I doubt I even exhale until Lucifer and I are in the air and reaching cruising altitude. There was a long underground tunnel that led us to the hangar, which easily housed Irin’s impressive fleet. Even the runway was concealed with only a small opening for takeoff and landing, so only one aircraft could go through at a time. We didn’t see any of the Se7en, and their designated planes were still being prepared, but I was still more than a bit uneasy about deceiving them. They’d find out sooner or later, especially when The Redeemer was nowhere to be found. There would be consequences. And knowing Cain, they would be severe.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Lucifer remarks, lazing in his plush, white leather seat.
I’d been so worried about getting away that I hadn’t even let myself take in the luxury digs. Hell, I hadn’t even been on a plane before now, and here I was, in a private jet. Under normal circumstances, I probably would have been racked with trepidation, but all I could focus on was getting away and keeping The Redeemer concealed. Even from Lucifer.
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying to sit back and appear more casual.
Lucifer snaps his fingers, summoning the flight attendant, a beautiful, leggy brunette no older than nineteen. Damn, Irin sure likes them young. And judging by the wicked gleam in Lucifer’s eyes as he takes in her drastically short uniform, she isn’t the only one.
“Anything I can get for you, sir?” she asks, bending forward to display her pert breasts.
“Yes, dear. What’s your name?” he drawls.
“April,” she all but giggles.
“April. That’s a pretty name. Do you mind fetching us some champagne? My friend here seems to be a nervous flyer.”
I cut my eyes at him, but replace my scowl with a small, polite smile when April turns her doe eyes on me. “Would you like anything else to make your flight more enjoyable, ma’am?”
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? Your comfort is my number one priority. I’m here to fulfill any and all of your needs.” She flutters her lashes at me and bites her bottom lip. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Yes, Eden. Our good friend, April, would be most pleased to serve you. She takes her job very seriously.”
April nods enthusiastically.
“Just the champagne is fine for now. Thanks,” I insist, growing annoyed.
April retreats to the back of the plane to retrieve our drinks. After she returns with two flutes of bubbly and a reminder to holler whenever we need her, Lucifer opens up the conversation I’d been hoping to avoid.
“You forgot to say goodbye to your sister.”
I shake my head and look out the window. “I didn’t forget.”
“Does she know you’re gone?”
“She’ll find out soon enough.” I swallow down rising emotion with a gulp of champagne. “It’s better this way. I won’t keep toying with her heart. Not when she’s still holding out hope for something that will never be.”
“Hope for what?”
I choke down another sip. “Nothing. I’m not discussing it with you. Next subject.”
“Like what?”
“Well…you did say you’d tell me what Uriel meant about me being a part of your insurance plan when we were on the way,” I pointedly remind Lucifer. “We’re on the way.”
He glances back toward the rear cabin and shakes his head. “Not now. Next subject,” he says, throwing my words back at me.
I frown. It can’t be an issue of privacy; April is nowhere in sight. He’s stalling. “Like what?”
“Anything. Besides, in order for me to explain, I’d have to start from the beginning. And we’ve only got about an hour and a half.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Then tell me about Irin. What is she? And what’s the deal with Saskia?”
Lucifer heaves out a breath, but before he can shut me down, I remind him that he said I could ask anything else.
“Well, since you insist on knowing information that could be a genuine threat to your life, fine. It’s your funeral. Did you know that angels were not the first of God’s creatures?”
“What?” I lean in closer. Did I hear him right?
“We—” He swallows before going on to correct himself. “Angels were not his first children. And apparently, they were much more powerful than the angels that now roam the heavens. They were created in pairs—a brother and a sister. Each sibling served a different purpose. There were Destroyers and Creators. Together they could give life and they could take it away. The beginning and the end. The yin and the yang.
“The Destroyers were feared while the Creators were adored. The Destroyers became jealous, and out of spite, they began killing off the Creators, believing they would absorb their power and become all-powerful, without the need for a counterpart. This sparked a war, one that the Creators would quickly lose, for they were not meant to abolish life. And God, who had grown tired of the infighting, would let them all perish. But there was one…one who fought back. Against her own brother.”
“Irin was a Creator?” I can literally feel my eyes bug out with shock. Holy shit. I knew Irin was something, but I didn’t expect this.
“She was. She is. But the day she killed her brother in an act of self-defense, she became more. She had evolved, something God had not planned for his children to do. And the other Creators saw this and began to fight back. The war lasted a thousand human years, and in the end, only one was left standing.”
“Irin,” I breathe.
“Yes,” Lucifer nods. “And God spared her because, in an attempt to save her own life, she used her gift one more time. She spawned life in her image. Something only God could do.”
My jaw drops. “She made herself pregnant?”
“And Father, most likely bemused and impressed, let her live under one condition: she would be shackled to Earth, forced to watch life around her for eternity without ever being able to create it again, or truly partake in it herself. She sees all, she scribes all. But she is confined to the walls of her home. And within those walls, she is more powerful than any creature in existence, outside of God.”
“So that must be why she has that rule against bloodshed in her home,” I surmise. “Her brother was a Destroyer who tried to kill her, thus making her a killer. She vehemently rejects violence.”
“That, and the fact that she knows how truly precious life is.” He shrugs. “To her, at least.”
I nod. It all makes sense now. Of course she would reject the very thing that wiped her kind from existence.
“And her child…?”
Lucifer sighs. “There are some things that even Creators cannot construct perfectly.”
“Saskia. Saskia is Irin’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“So what is she? A Creator? Or a Destroyer?”
He shakes his head. “Neither. Irin created an abomination. Saskia was born as something other. Something unlike any other being in history. Her gifts are more Destroyer, but her immortal heart is that of a Creator. Her very presence is a plague on nature. Unleashed, she is murderous.”
“Whoa. Wow,” I stammer. I would have never known. She looked out for me. She cleaned up my puke and dressed me. As tiny as she is, I can’t imagine her hurting a fly.
“Yeah.” He sips his champagne thoughtfully. “Irin used to have an affinity for cats. Not just housecats, either. Massive jungle beasts that she loved and adored as if they were kittens. One night, Saskia became angry with her mother—a petty spat—and without thinking, killed every single one of Irin’s pets. After that, Irin gave her to me for safekeeping. You see, Saskia had grown tired of staying within the confines of the compound. And Irin knew that sooner or later, Saskia would find out that she could leave. And if she did, Irin couldn’t control her, especially not knowing the extent of her power. If she could kill a full-grown Bengal tiger, what would she do to humans?”
“But wouldn’t the same happen in Hell? Wouldn’t she kill every living thing in her path?”
“Well…there are no living things in Hell. At least none that won’t meet their demise anyway.”
Except…
“Me.” I release a gasp. “I’m a living thing. And you ordered her to wait on me!” I stop myself from flinging my empty flute at his head.
“Yes, well…there are exceptions. Plus, like I said, unleashed she would be murderous. Which is why she wears a very special leash that I designed and control.”
Her voice. I remember how she barely spoke, and when she did, it sounded like she was being choked from the inside, considering I never saw anything around her neck. That sick bastard. He was torturing her for something she couldn’t help.
I don’t understand why, but I feel somewhat of a kinship towards her. She didn’t choose to be born in an unholy way. She just wanted a normal, happy life. And she was punished, reduced to a slave, for being something that she wanted no part of.
I shake my head. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s the fucking Devil. Why would I expect anything more from him?
“I know you think less of me. It was her or your world. I did what had to be done.”
I lean back in my seat and look out the window. “I don’t think anything about you at all.”
Right on cue, as if she sensed the tension between us, April comes to check on us, offering us refills, snacks, and warm hand towels. I accept them all, unable to muster the strength to protest. I have enough to unpack just from that conversation alone. Fielding flirtatious advances is just too much of a headache.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I hear Lucifer mutter after a few minutes of dead silence.
I don’t bother to acknowledge him, but I hear him stand and walk to the rear of the plane. I haven’t even dug into my antipasto before I hear rhythmic thumping and the exuberant moans of a peppy teenage flight attendant.
“Fucking really?” I grumble, wishing I had the good sense to pack my headphones. If I planned to survive being around Lucifer for more than twelve hours, he’d have to buy some for me. And I would demand the noise canceling ones.
Five minutes I can handle. Ten—no big deal. But for the next forty-five-fucking-minutes, April screams and cries like Lucifer’s cock is Willy Wonka’s golden ticket and she’s Veruca Salt. She wants it, and she wants it now. And it’s more than evident that she was getting it and more.
Beyond annoyed, I pick up one of the magazines artfully placed on a small table nearby. But I can barely concentrate on the words on the page through all the ridiculous Animal Kingdom sounds. I slam down the magazine in frustration. How can he even think about sex right now? Is he that selfish, that self-absorbed, that he can’t even see how disgusting his behavior is? That girl is barely out of high school, not to mention, she’s working. I don’t care if pleasure is in the job description. Have some fucking restraint.
After the raucous moaning finally ceases, Lucifer strides back into the main cabin as if nothing is amiss and he hadn’t spent the better part of an hour wetting his dick. I turn my head back towards the window to watch the clouds through burning eyes.
April appears a few minutes later, cheeks flushed, her once-sleek bob disheveled, to inform us that we’ll be landing soon. She asks if she can get me anything before we begin our descent into New Orleans, but I tersely decline without looking her way and offering a cordial smile.
“Ouch. A bit harsh there, pussycat.”
“Whatever.”
We touch down without uttering another word, and when the plane doors open, I’m only too happy to be back on solid ground. To my surprise, there’s a car waiting for us right on the tarmac. The driver hurriedly grabs our bags, but I quickly decline his assistance, just as I had in the hangar before boarding. Under no circumstances will The Redeemer leave my sight.
“Enjoy the flight?” Lucifer asks, trying to spark conversation after we’ve settled into the back seat of the sleek, black town car.
I shrug and flatly reply, “Could have been better.”
“Oh? You travel in private jets regularly?”
“The plane was nice. Irin has great taste.”
And that’s all. That’s all I’ll give him. Lucifer lives to have his ego stroked, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattled.
However, my aggravation is instantly erased as we travel into the heart of the city. New Orleans is electric. Music, dancing, people everywhere celebrating for no other reason than loving life. The architecture is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and there’s just something so magical about the energy that seems to radiate in every brick and every plank of wood. As if New Orleans has its own pulse, unique from the rest of the world.
The driver pulls the car up to a hotel on Canal Street, and I’m so stunned by the boutique style exterior that I don’t even note the name. It’s not until we walk inside and approach the check-in counter that I lift an amused brow.
“Welcome to The Saint Hotel. Do you have a reservation?”
“No,” Lucifer replies nonchalantly.
The woman’s nametag reads Dawn, a lovely young redhead with a southern accent. The thought of Lucifer fucking her too in exchange for accommodations passes my mind, and instantly my mood begins to sour again.
She taps a few keys and looks down at her computer screen. “I’m sorry, sir. It appears that we’re booked. If you’d like to—”
Lucifer steps in closer, charging the air with static electricity with the movement. The hair on the back of my arms stands straight, and there’s an unexplainable tingle—almost like a sizzle—that ignites my skin.
“Look at me, child,” he gently demands.
Dawn concedes, perplexed.
And then she sees it. I can’t be sure of what was revealed within his swirling, speckled depths, but something clicks into place. Her eyes widen with horror and reverence. I don’t know if she’s on the verge of crying or falling to his feet. Maybe a combination of both.
“Remember whom it is you serve,” Lucifer chides before taking a step back and releasing her from his devastating stare. “Now…let’s try this again.”
Within three minutes flat, we have the key cards to our suite, our bags are already on their way up, and we’re stepping into the elevator with fresh glasses of champagne in hand.
When we arrive at the suite, I can’t help but shake my head and laugh at the door signage.
“Self-absorbed much?”
“What?”
I point to the embossed plaque. “The Lucifer Suite? Can you be any more obviously obsessed with yourself?”
He flashes a disarming crooked grin. “Wouldn’t you be if you were me?”
The suite is exactly what I’d expect, yet I’m still floored by the lavishness. Red walls, black marble, crystal chandeliers, plush king-sized beds, and even a stripper pole. And while it’s all a feast for the senses, I’m less than thrilled to be staying here. With him.
“Isn’t there a way to get my own room?”
Lucifer makes a face. “And why would you do that? This is a two bedroom suite.”
“I know, it’s just…” How do I explain that I don’t want to stay with him without sounding silly and immature? “It’s probably more appropriate that I get another room.”
“So you’d rather be several yards away, knowing there’s a deranged super demon on the hunt, plus whatever rogue Seraphim could be out for blood? Seconds, Eden. That’s how long it would take to tear your pretty little head from your shoulders. Don’t flatter yourself. Instead try to be a bit more grateful.”
He turns around without waiting for a rebuttal and stalks to one of the bedrooms, leaving me alone with my pettiness.
Reluctantly, I carry my dejected ass to the other bedroom, and inwardly admit that I must be crazy to want to give this up. Plus, each room has it’s own full bathroom, so I don’t have to risk any embarrassing run-ins with Lucifer. It’s not like we’ll be spending all our time here anyway. This may be a vacation for him, but it certainly isn’t for me.
After two hellish days, I’m wound so tight that it feels like I have two-ton boulders bearing down on my back and shoulders, so I decide to take a bath in the beautiful clawfoot tub. There are floral scented bath oils and salts provided on the sink, so I throw in a mixture of both and put the water just below scalding.
The moment I submerge my body in the hot water, I feel the tension and stress begin to melt away, letting my mind wander to things I would rather keep buried behind a mask of eye rolls and pursed lips. Part of me doesn’t want to believe that Legion could still be alive. If we do find him, there’s no guarantee there actually is a way to save him. And I can’t succumb to false hope, just to have it crushed by the fate of my reality. I won’t believe in a fairy tale only to have it turn into an American Horror Story.
And then there’s the matter of Phenex and his request. He’s right—Legion needs to be stopped. And he didn’t surrender The Redeemer just so we could have a nice chat with Legion. I could see it in his tear-filled, soulful eyes. He wants me to kill his brother. No, not want. He needs me to. And I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if I failed him again.
The combination of the warm water, the soothing scents, and the soft lighting put a hex on my eyelids, and within minutes, I’m drifting away. I know I shouldn’t, but for the first time in a long time, I’m able to relax just a bit. Five minutes, I tell myself. I’m just going to rest my eyes for five…
I’m in a long hallway with yellow wallpaper. Yellow wallpaper with tiny pink flowers. It’s ugly, but at least it’s not crying blood. There are eight doors, and all of them are closed. All except one at the end of the hall.
I slowly walk towards it on shaky legs, my breaths short and rapid. I should turn around, but I have nowhere to go. I don’t even know where I am. I look behind me, but all I see is hallway with ugly yellow wallpaper that seems to go on for miles. Those same eight doors with the last one ajar. I can’t leave. The only way out is through.
There’s the sound of running water coming from that room and sheer plumes of steam billow from the door. It must be a bathroom, but why would the water be running when no one seems to be here?
It seems like hours tick by before I reach the door and touch my fingers against the wood to push it open. Steam wafts over me, coating my skin with humidity. I don’t want to do this. There’s no way to prepare for whatever horror awaits me. But I know I have to walk through this door. There’s a reason why this was the only door that was open. I’m meant to be here. I’m meant to see what’s on the other side.
I suck in a lungful of warm, damp air and push against the wood, just enough for the door to slowly swing open so I can step inside. In one blink, it’s a typical bathroom, complete with white tiles, a floral shower curtain, and a modest vanity. In the next, it’s doused in red.
Blood seems to rain down from the ceiling, dripping onto my hair and shoulders. I shield my face just long enough to hurriedly turn and make a run for it, but the door is not only closed, it’s locked. And raggedly carved into the wood is the Demoori Sheol symbol that I saw the night before. The fallen shall reign. This isn’t just a dream. It’s a vision.
No. No. I can’t do this. First fire, now blood? And as I look down, I realize that I’m standing in a thick, warm puddle of it and I’m barefoot. The only way out is through, I try to remind myself. If Legion has purposely led me here, it must be a clue. I have to do this, even if it terrifies me to the point of tears.
I desperately paw at my face, trying to clear the blood from my eyes and nose. I won’t last long in here like this, so I need to be quick. Once my vision is momentarily cleared, I realize that there are razorblades littered on the ground, and all of them form a trail to the bathtub enclosed by a bloodstained, floral shower curtain. Shit.
“Don’t. Don’t look.” I nearly sob at the sound of his whispered voice, although it sounds weaker, raspier. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Then why did you bring me?”
“I didn’t.”
I turn around to call him a liar—to beg him to be a liar—even though I know he’s not there. If he didn’t bring me here, who did? Could it be me that’s conjuring him subconsciously?
The blood is getting deeper, and it has saturated my clothing. I’m running out of time. So I step forward, working to avoid the razorblades, but there are so many of them, almost like they’re multiplying. I flinch as I feel one nick the bottom of my foot, but I keep going. If I stop now, I’ll never talk myself into starting again.
The very second I make it to the tub, the blood rain ceases. Steam billows from behind the curtain and I can hear the faucet still running. Water, I lie to myself. It’s just water. And even though I repeat it in my head over and over, I can’t make it true. I know that when I slide open the curtain, I’ll find that blood is coming out of the faucet and filling up the tub and pouring down its sides. I’ll see even more razorblades. And I’m right.
It must be raining red again, because there is warmth running down my cheeks. There’s so much…so much and so dark that I can’t possibly see anything else.
But I do.
I do.
Smeared on the tiled wall in thick crimson are four letters. And those four letters are more alarming—more disturbing—than anything else I’ve experienced in this bathroom of horrors.
EDEN