Page 109 of Wicked Believer

I glance toward Heaven. To the sky above me.

It’s an odd mixture of darkness and light that reminds me of the power that now lives inside Lucifer and me.

And if I’m going to start fighting for our future, why not start at the top?

“Why me?” I shout, staring up at the never-ending sky.

Only the sound of the rooftop wind answers.

“Why me?” I yell, raising my voice even louder and letting all the fury I’ve been holding in for so long get the better of me. “It wasn’t enough that I had to suffer at the hands of my dad? That I kept faith and prayed to you every night even though youneverfucking answered a single one of my prayers?”

A furious tear slides down my cheek.

“It wasn’t enough when I begged, when Ipleadedfor your mercy every time Mark would put his filthy hands on me?”

I brush away several damp strands of hair that have blown into my face.

“And then ...”—I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head in disbelief—“and then just when I think you’ve saved me, when I think you’ve led me toyourson, I find out it’s your goddess for a wife that actually did all of the work?” I shriek into the whistling wind. “What’s it going to take? What’s it going to take for you to hear me?”

The silence that answers is deafening.

I glance down at the city below, an insane idea sparking.

“All right, Big Guy. You want to play chicken? Abandon us all to do your bidding? I’ll play,” I shout, stepping up and onto the ledge. “If you’re listening ...” I yell up to God, just before I take the final step over the ledge. “Catch me, Motherfucker.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lucifer

“I thought you might not show.”

“I’m a man of my word, brother, unlike Father.”

As I step forth from the courtyard’s shadows, Michael quirks a brow like he can’t possibly begin to understand what I mean.

I shrug. “Oh, you know, the whole ‘I’ll always be with you’ bit. Seems rather disappointing now, doesn’t it?”

My brother’s eyes harden. “Fatherwillreturn, Lucy. Once we’ve accomplished the task He left for us. Once all seven seals are opened and we’ve scorched what’s left of this earth.”

I scoff. “Whatever helps you spread your wings each morning.”

We’re standing in the middle of the Met Cloisters in Washington Heights—in the Cuxa Garden located on the south side of the main building. My brother could have chosen any of the other hundreds of churches, mosques, cathedrals, temples, or synagogues within the city proper, but he always did have a flare for theatrics.

He comes by it naturally, I suppose.

I step further into the garden, taking in the scene before me. In the middle of the darkened parterre, a human woman hangs suspended inmidair by her feet, her muffled cries silenced by the bit of my brother’s power he’s using to hold her there. I don’t deign to acknowledge her existence as she rotates toward me, her desperate eyes pleading.

I’ve never been known for my mercy.

And I have no intention of starting now.

I’ll play exactly the villain they expect of me.

I glance toward the courtyard’s other occupants. Dozens upon dozens of my angelic siblings. My former army. The nearest are Raphael, Uriel, and Seraph respectively.

The other Archangels the world would recognize by name are no doubt waiting somewhere in the wings. My brother would never go head-to-head with me alone.

He’s too fearful. Too weak.