Page 43 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

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. “Father will return, 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 in midair 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.

They all are.

I incline my head in my former generals’ direction, relishing the way Seraph hisses and Uriel flinches away in disgust. As if they didn’t once throw themselves at my feet.

Now they cannot fathom the idea of a creature more unholy, more un-Godly, than me.

They see through my mask to my true face with ease.

They’ll never lay eyes on my angelic features again.

One of the myriad ways our Father chose to fuck me.

“Father of lies.” Raphael spits at my feet. “Filthy whore.”

I smirk. “I always fancied the old nicknames.” I turn my attention to Michael. “You’re bound by His word. We had an agreement.”

He nods to one of our other siblings, Jophiel, who steps forth and extends a small golden chest toward him. Michael opens it and removes one of the seven sealed scrolls inside. “First your penance. Only then will I call the Righteous off your precious bride.”

My expression remains flat, detached, as I glimpse the human still circling overhead.

For once, I do not hold the upper hand here.

“And Mother?” I ask. “What’s your plan for keeping her on her leash?”

Michael shrugs. “What Mother does no longer concerns you.”

“You underestimate her.” I shake my head. “You and Father both.”

“Or perhaps you over estimate her devotion to you. You’re infamous for that.”

My siblings chuckle.

“I’ve never overestimated anything.” I step closer, and Jophiel stiffens as if she’s prepared to come to Michael’s defense, but Michael lifts a hand, allowing me to invade his space.

I flick my forked tongue. “When Father cast me out, He chose me as His only worthy adversary,” I sneer, allowing my pupils to turn serpentine.

“What can be said of you? That you were second fiddle?” I scoff, turning to face my other siblings.

“When you all tire of Michael’s floundering leadership, you know where to find me. ”

Michael growls through his teeth, causing several of his angelic watchdogs to stir, but I lift my hands in mock surrender, capitulating.

To my siblings, our exchange was nothing more than a petty jab.

Celestial foreplay, if you will. Exactly the kind of prideful posturing they expect of me.

But already I’ve planted the seed in their minds, sown doubt.

In Michael’s leadership. His abilities.

It’s only a matter of time before they’re loyal to me again.

After all, I was their first and favorite leader.

A few of my siblings look to one another uncertainly, murmuring in hushed tones as Barachiel passes Michael his infamous sword, the Flame of Death.

I will never forgive Azrael for forging it for him.

Michael unsheathes it, performing for the crowd as he lifts both it and the first scroll above his head in show.

A triumphant roar echoes from my angelic siblings.

I roll my eyes, giving a few sarcastic, slow claps. “Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting, isn’t it?”

The first seal will soon be open, signaling what they believe will be our Father’s return, the reason they celebrate, but I pay them no mind. No heed.

If Charlotte knew what I was about to do, she would never forgive me.

But she need not know the finer details, the lengths to which I would go for her.

The level of depravity to which I would stoop.

I would commit any manner of unconscionable acts in her name.

I am the first true sinner. Not Eve.

And for that, they already fear me. But they will learn to fear me more.

The crowd falls quiet again.

“A virgin? Really?” I catch sight of where the woman continues to rotate.

“A joke, I suppose? The human gods of old always did have a thing for sacrificing them, or so the stories say.” Michael snaps his fingers, and the woman topples to the dirt.

For the first time all evening, I gift her my full attention.

She means nothing to me, is nothing.

Not if Charlotte will finally be safe.

The woman remains bound, her arms restrained behind her back, but she squirms feverishly, her endless cries muffled by my brother’s power that gags her.

I reach out, using a bit of my shadows like a hand to remove it. “Lucifer! Lucifer, please!”

She latches on to my familiar face. Like I am the one and only hope she has ever known.

Though I am not, nor will I ever be, anyone’s savior but Charlotte’s.

I am their tormentor. Their torturer.

It’s the image I’m banking on, quite frankly.

“Please,” she sobs. “Please, I helped her. I ...”

I meet the young nun’s gaze, a taunting smile across my lips. “And for that, there’ll be a special place in Hell for you.”

My siblings’ amused laughter echoes through the parterre. They are no different, no better than me.

They loathe humanity as much as I do.

I was simply the only one among us who ever had the balls to act like it in front of Dad.

The shadows at the edges of the room start to move, vibrating as I gather my power, but Michael lifts a hand. “Ah, ah, ah, Lucy.” He wags a finger at me. “Not so fast.”

I scowl at the nickname.

He lunges forward, wielding his blade in a wide arc, but I’m prepared for it.

I catch it in my fist, using a bit of my light as reinforcement to keep him from severing the limb completely.

Pain sears through my palm, sharp and biting as blood runs down my arm, but I cannot counterattack. I am outnumbered. Severely.

But I knew that when I came here.

“Mmm,” I taunt, purring as I make a spectacle of cracking my neck before I lick some of the dripping blood from my wrist. “Punish me like you mean it, brother.”

Michael steps closer, putting the whole of his strength against the blade until I have to fight not to wince as it cuts deeper.

But I do not move. Do not yield.

An animalistic growl tears from his throat, his face red with hatred, until the hiss of his voice in my ear is a cheap mimic of my own. “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?”

Abruptly, he slices the blade down, and I swear loudly as he cuts through my hand’s tendons.

“Fucking hell, Michael!” I roar as I use my other hand to cradle my bloodied palm to my chest, chuffing like a dragon while hellish steam pours from my nostrils. “What the fuck was that for?”

Michael wields his sword in another swift arc, this time using it to point toward the ground in front of me. “On your knees.”

For a moment, the whole of the courtyard seems to hold its collective breath. Not one among the crowd moving. In anticipation of what I will do next.

Michael never could stand how they look to me.

I throw back my head and laugh, the sound entirely psychotic and deranged. “You think this is victory? Humiliating me while you play the role of Father’s obedient servant?” I scoff, my nose wrinkled with disdain. “You’re only His pawn. While I remain a true architect of fate.”

Michael shakes his head. “You’re nothing more than an ancient serpent thrashing in the dirt.”

Neither he nor I move.

“You want to protect your precious human bride?” He sneers like the mere idea is beneath him. “Then on your knees, brother.”

My mouth twists into a sour expression as I look past Michael rather than at him, my gaze falling to my other siblings.

“Fine. You win.” I take slow and deliberate care to strip off my suit coat, fanning it out onto the ground, before I slowly lower to my knees.

“Isn’t this precious? Tell me, Michael, does it make you feel like a big angelic man to have the great and almighty Lucifer bow down before you as I use my power to open the very seals that you can’t?

You must be so proud to have me groveling at your feet, or are you too busy admiring yourself to enjoy this little victor—”

Michael arcs his sword at the last second, slicing through the back of my knees. I go down hard, face-first onto the pavement. Laughter erupts throughout the courtyard. But it’s my pride that’s injured more than anything.

At how Michael has chosen to humiliate me.

White-hot fury courses through me.

I lift my head, fangs bared.

To my surprise, Seraph steps forward, as if for a moment she’s considering helping me. She was once my friend. My most cherished sister. But I snarl at her, my gaze brimming with hatred and hellfire as she falls back in line, resuming her place.