything. We don’t know how things work or what’s going to happen,” Bain thought aloud as he strolled around the space slowly, taking in every detail. Tendrils of shadows rolled off him, spreading around the room and touching everything in their path. His face wrinkled as he touched the leaf of a fake plant on the center table. “Let’s stay for a bit and see what happens.”

“No, I’m not letting Diana get tortured or take dance lessons from a psychotic faerie. Plan denied.” Bash hopped out of his seat, sitting on the arm of my chair.

“I don’t think we have a choice, Bash,” Mal sighed. “We need to know his weak spot before we can come up with a plan.”

“I think Diana is his weak spot…” Judas said, waggling his brows.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Bash growled.

“Agreed,” Mal and Zaz said in unison.

“No, not like that! He obviously wants to be her bestie. He said he’d teach her how to dance and seems genuinely remorseful about having to torture her. Play that up. Convince him to get us out of here,” Judas clarified.

A loud bullhorn sound filled the room, catching all of us off guard. Then Quelier’s disembodied voice echoed, making my stomach drop.

“You will now be transferred to your Personal Hell. This Hellscape is made for you in real time by your subconscious, liberally seasoned with your thoughts and feelings. Enjoy!”

Before anyone could respond, the room started to rumble. One by one, each of us disappeared. I was the third to go, and ended up in a stone cell, with bars. The lights flickered, turning off for several seconds. When they came back on, I was sitting at a desk in a classroom.

No, wait, my high school English classroom from senior year. All of the mean girls I took the class with sat around me and Zaz was up at the front of the room, dressed in khaki pants and a powder blue button down, the same way he dressed when he watched over me as a substitute teacher before we met.

“For Lucifer’s sake,” I huffed. “Let me guess, we’re going to relive me getting mercilessly teased by blond, skinny mean bitches who’ll reach their peak five years post graduation, and you’re going to have to sit back and do nothing to keep your cover, just like you did when you were watching over me?”

Zaz’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. I tried to mindlink him, but it didn’t work. His brows reached his hairline as he pointed at his mouth, then shook his head.

“Awww, Diana is such a teacher fucker,” Carrie, the ring leader of the bunch said to me. “Not surprising. She’s so fat that none of the boys in this school want to fuck her.”

The other girls cackled, like Carrie said the funniest thing ever. Memories of these girls bullying me made unease coil in my gut. They were ruthless. Relentless . It took years of self-love and distance to rebuild my confidence.

“She’s going to die alone!” another girl named Jessica shouted.

Years ago, that same comment had me crying in a bathroom stall. But as I thought of my men–of Desmond, Ares, Mal, Bash, and Zaz—they seemed absurd.

At my lack of response, the girls started chanting a whole slew of insults. Fattie. Ugly. Teacher fucker.

I’m totally fucking that teacher as soon as we get out of here.

“He probably couldn’t even find her pussy with that FUPA!” Another girl said. I forgot her name, because she wasn’t very memorable.

“Joke’s on you. I’ll end up meeting five grown-ass men who’ll find my clit, even with all this fat upper pussy goodness,” I said, gesturing at my lower stomach. “Something none of your boyfriends can do. Most of them will never learn how, either.”

They all stalled, looking at each other like they didn’t expect my brash response. One of them looked at the loudspeaker in the corner, as loud, peppy cheer music started playing. It was mildly annoying, but not as ear-splitting as it used to be.

“We’re going to make your life a living Hell,” Carrie promised me. She flipped her long golden tresses over her shoulder, giving me a level eight death glare straight out of a tele novella.

“I’d like to see you try.” I meant it too. They could try their hardest to break me down, but it was no use.

I didn’t know how, but one way or another I was getting us out of here and a bunch of popular bitches wouldn’t stop me.