I busied myself the next morning by counting the ancient Lydian coins that I had found in my bedside cabinet. When that no longer interested me, I took a long bath using fresh sage and lavender to fragrance the water.
I found myself growing impatient and trapped. I longed for my flat in Knightsbridge and my collection of designer shoes.
I had seen little of Luc. It was almost as if I was still in exile in London, but without the bonus of being able to come and go as I pleased.
I did not know if Lucifer was chastising me for walking away from Levi's punishment and not showing a united front or if perhaps he was just giving me some space.
Whatever the reasoning, my isolation had begun to turn my thoughts into a dark stew.
Having no need to eat or sleep meant that I did not even have the reprieve of servants delivering food or dreams where I could pretend that I was not trapped in my chambers.
The floor to ceiling mirrors on every surface were playing tricks on my mind.
Using the last of the magic that I could muster while wearing the silver cuffs on my wrists, I found a pen and scrawled a note to Luc begging him to let me out. I summoned Hellfire to transport the message but received nothing in return.
A knocking sound startled me out of my reverie, as I perched on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a kimono robe.
I glanced up in time to see the glowing cider-coloured eyes and the lolling tongue of my personal assistant in his Hound form. The window was too small for a human to fit through but I was sure Luiz would be able to squeeze through in his doglike form. I walked to the edge of the room and opened the window, feeling the sharp sting of the cold biting wind immediately.
The black hound dropped to his stomach and shimmied forward until his head was through the tiny window to my chamber.
His two front paws stuck out like handles as Luiz scrabbled forward. He dropped deftly, once I had stood far enough away to ensure that I would not get scratched accidentally.
The ebony hound circled the crimson floor and sniffed the rising steam caused by the frozen blood. Luiz eyed the door warily before folding into a seated position. Without much fanfare, Luiz the man stood in front of me wearing his favourite low slung ripped jeans which were designer despite the slovenly appearance.
He opened his arms wide as if he was going to rush up and lift me into his arms. When the hound reached my immediate proximity, he noted my expression of horror and quickly dropped back. His happy smile did not abate; Luiz was very accepting for my eccentricities.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, glancing to the door of my chambers in case a visitor chose to randomly spawn in the empty space by the threshold.
“You weren’t answering your phone.” Luiz shrugged as he reached into his jeans pocket and produced a small piece of paper. It was Cherise pink, the same stationery that I had disallowed him to use in the office.
“Have you been ordering stationary in my absence?” I asked in a dry tone as I surveyed the offending scrap of paper.
Luiz trilled a laugh but did not answer. Shaking my head to myself, I decided that I did not want to know.
“What is this?” I asked, brandishing the crumpled paper.
“You should sit down,” the Hound advised. I scoffed but did as he asked.
“How did you manage to travel to the First Circle anyway?” I demanded as I crossed my arms. Luiz paced the expansive floor around my bed as if he was trying to psyche himself up for whatever he was about to say.
Luiz did not stop pacing, “Charon told me you’d be here. He gave me a lift.” Luiz waved his hand as if it wasn’t important.
“Go on then!” he demanded impatiently. “Read the note.”
I smoothed the paper but did not look at it. “How’s the office fairing without me?” I asked.
Luiz eyed the note that I so adeptly ignored. “The insurance brokers and the tax agents have gone to war over the coffee machine.”
“They both have one,” I pointed out.
“Insurance has somehow broken theirs,” Luiz rolled his eyes. “Is life so boring in the First Circle that the coffee machine wars of Morgenstern and Clark are newsworthy?”
I tugged my hair over one shoulder. “I haven’t been let out of my room much.”
“What did you do?” Luiz asked suspiciously.
I quirked a brow. “Nothing to warrant these, surely?” I flicked out my wrists to show off the Sterling cuffs.
“Ouch,” Luiz flinched.
“Any news about Nora Bleu? The Rose family?” I queried, picking up the paper once more.
“That’s why I came,” Luiz looked everywhere but into my eyes.
I surveyed the bright pink paper and found it to be printed out medical file. Nora Hiscock, nee Bleu in all her glory.
“Allergic to Pine nuts?” I said. “Riveting.”
Luiz leant over and jabbed the paper harshly.
“Ectopic pregnancy, resulting in infertility?” I lowered the records, the numbness had started to creep from my fingers, over my lips and everything sounded far away.
“She can’t have children?” I whispered. I had virtually disabled a woman for the rest of her life, if she ever woke up. I had gotten the wrong person.
I put my head in my hands and rubbed my eyes. I felt them burn behind my eyelids. Putting my fingers through my hair, I tugged until I felt a burn across my scalp. I had been so rash. So foolish.
Lucifer had always been my weakness. I had been blind to everything else in my pursuit of that man.
Luiz reached into his other pocket and produced another piece of paper. When he went to hand it to me, I shook my head frantically. I couldn’t bear to look at it.
“What is it?” I croaked.
“It’s the visitor’s log for Nora Bleu from five years ago,” Luiz said ominously. “Luc went to visit her. He knows that she is unable to have children.”
My lack of magic meant that I could not open my own bedroom door. I had Luiz do it for me before he shimmied out of the window and back across the great plains of Hell.
I wrung my hands, torn between rage and sorrow.
Part of me had longed to be back in the icy confines of the First Circle. The pale silver of Luc’s eyes had always been my home. His touch was always the place I came back to when I allowed my mind to drift.
Lucifer was all that I had ever wanted, and I had obsessed over. Now that I was back in the First Circle, I had to question if I ever had the man at all.
I walked the halls and admired the same portraits which I’d run by as a child.
No one made eye contact with me. I wondered if it was because I still held the reputation as Luc’s Ice Cold Pet; or, if it was simply because my energy signature was foreign due to the cuffs as I explored the castle and got in their way.
No one would be able to tell behind the façade of steel was a person that cared what others thought. My armour was designer gowns and a beautiful face, hidden behind a powerful man.
I had learnt that I was strong in my own right and to use the misconceptions of my enemies against them.
Perhaps that was why Luc had taken my connection to Hell as punishment. To remind me of my place. Or what he thought my place should have been.
Luc’s current scribe, Pascal, was housed in the east tower. Although his chambers were dangerously close to Lucifer’s, I chose to risk it. I needed information, and the only person that would have it was the Hellion tasked with recording the Devil’s inner most thoughts.
Without the ability to Lace, I forgot how large the castle was. Even when I thought back to the painful memories of being made to crawl on my hands and knees across the frozen floor, it appeared that my mind had blocked out the distance and the blackened fingertips that came before the frostbite healed.
I knocked on the iron door to the Scribe’s chamber and waited for his ominous greeting. The old man always knew that it was me, although most Purebloods could recognise energy signatures. Pascal’s gaze was made to intimidate. He did nothing to encourage the farce of comfort.
“I live in water, but I never get wet. What am I?” Pascal called through the thick material of the Magic-rebelling door. I rolled my eyes and flicked through my mental catalogue of information. If I had heard the riddle before, I would have remembered the answer. I hadn’t. It took a minute of pondering before I was confident in my reply.
“A reflection,” I answered with certainty.
The door swung open of its own accord with a clank. The Pureblood inside of the dark room did not look up from the tome on the desk in front of him. Pascal’s eyes were almost entirely white, which was disconcerting. I was sure that he still had his sight. His hair framed his face in ropy tendrils as if it had never been washed. It probably hadn’t. The Scribe only cared for the pursuit and distribution of knowledge. He held no interest in much else.
I walked in, picking up the ostentatious petticoat that I had chosen to wear so that I would not trip. I stepped over the pile of books in front of the door and walked into the gloom.
The door slammed shut behind me, but I did not startle. Pascal had absolute control over his domain, and when he moved objects with his mind he was not subtle.
“I had a feeling that I would see you here, child.” Pascal did not look up from his book and lifted a finger to skim a line of text that interested him. He nodded to himself.
“Of course I would come to see my favourite person,” I said in a dry tone, eying the organised chaos around us.
“Everyone knows that your favourite person is that fallen angel of yours. Hell knows why.” Pascal grunted. “I wouldn’t have noticed that you had gone to the Human Realities if our Master hadn’t walked around like a bear with a sore head for the past… however long it’s been.”
I snickered. “A bear with a sore head? Perhaps that was due to the hangover he suffered from all the celebrations held in honour of my absence.”
“You know nothing, child.” Pascal mused softly but did not take his eyes from the page.
I wrung my hands. I had to remind myself that I was powerless and, whilst Pascal looked old enough that a strong wind would reduce him to dust, he was connected to the fabric of Hell. He could have broken every one of my bones if he willed it.
Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to walk into the domain of a half mad scholar. I scoffed to myself. I had been invincible for so long that I was having trouble adapting to my disconnection from Hell.
“Our Master knows more of the future than he lets on,” Pascal said cryptically. “The signs were all there.”
I nodded in agreement despite the fact I could not place the context of the words. I said nothing as I waited for the Scribe to divulge more information. He did not disappoint.
“Perhaps the answer you seek is inside of the Harem?” He suggested in a light tone as he turned the page. The old Hellion had the uncanny ability to make me feel like a small child on Luc’s curtails. Many Purebloods spawned because of Hell’s need for them. As far as I knew, I was the only one that had been sculpted and grown like a flower under the watchful eyes of my master.
“To the Harem it is,” I nodded in agreement. The old codger knew that I hated the harem more than anywhere else. If he thought to dare me to walk into the depths of my greatest fears, or if he thought that I would back away from the challenge—then he was wrong.
I walked back to my chambers in deep thought. Luc had long since banned my presence from the Harem. I was aware of it as a child, but I had only seen it once. Luc had separated that part of the castle from the home that I knew.
I had to bide my time and find a way around Luc’s magic.
Even though I disliked the Scribe, there was a method in his madness. I would find the answers I needed at the Harem, even if they weren’t the answers that I wanted.