Page 35 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Thirty

Lucifer

Time works differently in Hell. Moves at a slower, more torturous pace.

But even the slow crawl of the circular span of time stretched so thin it nears breaking—making the passage of mere minutes feel like hours—doesn’t provide enough space to satiate my rage.

When one of my demons brings the latest headline to me where I’m now draped across my obsidian throne, it’s only early evening topside, though it feels as if a whole age has passed since Michael appeared in mine and Charlotte’s bedroom last night.

I snatch the human paper extended from Kalimor’s trembling hand. I have little patience left, if any.

I glance down at the bold typeface.

Violence Strikes in Regina! Residents Brawl in Mass-Festival Feud.

I curse under my breath. “I fucking hate Canada.”

Astaroth’s successor, the new demonic leader of the quaint rebellion my legions are waging, is lucky that I need him. Temporarily, at least.

“The hounds are corralling him toward the subway, my lord. York Street station. He described it as more neutral territory.” Kalimor grimaces.

“Small favors, it seems.” I sneer, my sour mood reflected in my dour expression.

When I finally stuff down my irritation enough to snap myself topside, I’m standing in the middle of an empty subway station in Brooklyn, near Dumbo, wherever the bloody fuck that is. Manhattan is the only part of the city that interests me.

Beside me, an open subway car waits. Though no passengers have boarded.

Yet.

The car is paused on the track like it’s no longer running. The frozen sign overhead labeled F Train reads One Minute along with several large red- and green-lettered exclamations of York to Jay Street—Metrotech and the estimated wait times.

As if that would ever inspire me to hurry.

Behind me, I hear a sudden scuffling sound, and I turn to find one of the city’s massive rats scuttering about the place, its bulging hide protruding from behind a nearby trash bin as it searches the otherwise abandoned station for more food.

It hisses at me, unaware of who, or more precisely what, it’s threatening.

I roll my eyes, flashing my true features as a sound like a lion’s roar tears from my throat.

The creature squeaks in terror before it turns tail and scurries away.

The empty platform is littered with rubbish, spilled food wrappers that were feverishly abandoned during the evening commuters’ hurry, billowing past several of the subway’s more permanent residents. Two of them lie supine in their own mess across the floor.

An unhoused woman, whose face appears weathered from too much time spent outdoors, lies overtop what I can only assume is her partner, a man who, from the looks of it, seems to have resorted to mindlessly chewing the threads of his own fraying clothing, some of the fabric’s gristle caught in his unmoving teeth.

I wrinkle my nose.

These are my Father’s creations. His precious children.

If He was going to kick them out of Eden, the least He could do would be to ensure they were fed, housed, and clothed properly.

I scowl, taking a spare moment to drop the thick wad of bills that currently resides in my wallet onto the floor beside them.

My thoughts turn to when Charlotte nearly found herself in a similar situation. If not for the unexpected kindness of her Seer friend.

The turn of fate that eventually led her to a job at my company.

My distaste softens.

“Who knew you were such a humanitarian?” The unfamiliar voice comes from behind me, but the cadence and rhythm are the same as they’ve always been.

I have an ear for that sort of thing.

I scowl. “I’ve been challenging my Father’s choices since before I ever willed you into existence, Abaddon.” I turn to find him sitting with his back toward me inside the open subway car, clearly having just glanced over his shoulder at me.

When I join him a moment later in the narrow, confined space, I lean against the silver handrailing across from him, placing my hands inside my pockets. “You call this neutral territory?” I sneer. “You’re better than this.”

Abaddon sighs, midway through a bite of poutine he must have hoarded from whatever insignificant festival it was he was terrorizing in Canada, before he drops his plastic fork into the red-checkered paper basket.

“I thought if I stayed aboveground, it’d take longer for you and your hounds to find me. ”

I shrug. “You forget that these days Earth is practically mine.”

He sighs once again, his current form making him look like the fat, aging father of a Canadian lumberjack. He likely was before Abaddon possessed him in a pathetic attempt to lead my legions out of Hell. Rebel against me.

“What are you going to do?” he says, his eyes darting from me to the sudden canine snarl that comes from just outside the subway car.

My hellhounds returned to me.

I lean down, patting one of the invisible snarling beasts on its head as some of its spittle pools on the floor where it comes to heel beside me. The demonic black of Abaddon’s eyes now blocks out the whites, so that the irises can no longer be seen.

“My lord?” he says, like he intends to plead.

Though nothing he could say would ever satisfy me.

“Consider this your lucky day, Addie.” I drop down onto one of the subway’s plastic benches across from him, leaning my elbows onto my knees. “I’m going to give you some new instructions, so listen carefully.”