Jude; The Fallen (The Fallen Series, Book 2) (7 page)

Jude stared at him, open-mouthed, unable to process his brother’s rant. His jaw snapped shut and he stood, spine straight. “Yeah,” he managed. “I’ll get out of your hair. Sorry to bother you.”

Domniel said nothing and glared after him as he made his way to the door. As he closed it behind him, an overwhelming sense of sadness washed over him. Darkness was eating at his brother, like it was eating at all of them. Jude wondered what would happen when it finally devoured.

He walked from the pool house down the cobblestones that meandered about the grounds, taking his time and breathing in the fresh air. As he made his way further out, the vast landscape of the gardens came into view.

If there was one thing about Coriander’s place that he liked, it had to be the gardens. Fragrant, lush, and expansive, they were a direct opposite to the tumultuous redhead. They were peaceful. Right now, he needed some peace. He strolled through, taking care not to deviate from the cobbled path, lest his footprints find their way back to Winston. The butler was overly fussy about his gardens, and a stray crushed blade of grass was sure to incur his wrath. He wanted to be able to eat breakfast without worrying about whether or not the prissy snot had spit in his coffee.

The path veered into a copse of stately magnolias alive with blooms, their soft scent permeating the air. A small, carved bench sat underneath the trees, looking out onto a sculpted row of flowerbeds, bursting with vibrancy.
Those must be the illustrious peonies.

The worn wood of the bench creaked as he sat down, shifting to accommodate his size.
He settled in, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He might as well give it another shot. Domniel had thrown him out, Lucius would patronize him, and Mordecai and Elijah wouldn’t understand. Which left him with this last option if he was ever going to try to make sense of what was raging away beneath his skin.

Father, I need you. Please.

A soft breeze kicked up and blew across his face. Jude held his breath. Could it be? He waited, but all was silent. He exhaled slowly, feeling the air bleed out of his lungs.

Father. I was wrong. I need you.

The air stilled, yet the silence remained.

He sat forward with a jolt, despair creeping in to every corner of his heart. He looked out over the gardens, but there was nothing. No sound, no scent, nothing. As if time stood still and he was surrounded by it, suspended in the void. Nothing. He was alone.

Fuck it. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he choked down the crippling sob that threatened to burst forth. He tore out of the gardens on a run, not caring that his booted feet were ripping up grass and dirt, destroying the delicate foliage in his way. He had to get back to the house, back to his room. Somewhere he might find some salvation.

Later, as he watched his blood run in crimson rivers down the length of his body, he gave it one more try.

Father. Please.

When the silence became too much to bear, he dropped the knife and held a towel-wrapped fist to his mouth to scream, letting loose centuries-worth of pain. The silence still remained.

Chapter Four

He ached. Lucifer’s joints protested as he eased himself up from the dirty floor into a sit, his naked legs flopping out in front of him as if they were boneless. He was caked in dirt and blood, along with a number of other bodily fluids he didn’t want to acknowledge. His skin itched as the dried liquids cracked when he shifted, and his back burned under the strain of movement.

On impulse, he fluffed his wings out, but they were sluggish, as if hampered by weights. His eyes roved over the edges, ragged and torn, the once-beautiful appendages ugly in their disarray. At least they were still attached. He rubbed a grimy hand over his face, licking his lips against the dryness of his mouth, which tasted foul.

He had lost track of time since he had been pulled back from Switzerland, unsure of how long his Lord had been prolonging the torment. The Dark Lord’s face, or at least what passed for one, had been angry and full of contempt. Apparently his ire had extended beyond the decimation of The Liar, and he had seen fit to unleash the rest of his irritation on Lucifer.

Lucifer’s raspy chuckle was self-deprecating. He should have known he could not escape unscathed. It was only a matter of time before the hand that feeds would snap around and bite. And bite it did.

Twinges of pain skittered through his bones as he stood, looking out over the pile of bones and flesh in the dungeon. Someone else had been here with him. And yet, he was still alive.
Thank Heaven for small mercies.
He snorted at his own hubris, the insanity of his thought not lost on him.

Lucifer stepped forward and toed at a bloody femur in disgust. The air in the room rippled, growing warm as the scent of sulfur breached his nostrils. The pile of carnage disappeared, and the corner of the room transformed into a sunken bath, appointed with luxuries and fragrant with lavender and lemon.

A voice drifted in.
“You will be summoned to His presence soon, Morning Star. Prepare yourself.”

He told himself it was the desire to bathe and immerse his body in the decadent pool that had him scrambling in an uncharacteristic rush. It certainly wasn’t the sliver of fear that snaked down his spine.

“Ah, there you are, Morning Star. How lovely you come.”

The words rolled over Lucifer in a sinuous whisper. He bowed low with sincere deference. “As You please, my Lord.” He fingered the edge of the black cloak. “You honor me with such finery. How may I serve?”

“We trust you understand that We could not let your part in The Liar’s failure go unpunished?” Satan’s voice held no sympathy.

Lucifer’s jaw clenched as his stomach rolled over. The Liar had failed by her own hand; he had merely delivered the assignment. He bowed again. “Of course, my Lord,” he said smoothly, tinging the words with submission. “You are possessed of infinite patience. I thank You for Your graciousness.”

“Yes, well, We are giving you another opportunity to prove your worth to Us.” The imperious tone set Lucifer’s teeth on edge. “You will go to The Dealer. We feel his skillset will be what is required for the next step in Our plan.” An envelope appeared in the air in front of him, and he took it between his fingers, tucking it away in the cloak. “Deliver the assignment to The Dealer. Make him understand the urgency of Our request. Assist him as required.”

Another deep bow. “Of course, my Lord. I am ever Your tool. Is that all?”

Satan’s eyes burned with a deep yellow fire. “No. The Catalyst still lives, and We still have need of her. Keep watch on her and report back to Us.”

“Certainly, my Lord.”

“There is one other thing, Morning Star. The Incubus.”

The cold fear was back, trickling down his spine. The damned thing would be the death of him. If he was lucky. “What of him?”

“You seem to have some trouble keeping him to his place. He is somehow able to come and go at will. Secure him at all costs. We will not have him spreading his demon seed across Our world. We will chain him to you if you cannot contain him.”

“I understand, my Lord. I shall not fail You.”

“See that you don’t.”

The dismissal was obvious. Lucifer bowed for the last time, turned and left. He could feel the heat from the envelope seeping into his skin, the weight of the cloak pressing it into his body. With a loud crack he was gone, eager to rid himself of the missive and of his Lord’s domain.

The tiny overhead bell tinkled merrily as Lucifer opened the door and stepped inside. The antiques shop was quaint and dusty, rife with the smell of ancient things, yet his nose detected an undercurrent of something more familiar.

“How may I be of--ah, it’s you.” The Dealer emerged from a curtained partition, the genial smile on his face falling as his eyes recognized his patron. “What brings you here, Lucifer?”

Lucifer’s hand produced the envelope. “Our Lord has need of you, “ his eyes flicked to take in the brass nameplate by the point-of-sale register on the counter,
“Reginald.”

The Dealer eyed the envelope with a raised eyebrow. He reached out to take it, and Lucifer noticed the slight tremor to his fingers. It seemed he wasn’t the only one affected by the weight of duty. “And what is required of me, that you deliver his message in person?”

“I do as I am commanded, same as you.”

The Dealer’s smile was cold. “Of course.” He ripped open the envelope and scanned the missive. His eyes widened and an arched eyebrow rose in speculation. “The Finder? Well, that does make things interesting. It would seem His Grace knows to whom he should turn.” He refolded the note and tucked it away in his jacket. “Were you aware of this?” He gestured to the hidden envelope.

“No,” Lucifer murmured. “I was not privy to that information.”

“Really?” The Dealer grinned. “Most interesting.”

Lucifer pulled himself straight and narrowed his gaze. “I presume I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fail? After The Liar fucked it up, I must say he’s downright peevish, and further disappointments will be just as ugly.”

Blue eyes raked over him with an unsettling perusal. “Yes, I heard.” The haughty sniff was laced with derision. “I never liked her, anyway. Good riddance. I see you remain unblemished, though. A little tired around the eyes.” A simpering smile worked its way across The Dealer’s thin lips. “Perhaps some fresh air might do you good, Lucifer. I hear Switzerland is lovely this time of year.”

The jab was blatant and twisted in his belly. Of course it was known how he had been dragged back in disgrace. Lucifer’s fingers twitched with the urge to set the smug bastard’s face on fire. He refrained, pleased with the level of restraint he was able to muster.

“Do not fail, Reginald. That is all.” Lucifer turned on his heel and left before the last of his self-control wavered. If the Dark Lord wanted his head, he certainly wasn’t going to lose it over a peon like Reginald. Ruffled pride somewhat soothed, he set off to complete the rest of his tasks. Perhaps The Incubus would bear the brunt of his irritation once he caught up to him. Yes, that would please him. He sighed and carded a hand through his platinum locks, enjoying the burst of lavender and lemon that lingered. Yes, he was feeling much better already.

The night air was cool, and a northerly breeze drifted in, ruffling the escaped tendrils of hair from her ponytail. The roof of her house was flat in one area for a reason, accessible by a hidden staircase on the third floor that only a few knew about. When a scuffling off to her left caught her attention, she smiled.