Extinguish (7 page)

Laughing as the angels tried to clean themselves up, Samuel made his way over to the grassy knoll. He took a seat beside Serah, his face lit up with an elated grin. His brown hair reached his chin, falling into his face. He ignored his messy locks and threw his arm over her shoulder, pulling her roughly to him in a headlock. "Hey, little sis."

"Samuel," she said, trying to escape his grip. "Have you forgotten I'm three nanoseconds older than you?"

"Older, but still smaller."

She broke loose. "Yet just as strong."

The Archangel cautiously approached, the only one in the park not in human form. His wings seemed more expansive with everyone else's tucked away, his stance intimidating.

"Michael," Samuel greeted him. "Nice to see you, buddy. Have a seat. Relax."

Everyone remained still, attentive, almost awestruck with him there. They worshiped no one except their Father, but Michael inspired something in them. Being in his presence, witnessing his radiance, made them feel just a little bit holier for a moment.

Samuel seemed unaffected, though. Always so relaxed, always so friendly.

Michael didn't sit, appearing not at all at ease. He lingered in front of them, watching curiously, not used to socializing. His eyes met Serah's eventually, the magnificent blue as bright and cloudless as the afternoon sky. Curiosity sparked in them as his lips twitched with a smile—the first smile she'd ever seen on his face.

"This is my sister, Serah," Samuel said, noticing where his attention had gone. "Serah, this is—"

"Michael," she whispered. "I know who he is."

Samuel laughed. "Of course you do."

The other Powers hollered for a rematch, drawing Samuel back out into the park.

"Serah," Michael said, her name a warm summer breeze from his lips. "I apologize, but I can't say I'm as aware of you as you are of me."

"No need for an apology," she said. "You're an Archangel and I'm—"

"Exquisite."

She blanched. That certainly wasn't something she'd expected him to say.

Michael's gaze drifted out onto the park as the second game of tug-o-war started. "Your brother's a great warrior. I couldn't ask for a better ally in the fight against evil."

"Yeah, Samuel's brilliant. I hope to be just like him someday."

"I have no doubt you already are," he said, turning back to her. "I've never seen you in battle, though."

"I prefer earthly duties."

"Shame," Michael said. "If I had you by my side every day, maybe it all wouldn't feel so utterly drab."

Before Serah could even make sense of his words, Michael drifted away. He broke up the game of tug-o-war, grabbing the middle of the rope and singlehandedly sending all eight men flying into the puddle before disappearing.

Hannah cleared her throat. "Well, I guess we know now who has the biggest penis here."

Serah shook with laughter as the gathering broke up, Hannah vanishing to go back to work as the Powers wandered off. Samuel shook off the mud as he strolled toward her. "I had a feeling he was going to do that."

"He's, uh
. . . interesting."

"He's a great ally."

"That's the same thing he said about you," she said. "He seems fond of you."

"And I of him," Samuel said. "Most shy away from Michael, and I get why. No matter how good he is, no matter how pure, it's hard to break from the shadow of someone who, so badly, fell from Grace."

"Satan."

"Yep," Samuel said. "Imagine having that dude as a brother. Makes me look a million times better, huh?"

Serah dramatically scrunched up her nose. "Eh, I guess you're okay."

"It was my brother."

Lucifer’s brow creased as he gazed across the gate at Serah. "Your brother?"

"You asked how Michael noticed me," she said. "It was because of my brother."

"Ah." He kicked at the ground casually, disrupting the dry dirt. It clouded in the air around him, swirling around his ankles. "You’re a Power, though, so you have to have what, hundreds of thousands of brothers?"

"Technically," she said, "but this was my real brother. He and I were created at the same time, born from the same light."

"Twins," he muttered. "Two halves of one whole."

She knew he’d understand, as he was one of the few who knew what it was like. A part of him existed outside of his body, the same formula of Grace that had once simmered in his veins still flowing through another’s.

Michael
.

"So I take it you and this brother are close then?"

"Yes," she said. "We were."

"Were?"

"He, uh . . . he’s fallen."

Lucifer’s eyes instantly met hers, the red swirling madly with intrigue. "Did he fall with me?"

She slowly shook her head. "Nearly two weeks ago."

"Ah, Samuel
."

Serah blinked rapidly as the devil
spoke her brother’s name. "You know?"

"Yes, I know he fell. I know the moment they all fall." He tapped his temple. "Angel Network, remember? I’m surprised Samuel held out so long, to be honest. I tried to get him to go with me from the beginning, but he resisted. He wanted to, though."

"You’re lying," she said. "Samuel would’ve never joined your side."

"I’m telling the truth. He nearly did, but he decided against it at the last second. I seem to remember his saying he had a sister he was worried about leaving behind. Makes sense now. I wouldn’t have wanted to leave you, either."

The conviction in Lucifer's smooth voice made Serah pause and actually consider his words, despite her defenses prickling to the contrary.
Don't listen to the vindictive snake. Don't trust a thing from his vile, slithering mouth.
She didn’t want to believe Samuel would turn, and until two weeks ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion. But the truth couldn't be denied—he'd lost his Grace some way, somehow.

Despite being a Power, one of the intermediate angels in the grand hierarchy, Samuel had always seemed so formidable—almost as intimidating to Serah as the Archangels. His strength and steadfast belief that innocence needed protecting was so at odds with the
scarred, fallen angel standing in front of her. How could Samuel ever consider joining Lucifer’s side?

Preposterous
.

"Is he here?" she asked, the words spilling out before she had fully made sense of it all. "Is Samuel like you now?
Or is he . . . you know . . . ?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he’s my brother."

"Still?" Lucifer pressed. "Even after falling, even after what I just told you, you still think of
Samuel as your brother?"

"Yes."

After a moment of contemplation, Lucifer gave a half-shrug. "I can’t tell you where he is. You’re more than welcome to come inside and have a look around, though."

Serah stammered, taken aback by his suggestion. Come inside?
Hell?
"You’re insane!"

He chuckled to himself. "I’ve been called worse."

"I’d never go in there. It’s stupid. It’s
impossible
."

"Stupid? Maybe. Impossible? Hardly."

Lucifer kicked a rock on the ground, sending it barreling straight toward the gate. It hesitated as it hit it, penetrating the shimmering force field in slow motion. A low hiss shook the land, momentarily disturbing the reapers, who watched as the rock flew through to the other side. It came straight at Serah, rolling to a stop near her bare feet.

Alarmed, she immediately took a few steps away, her gaze frantically bouncing between Lucifer and the rock. How had he done that? The gate was supposed to keep everything in.

"It’s just simple magic," he explained, as if he’d heard her worried thoughts. "Some things are immune to the charms."

"Like rocks," she gathered.

"And angels."

She stared at him with shock. "If
angels are immune, how are you. . .?"

"How do they keep me in here?" he guessed. She nodded, and he quickly tore his shirt open, exposing more sigils covering his toned body. On his chest, over where a forgiving heart should reside, a massive
distorted black hexagram was engraved in his skin, the elaborate six-pointed star contained in a circle. She studied the mark as it throbbed on his flesh, pulsating like a steady heartbeat.

Reaching up, Lucifer
slowly traced the mark with his calloused fingertips, wincing. "The closer I get to the gate, the more painful it is."

"It keeps you locked in there?"

"Yes."

"It seems
. . . flimsy." For such a creature, she expected more security than a simple glorified tattoo. "Superficial."

"I thought so, too. I
actually laughed when I saw it. I laughed at our Father, at Michael, at all of you pesky, perfect angels when I was cast down into this pit with these marks. I was an Archangel, and they expected
this
to keep me imprisoned?" He laughed bitterly. "First thing I did was head straight for the exit. The moment I hit it, the moment it had me in its grasp, I felt true torture for the first time. Felt like I was being ripped apart. And then the reapers pounced, hell-bent on keeping me locked in here, and destroyed whatever smidgen of goodness was left inside of me."

He buttoned his shirt back up, covering the mark.

"Does everyone down here have one of those?"

He shook his head. "Only me."

"Why?"

"You know, it's quite sad how in the dark He keeps you. Instead of interrogating me, why don't you
just ask our Father?"

She couldn't, and he knew it. No one questioned Him. His word was gold. He told you only what you needed to know.

"I get free rein in the pit," he offered after a moment. "The others are trapped in their own little cages, their personal nightmares. They slip their restraints, escape their Hell, and their only obstacle is getting past the reapers. I'm the one imprisoned by this gate."

"There's a reason for that," she said. "You’re
kept in there for a reason."

He scoffed. "You think I don't fucking know that?"

She wasn't sure why she'd said that, knowing it would only provoke him. "I'm just saying, you know . . . that's why I'm staying on
this
side."

"You think I'll hurt you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "You think, if you got too close to me, I'd happily unleash the beast? That
Satan
would annihilate the pretty little angel?"

"Well
. . . yes."

He kicked
at the ground again. "I have no desire to hurt you, but even if I did, I couldn’t."

"You can't?"

"Nope."

"I don't believe you."

Lucifer shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. "You’re beginning to be tiresome, angel."

Serah wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t there to entertain him.

"Look, if you dump frozen ice in a bucket of scalding water, what do you end up with?" he asked.

"Lukewarm water, I guess."

"Precisely," he said. "The two extremes even out. We're the same here, you and me—angels in Hell."

"Except I still have my Grace."

"You do," he agreed. "I can sense it, you know. I feel it emanating off of you. It's extremely powerful. Makes me miss my own."

"Is that envy?" she teased. "Still sinning, I see."

"Sweetheart, you don't even know the half of it. I envy you more than you could possibly understand."

"Why?" she asked. "You had everything I have plus more, but you gave it all up."

"I did," he said, his voice hard. "And I don't regret it. What I did was justified, whether you believe it or not. But that doesn't mean I don't miss parts of that life . . . parts of that
world
. I miss spring, and rain, and the sun, and fucking fresh air. Do you know what I'd give for fresh air, to not have to breathe this wretched filth every day?"