Lucifer bellowed as he entered his castle. “Bring me Nefertiti.”

Having heard his mighty call, his eldest living daughter, Bambi, came strutting from an antechamber, wearing stiletto high heels—with real stilettos he might add—and an outfit to make a father proud. Skimpy and slutty.

At least one of his children didn’t vex him on purpose.

“What’s wrong, sir?” she asked, her tone respectful. She knew when she could test her limits, and now was not the time.

“Someone removed the seals and set those bloody horsemen free.”

“The seals are broken?” The falsetto note of her repetition struck him.

Lie. I smell a lie. Subterfuge counted.

“What do you know?” He fixed her with a glare.

“I thought we’d managed to put them back.”

“Put what back?”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The seals. I never expected they’d come off so easily.”

“You removed them?”

“Not me. Muriel.” Her gaze met his. “But before you get angry at her, I should mention that the little lamb didn’t know what she was doing. I took her there to harvest some of the blood aster blooms for a perfume I like. It’s the only place they grow anymore. Next thing I knew, she’d yanked a few of the seals off the tomb. But I put them right back. Nothing escaped. I swear.”

Little lamb. Bambi’s nickname for Lucifer’s youngest child. How the scriptures that spoke of a lamb must mock him.

“How many seals?” he asked. “How many did she remove?”

“Only five.”

“Only!” he boomed.

“Are you sure it’s her fault? If the horsemen only just appeared, then perhaps someone else chose to release them.”

No one else was to blame. While Bambi’s reapplication might have worked temporarily, it wasn’t enough to keep that evil contained. And if the horsemen were loose, then…

Could it be?

No. He’d sealed that problem away a long time ago. Too long for it to be the culprit behind Chris.

Still, he wondered if—

“My Dark Lord bellowed?”

Nefertiti entered his office, every inch the Egyptian sorceress, dressed in a white gown, slit high on her thigh, with golden bangles up and down her arms matching the yellow glint of the torque at her neck.

She wore her youthful disguise, hiding her true age. And she was old.

He snapped his fingers and stripped it. He wasn’t in the mood for artifice or pretense today.

The shriveled crone with the creased skin glared. “Was that necessary?”

“Save your magic for more important things. We have a problem.”

“Are you going to whine about the fact that you forgot to wear a condom again?”

“This isn’t about my son. Well, it is, but only indirectly.” And so he related what he’d learned and his sorceress, a woman born in a time when magic was strong on Earth—and misunderstood—listened.

When he was done, her dark eyes took on a pensive look. “You say the one called War was trying to kidnap your son?”

“Yes, but Christopher foiled him.”

“The boy is growing into his powers.”

He was, and faster than expected. The kind of strength Chris displayed should take decades to cultivate. Unless… “Could he be getting so strong because he inherited the incubi magic?”

Nefertiti frowned, which only served to make her wrinkles more pronounced. “Possibly. But he showed no sign of it when tested. As a matter of fact, he registered rather weakly on all the scales.”

“Then explain to me how the fuck he managed to steal War’s army out from under him?”

“Did he?” At Lucifer’s glare, Nefertiti explained. “What if this is part of a larger plot, one that is being carefully executed? First, we have the boy, given up at a young age, raised by cultists, and yet somehow hidden from our sight. Then, he just happens to run into a Rasputin, who happens to have a line to the Dark Lord himself, thus forcing a meeting between you. Then, he stole War’s army and sent the horseman packing? Really? A horseman of the apocalypse beaten by a child?”

“A weak horseman. He had to be starving inside his prison.”

“Even weak, War still shouldn’t have been a match for that boy. Even Bambi could take him.” She flung a hand in his daughter’s direction.

His daughter pursed her lips. “Well, that’s rude. I’m not completely useless.”

“The grownups are talking,” Lucifer said with a wave of his hand. “Go over there and be pretty.”

“And this is why you get nothing for Father’s Day,” Bambi snapped, strutting out of his office.

“She says the sweetest things.” Lucifer smiled fondly after her. Then scowled. “Do you think she’ll betray me for her brother?”

“No idea.”

“Haven’t you read any portents? Shaken a few tea leaves? Ripped out some entrails for signs?”

Nefertiti wrinkled her nose. “That’s for hearth witches. I use more sophisticated methods.”

“And what do they say?”

“Nothing. Not a single thing about this boy. He’s a blank thread on the tapestry of the future.”

A chaos factor that could unweave centuries of careful cultivation that had turned Hell into a creaky machine that allowed Lucifer free time to pursue other things.

“I’m not a fan of unpredictability,” he stated.

“You’re also not a fan of underwear.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Just like there’s nothing you can do about the boy unless you plan to kill him.”

“No killing. Not yet.” Perhaps his arrival was related to the problems in Hell. Muriel might have laid a smackdown on the mysterious figure behind the uprisings, but Lucifer knew it wasn’t over.

Someone played games with him.

“Daddy!”

The voice screeched for him, and it wasn’t Muriel but Bambi who came teetering back in, eyes wide with shock, her hair damp.

“What have I said about calling me that?” he barked.

“You have to see.” She pointed at the window, one he kept covered with heavy drapes.

He drew the material back and stared. Gaped long and hard at the snow drifting down.

Hell was freezing over. Which meant that the horseman of the apocalypse and his son would have to wait.

Because this was bad. So very, very bad.