Page 1 of Deviled Eggs (One Handed Holidays: Crossed Swords Edition #4)

Micah

“Attention! Attention! Everyone, eyes on me.” My gavel strikes the podium with a sharp rap, the loud bang vibrating through the polished surface as the murmuring conversations fade. The light catches the flecks of gold in the marble, and I smile to myself as bright sparkles of color splash in reflections across the room.

An exquisite tool fit for the hand wielding it.

Wood is far too ordinary for an Archangel of my status, after all. No, those tiny wooden hammers are intended for common mortal judges and other human peasants.

Not me.

A satisfied smirk tugs on my lips as I flip my hair over my shoulder, its sheen nearly as powerful as that of the gavel. There’s a shift in the air as everyone’s attention focuses on me, an instinctual awareness tingling over my skin. It’s a trait Archangels developed millennia ago—an intuition that helped my kind avoid detection in the face of danger. We can sense not only that someone is watching us, but also the emotions that color their observation.

It's a handy way to determine friend from foe, no doubt, although the constant stimulation does get old.

Over time, though, we have less of a need to rely on it, and its intensity has faded. Instead of a warning, it’s a dull pain as I sense where their eyes land on my body. The jealousy and irritation they direct towards me are like sunburn, blistering on my skin as I take a moment to get used to the sensation. Right now, it’s the good sort of pain—the kind of anger people direct at those they can never aspire to be.

Envy is the highest form of flattery, after all.

Azrael advised me to wear a shirt today, because 'that is what people do,' apparently. I'm kicking myself for listening to his advice. The fabric is restrictive against my chest, and I’m half tempted to rip it off and feel those eyes move lower as they appreciate my body.

It is not arrogance to acknowledge my flawless form and perfect proportions, merely simple truth. I was created in this image. Perfection is the only thing I’ve ever known.

“Some of you may wonder why I’ve gathered you here today…”

“Actually, all of us wonder that because, like always , you were incredibly cryptic with the summons.” Irritation washes over me as my eyes narrow at Damien, who is sprawled across Niklaus’s lap. He’s a picture of blatant disrespect, using my time to posture like a common whore.

“Why are you even here?” I ask with a sneer, gesturing at the languid way he lounges. “You are no longer important.”

“Micah.” The warning is laced with a threat as it escapes Niklaus—more commonly known as The Santa—from behind Damien. My eyes move to his, challenging him to say more while we are in my realm. Here, and almost everywhere else in this universe, my power reigns supreme. He’d be a fool to challenge me.

“Well, he isn’t ,” I argue as his brows flick up just the smallest amount. He’s new to his position, stern and stony-faced. Until now, my interactions with him have been limited, but in those brief encounters, he has struck me as the type of man who doesn’t tolerate much.

Well, he’ll tolerate me, and he’ll do it without the attitude.

I am the head of the Heavenly Council, which makes me his boss.

“Everyone else at this table has an appointed title,” I remind him in a tone that leaves no room for argument. My chronically short patience is tested as his jaw tenses, but he smartly keeps his comments to himself. “You are The Santa, Azrael is The Cupid…” Azrael’s fingers flutter in an awkward wave as he smiles nervously, and Niklaus offers a brief, reassuring smile before his face once again hardens into a scowl directed at me. “Beatrice is The Tooth Fairy, Cecil is Father Time…” My attention moves to the ancient man, whose eyes are closed and mouth is sagged open.

A spot of drool hangs from his lips, and I retch.

“Ugh, so fucking gross. Is he even alive? Can someone check, please ? Ew.” My hands jerk back as I cringe, although he’s a good fifteen feet away from me. Azrael and Niklaus jump up to make sure he’s okay, while Damien stares at him with the same horrified expression as me.

“Huh? What? I’m awake,” Cecil grumbles, but I spray hand sanitizer on my palms and rub just in case.

“That is revolting ,” I mutter as I glance over his wrinkles, smoothing the tight skin around my eyes with my fingertips. “Where was I before that absolute travesty of an interruption… oh, right. Rosemary is Mother Earth, and finally, we have Drekoth, The Lu… ci… fer…” My voice trails off as I stare at the empty chair. “ Where is The Lucifer?!”

“Oh, puh- lease .” Damien twists the hair of Niklaus’s beard between his fingers as the giant man purrs. “As if The Lucifer has ever been on time for a meeting in the history of forever.”

“Must you fornicate in front of everyone?” I snap, and he shoots me a sly, smug smirk and somehow sinks deeper onto Niklaus’s lap. “It is unbecoming.”

“ You are unbecoming.” A deep, amused voice booms from the hallway, and my glare swivels towards the newcomer. The man that stands there is enormous, even for a demon, and his towering frame takes up the entire doorway. Wrecking ball muscles bunch under skin the color of a dark gray storm cloud. Razor-sharp teeth form a predatory grin that makes me reflexively pull away.

He’s been here before with Damien, though I’ve never paid him any mind.

“I beg your pardon, demon .” My own blunt teeth flash back at him in a threatening snarl, although they aren’t where my danger lies. No, my power is my inner store of celestial magic—a deep, coiling serpent that strikes on my command.

He can flash that mouthful of knives as much as he wants. I could smite him to ashes before he ever gets close enough to bite.

“Xalreth.” His voice drips with saccharine sarcasm, and a flare of annoyance hits me as he drops into a mocking bow.

“Bless you,” I say with an equally sweet tone, and Damien snorts a loud laugh that he doesn’t even try to hide.

“Classic,” he mutters, as the gray demon purses his lips.

“My name is Xalreth, and I am here to announce The Lucifer’s arrival.” In my many years of existence, I’ve never seen anyone look less enthusiastic than he does as he gestures his hand towards the door like a game show host. His face is completely dry and his eyes are dull, while the tick in his jaw tells me his temper is being tested.

And it’s no wonder, really, considering who he works for.

Damien gasps dramatically. “That bitch! Stealing my ideas…”

A blue-skinned incubus saunters in like he’s in the middle of a beauty pageant, wearing a practiced smile as he waves a cupped hand at everyone. There’s a rhythmic tap-tap-tap as his clawed feet echo against the polished floor.

“Drekoth, how nice of you to join the rest of us.” A threat lies in my tone as he flashes me a dazzling row of teeth, oblivious to my anger.

How this airhead ever rose to power is beyond me. Damien may have been an annoying little shit for most of his rule, but behind his innocent doe eyes is a brilliant mind that’s always scheming. Then he did something idiotic and fell in love, and passed the power to his second in command without another thought of how it might affect me .

“Oh, I do hope you weren’t waiting for me.” He bats his lashes as he flips his long black hair, and my lip twitches in the start of a snarl as his shiny raven locks land perfectly behind his shoulder.

I know this incu-bitch isn’t trying to out-diva me at my own meeting.

“Don’t worry, we definitely weren’t,” I insist with a hair flip of my own. His jealousy spreads across my skin like wildfire as my opalescent strands catch the light just right, and I revel in the smoldering of his anger that hides beneath it. My hands land on my hips as I jut them to one side, flashing him a catty smile.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that,” he responds, nodding so intensely that his dark locks flop in front of his shoulders. His head whips to both sides as he tosses his hair again, this time with so much effort, his neck pops. “I would hate to be an incu- venience. Get it? Because I’m an incubus?” He laughs at his own terrible joke as everyone in the room stares at him.

Fuck this shit.

How dare he come in here and steal my spotlight?

My gavel drops to the ground with a boom, and every eye falls back on me. “Oh, whoops,” I gasp with a hand over my mouth, never taking my eyes off Drekoth as I bend over and grab it. I snap back to standing, throwing my hair in a graceful, shimmering arc over my head. “So silly of me.”

“What in the diva-loving fuck is happening here? Is anyone else seeing this shit?” Xalreth demands, and my eyes flick to his as they narrow.

Drekoth pops his knuckles and rolls his shoulders, but the dark demon grabs him by the scruff of his neck and forces him into his chair. “No. Absolutely not. I am not paid enough for this.” Silence rings through the space, the only sound the obnoxious scraping of metal legs as Xalreth shoves Drekoth’s seat against the table.

“This is amazing… I’m so fucking glad I came,” Damien whispers.

“That makes one of us,” Niklaus grunts back, but I ignore them as I run my palms over my hair and down the front of my shirt, making sure everything is in place as I collect myself.

“Now that everyone has arrived,” I say with one more pointed glare at the sulking incubus, “we can get started. As I was saying before, you’re probably all wondering why I’ve asked you to join me. It has been decades since we were together in the same room.” My gaze moves between their bored faces. Most of them sit slumped in their chairs, eyes glazed over. Azrael is the sole exception as he sits ramrod straight, his hands clasped as he leans forward in his eagerness to learn.

“The recent shift in power for the position of The Cupid required us to refresh our knowledge on human perspectives. Humanity has gone through major transformations in the time Seraphiel held the role. While we were studying holiday lore, we came across some troubling news.”

“We did?” Azrael whispers, his eyes growing wider as he stares, enrapt.

“There is a holiday the humans celebrate… one where they have taken it upon themselves to create their own magical figure.”

I wait for their outrage, but the room is silent. My brows furrow as I glance between their faces, becoming increasingly annoyed by their lack of response. “Don’t you get it? They have invented an imaginary being.” I pause for dramatic effect until they start to shift uncomfortably.

“Are you going to tell us what it is, or do we need to guess?” Xalreth says, and I shoot him another glare.

“Is it Bigfoot again?” Damien asks, eyes alight.

“No—”

“It’s Slenderman, isn’t it?! Did they invent a Slenderman holiday? Slenderday?! I want to take part! Nik, can we?!”

I scoff, glaring at the curly-haired menace. “For the love of God, Damien, they have not created a Slenderman holiday. They are celebrating The Easter Bunny!”

Silence falls, and I give them a moment to absorb the severity of the news. “Okay…” Niklaus finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh. “I’m struggling to see what the big deal is.”

My hands fly out in exasperation, looking among the group for support and finding none. “The big deal is that without an actual representative in place, their imaginations have been allowed to go wild. There’s no rhyme or reason to their logic. There's a giant rabbit that lays eggs for reasons I cannot decipher. Do they not realize that rabbits can’t lay eggs? Where are these eggs coming from, and why are they hiding them in each other’s yards?”

“Further,” I continue, glaring at Cecil as he yawns again, “they create idols for these make-believe figures out of chocolate and eat them in some sort of strange sacrificial ritual.”

“Sacrifices?” Azrael and Damien blurt at the same time, although their expressions are quite different. Azrael looks horrified, whereas Damien appears… dare I say, excited?

“They have their children devouring the likeness of this supposed Easter Bunny.”

“That’s metal as fuck,” Xalreth says from the back of the room, and when I glare at him, he only holds his hand up in a strange symbol with his pointer finger and pinkie raised.

“My point is that humans, without the proper guidance, will warp this figurehead into something shameful.”

“What’s the harm in it, Micah? I mean, they think I’m a jolly man with a belly,” Niklaus says, and Damien gets a smug smile on his face as he drags his palm over Niklaus’s stomach.

“Hands above the table,” I warn with a glare, but his smirk only digs deeper into his cheeks.

Beatrice timidly holds her hand up in the air, and I groan inwardly as I nod in her direction. “They believe I’m a tiny little pixie.” Her squeaky voice is so quiet it barely even reaches me.

“That is correct, and supports the exact point I’m trying to make. They come up with their own images, and they don’t care that you’re a real… er, person. If left unchecked, they probably would’ve spun stories about the horrid wench that visits in the middle of the night and rips their teeth from their gums.”

Her mouth drops open in horror. “I would never—”

“Yes, yes, we know that, but we’ve covered this in the past. Humans are idiots. They need help deciphering what is real and what is make-believe.”

“While I hear what you’re saying, Micah… how does that benefit us?” Drekoth traces his fingertip across the table and doodles what looks like a pair of breasts in the sheen. After he draws two nipples in the center, he glances back up at me with a lazy grin. “The Easter Bunny isn’t real. Why do we care what the humans think?”

“If we don’t have control of the narrative, they can make each one of us look bad. But for once in your life, you are correct, Drekoth.” He doesn’t know whether to preen from the praise or scowl at the insult, so he just pouts instead. “The Easter Bunny wasn’t real… until now.”