Page 78 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Sixty-Five

Lucifer

The moment it becomes apparent to me that Charlotte is no longer locked inside the ladies’ room—having clearly absconded with my blasted bitch of a sister, if the sight of her sigil written upon the bathroom mirror in lipstick is any indication—I abandon that plan in favor of another.

Azrael will find her and bring her back to me safely.

I can’t allow myself to entertain any alternative prospects.

And for now, I have a human audience to amuse, it seems.

I make a beeline away from the Beaux-Arts Court, where the awards show is currently paused, and head nearby to the museum’s Egyptian gallery.

A large gold sarcophagus stands upright in a glass box in the middle of one of the rooms, and I make my way toward it. “I suppose I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

I strip off the coat of my tux, casting it overtop the display as I feverishly begin searching the other cases. It takes me a few moments, but then I find what I need.

An ancient ceremonial dagger.

The sizable donation I’ll make to the museum for this will be well worth the trouble, as far as their curatorial staff are concerned.

Not bothering to wrap my jacket around my hand, I promptly punch straight through the glass of the dagger’s case.

Which in hindsight is some questionable judgment on my part.

“Bloody fuck,” I roar, cradling my now-bleeding hand. “How do any of them ever live like this?” Pain is considerably worse without my abilities.

I cast a wayward look at the dagger, realizing I no longer require it, as I’m vaguely aware of an alarm bell going off like a siren and flashing over my head.

What good do they think that god-awful sound or their security guards are going to do? Scare me off? Put me in jail?

I may be down on my luck as of late, but even without my powers, there’s little any of them could do to stop me.

Already having what I need, I drop to my knees and manically paint several of my satanic symbols across the floor. I’m no Michelangelo, but for now they’ll do as I chant in ancient Latin. “ Procedite, legiones meae. Venite ad me .”

Proceed, my legions. Come to me.

I continue my chant, feeling a bit of my hellish power called forth, though I’m not able to access it currently, but I can sense it there, lurking in the shadows.

Biding its time until the world is ready.

Abaddon appears at my side a moment later, still wearing the Canadian lumberjack he was previously. This time, he drops his gaze in deference. “You summoned me, my lord.”

I nod, staggering to my feet. “Tell the legions it’s time. Bring them forth.” I let out an arrogant laugh. “Let all of Heaven and Earth tremble.”