by Ash Krafton
She didn't return the embrace. Instead she shrugged away. "I'm not staying long."
"You say that every time."
"I mean it every time." She drifted away from him, rubbing her hands.
Lucifer tugged his cuffs, adjusting his suit jacket. "You know I don't approve of your consorting with that criminal, Alliant. And I like criminals."
"He is not a criminal, Father."
"He is wrong for you."
"He is not for me. No one is." She turned her head only enough to look at him, a baleful heaviness dulling her eyes. "You made sure of that."
Lucifer clucked his tongue and took up his glass again. "Come, now. We all have a destiny."
"Oh, don't lecture me on destinies. This was not yours."
Without warning, Lucifer slammed his glass on the floor, shattering it. The entire room shook and distant thunder rolled. "Don't you dare! This is my kingdom and you, my dear, are royalty, no matter how unwilling you act. Tell me you don't enjoy the perks of being daddy's little girl."
"I don't like owing you."
"You are my child. You don't owe me." He straightened his tie and tugged his jacket straight. "I provide."
"It's never that simple with you."
"Because you don't trust me."
She wanted to grumble at him. The entire journey here, she anticipated facing off against Lucifer, king of Hell. Living in the mortal world, it was so easy to think of him as the stereotypical Fallen One, the enemy of God, the archon of eternal darkness.
But it never went that way. There was never that ultimate moment of confrontation. She always ended up face to face with her father. And that always made it harder to maintain her resolve. "You don't exactly have a sterling reputation."
"That's business. You're personal. I don't need to treat all the world the way I treat you. When are you going to realize that?"
"When you can prove to me that you can play fair."
"I do play fair, dearest. The trouble is, you are confusing the rules of one game with another."
Chiara looked away.
Lucifer softened his stance. "Look. I'm glad you're here, even if it's only for a moment. But we do have to talk about that little deal you made out there."
Simon pushed the girl behind him and turned back to the edge of the portal, shouting Chiara's name. A movement stirred below.
He leaned over the portal, hands on his knees. "Chiara, honey, come on, come on, come on…"
The movement below rose up the stairs like a bur. Chiara, running at top speed, looking like the hells were on her heels.
When she hit the water barrier, she stopped. Eyes wild, she sought Simon's face. She banged on the ceiling trapping her, using both her fists. Her mouth moved silently, sound cut off by the magical barrier. Let me out! Let me out!
Simon stood up to his full height and stared her down.
Sarah crept behind him, holding his waist, peering out from his side. "Who is that, Simon?"
His brows furrowed. "I… don't know."
Chiara toyed with a small sculpture on a pedestal. In her version of home, it would have been a replica of the Frudakis Freedom sculpture.
In Lucifer's version, it was different. The sculpture looked like a wall built with the bodies of dying men, a great horned beast standing triumphant over them. She curled her lip in distaste. "What's to talk about?"
"Simply an opportunity to express my admiration. I saw what you did with my Corinthian. You let him think he won something that would have been his anyway. He's shrewd and he's greedy and yet, you bent him to your will. Well done."
"Are you angry with me?" She averted her gaze. A punishment was looming, she could almost feel it. By opening herself to his influence, she'd borrowed a part of him without permission. She knew he didn't like being pilfered.
"No," he said. "Not mad. Concerned."
She turned toward him, not trusting her ears. Words meant little here. True value was measured in intent and conviction.
"I haven't given you an easy destiny." He walked over to his throne and sat, his elbows on his knees. "You've always done well walking the line between the Light and the Dark. It was my hope for you when I Named you. But if you start doing things my way, your mother will find out. And that would be…most undesirable."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly sticky. "Where is she?"
"That's the problem. I do not know." He raised his head, slowly shaking it, his upturned brows giving him away. "Watch your back, daughter. I can't always be there to protect you."
Simon planted his feet and braced himself against the trembling of the ground. The water surface rippled with each smash from Chiara's fists.
He stood stock-still, his eyes glassy and unblinking, and made no move to dispel it.
Not even when she clutched at her throat, appearing to choke. Bubbles escaped her mouth as she continued to cry out for release.
And all he did was pull out his cigarettes and lip one out of the pack.
Her face shimmered, shifted, changed. The bones slid under her skin, which withered and blackened until she was nothing more than a demonic minion.
Rat-faced, ragged, and red-eyed, it shattered the barrier and shot out of the portal with a horrific scream. Simon hunched over Sarah, gripping her tightly, shielding her. The minion took off, leaving a streak of soot and flames that scorched the air in its wake.
Simon instinctively chanted the spell that would reverse the portal. The ground shifted and swallowed up the staircase as if it never existed, sealing shut with a slam that rocked him to his knees.
Chiara scowled like a teenager. "Mother is the least of my worries."
"She shouldn't be." Lucifer adjusted his collar. Funny how talking about mother always made him uncomfortable. "You forget, I know her very well."
She rubbed her arms, the discomfort mutual. "Well, right now, there are bigger problems."
"Such as…?"
"The Corinthian."
He laughed. "You bested him."
"You bested him. Through me." She drew a shuddering breath. "I want him bound."
"I don't understand."
"He gated, Father. To the Above. He tried taking a soul and I stopped him, but just barely. Was that sanctioned?"
He didn't answer. His hooded gaze held secrets the way no mortal ever could. King of Deceit. Nothing more than a military tactic. "I noticed his brooding as of late. He will be difficult, I suspect."
"He must be bound."
"Why?"
Hands on her hips, she frowned at him. The haughty royal, stamping her foot. "Because no servant should have that kind of freedom. He nearly killed me."
Lucifer scoffed. "You would not have died."
Her gaze slid sideways and she tapped her lip with a finger. "I did make it to the pool in time…"
"See?"
"…because Simon carried me there."
All the humor ran from Lucifer's expression, pulling his features down into heavy, stony lines. "The magician."
"Yes."
"The magician saw the silver pool." He placed a threatening emphasis on each word.
It was Chiara's turn for amusement. "Mmm-hmm."
"No mortal should know of its existence."
"I would have died if he hadn't. Would you rather I had died?"
He narrowed his eyes.
She climbed the three steps of the dais and grasped his hands. "Then Balazog needs to know that damaging me and subsequently revealing one of your many secrets is a punishable offence. Bind him to Hell. Remove his access to the mortal plane."
"He is powerful and well-known. Should a magician summon him—"
"Then the magician should fail. Irrevocable sentence, Father. Take his Name. Bind him, permanently and unequivocally. For the damage he has done to you."
Lucifer's eyes flashed silver, his anger breaking through. The vase on the mantle began to rattle.
That's right. Remind him again. Daddy's little girl, indeed. She could wind him around he
r little finger. Sometimes, it was so easy to play his game. "And the damage he has done to me."
"What damage?" Lucifer scoffed. "You are stronger than ever before."
Yes. She was.
One thing she did not need to be reminded of. She'd lost another piece of her mortality when she healed in the pool. It had made channeling her father's essence so easy…
"Exactly." There was iron in her voice to stifle the rage, the despair, the slipping of her precarious balance. "And he's got to pay for that."
Lucifer rubbed his mouth.
"What are you planning to do? About him, I mean?" He lifted his chin as if referring to someone upstairs.
He was, in a way. "Simon? Nothing."
"Well, not right now. You've given him what he needs. He is healing." He glared at the ceiling as if he could see Simon. "He will be nearly whole. And I don't like him. I didn't like him when he was a fresh-faced apprentice. He was barely tolerable when he was drooling his days away in the nut house. And I will not like him whole."
"He is a human and out of your jurisdiction."
"Not entirely." Lucifer's eyes flashed again. "My darkness will rise."
"And the Light will be just as heavy. There must always be a balance."
"What there must be is war!"
"And you've already been to the general's tent. You have already sat down and dictated the terms of that war. It's war by proxy, Father. I know the terms as well as you. War by proxy, fought amongst your mortal toy soldiers, no divine assistance or interference or persuasion. You agreed to arbitration. You are bound by the terms."
"Unfair terms. He encouraged his temples to be built. What kind of piece do I get to speak?"
"None, because it is not yet your time."
"I can bring about that time," he said, his voice little more than growl. "I've waited aeons. All I have to do is show them who is the mightier, who is the wronged."
"There cannot be interference! You and all yours, and Him, and all His—keep your damned noses out of this. It isn't your war to fight anymore. It's theirs."
"You think it's not my business? This is personal, child. This is the very definition of personal."
"It's beyond you, now. What happened to you…it's too far gone to be of consequence anymore. It's not you versus Him. It's Light versus Darkness. That's all. It's so simple. Just let it go. Stop interfering."
"And what are you? You fight for the Light, while you reap all the benefits of the Darkness. What are you if not interference?"
"Then you shouldn't have given me humanity. That was your biggest mistake. You engineered me but you didn't foresee this. My humanity keeps me beyond your—and His—jurisdiction."
"You will obey me, Chiaroscuro." Lucifer sat back, straight and firm in his throne. The ruler, with eyes of silver ice and the shadow of leathered wings arching behind him. "I am your father. I am the king of all darkness. I am Hell!"
She smiled thinly, trying to warm her eyes in the light of his cold fire. "But I am not. I am human. And I have free will. This isn't your war anymore, Father. It's mine."
She took both his hand and tugged him to his feet. He bowed his head to her. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
"And I'm going now. Goodbye, Father. I'll see you soon enough." She patted his arm gently before turning toward the door.
Lucifer watched her leave, his Morningstar eyes like quicksilver again. "Oh, yes, you will. You most certainly will."
Hand in hand, Simon and Sarah stared at the scorched earth where the Staircase had been. A lazy wind scattered the salt, destroying the circle.
His brain did a flat-line buzz for a moment as he struggled to comprehend—no, accept—what had just happened. He was the one who'd opened that portal, not Chiara. She couldn't re-open it.
It was his spell and he'd just shut it down on her, stranding her in Hell. Was this how God felt when He shuffled cards and dealt out judgments? Did God feel this dirty, this low, this despicable all the time? Was this to be his eternity?
"No, no. You can't be gone." He shook his head, wobbling on the edge of a soul-deep abyss, feeling the stones crumble beneath his feet. His shoulders crumpled and he felt the plunge coming. He knew it and he knew he deserved it. "You can't be."
A familiar sound, a clearing of throat, came from behind him.
He whipped around to see Chiara. A thin glowing line hovered in the air behind her. The remnant of a hell gate, fading like a gentle memory. But not her. She remained, firmly in their world.
His heart thumped, blood resuming its natural flow, warming his adrenaline-chilled limbs in a wash of heat. She survived. He survived.
"How did you—" Simon grabbed her up in a tight embrace, spinning her off her feet. "It's you. I know it's you."
She nodded, serenity settling upon her features as if she were allowing herself to relax, from the insides out.
What had she seen? Endured? Because of him? He felt shamed, dropping his gaze to the scattering of salt and expended magic, still smoking in the dirt at their feet. "I had to seal it. A lesser demon broke out. Smelled like minion rank, you know, that weird rotting onion smell they have but—I couldn't risk—oh, God."
He swallowed around a knot that wanted to choke him and courageously met her eyes. "Can you forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive." She laughed gently, as if she hadn't spent another forever in Hell, and cupped his cheek. "You did the right thing. Didn't he, sweetie?"
"That was you?" Sarah peered up at her, scrutinizing her from head to toe. "I like you better like this. You're prettier."
Simon rubbed his eyes. "I don't think I want to know," he said.
Chiara smiled at Sarah, ignoring Simon.
"I think so, too. I'm not one for extremes. Anyway." She cleared her throat and squatted down to Sarah's level. "How would you like to go home, Sarah?"
Simon just looked at her over Sarah's head, something heavy and unspoken in his eyes.
Chiara blinked rapidly, her eyes unusually bright and whispered. "Me, too."
Back at the hotel, next door to Chiara's suite—in a regular room—Simon went through the rituals of a series of complex catching-up spells.
Chiara paced outside in the breezeway, pausing to peer in through a crack in the drapes.
Mack sat cross-legged in front of the door, eyes closed. She knew better than to think he was asleep. She was pretty sure he didn't need eyes to see what went on around him.
A few hours into the vigil, he spoke. The sudden sound of his voice made her jump.
"That was a selfless thing to do," Mack said.
She crossed her arms and leaned back against the railing. "It was the only thing I could do."
"It had such a profound effect on him. Just look at him."
The sliver of light between the drapes didn't offer much of a view. Occasionally he would cross in front, hands raised, the muffled sound of his voice coming through the glass.
Sometimes, she didn't need eyes, either. She saw him with her senses, saw his aura. For the first time since she met him, there wasn't a jagged edge ripping through him, keeping his pieces from coming together, from being whole. He was healing, just as Father had said.
But unlike Father, she did like Simon whole.
Well, more whole. There was a weakness he kept hidden, even from her. It was a weakness he seemed unwilling to relinquish.
Time. He needed for time. And for a while, at least, they had it.
"What is he doing?" Chiara hooked a thumb over her shoulder toward the room.
Mack leaned his head back and opened his eyes. "He's assimilating her. She's been in Hell for seventeen years. She can't just scamper off into the world."
She crossed her arms, hugging her ribs. "When I looked in before, I didn't even recognize her."
"Well, he's helping nature catch up. The spell will rapidly age her body seventeen years. She's growing up right before our eyes. Then again, most mortals do that, don't they?"
She smiled gently, appreciating the sentiment. There were very few beings that shared Chiara's perspective, especially when it came to lifespans. "How is she going to live? A ten-year-old who suffered in hell for an eternity, thrust into an adult body—"
"There is a second spell. A much more difficult one. That's the reason I'm here—to guard him, to help him conserve energy and concentration. He's rebuilding her psyche. Seventeen years of manufactured memories and experience to write over her memories of Hell. He's giving her a real past."
"But time in Hell doesn't pass in real-time." A shudder ran through her, a chill that dripped down her back. She knew what happened in Hell and she didn't like dwelling upon it. "Her soul's been aged to an impossible point. Her soul can't be rebooted. Her innocence has been destroyed."
"Oh, ye of little faith," Mack said, his voice soft.
The minutes dragged past them in silence. The door clicked open. Simon wandered out and pulled out a cigarette, leaning heavily against the frame of the door. "What, a party and you didn't invite me?"
"How is she?" Chiara asked.
He shrugged. "Sleeping."
She peered through the open door and saw a figure lying on the bed, eyes closed, a rosy glow hovering over her body like tinted valley fog. But the ten-year-old was nowhere to be seen. There was a woman, late twenties, lines etched near her eyes even in the relaxation of deep sleep.
He cupped his hand around his lighter, even though there was no breeze to disturb the flame. "She needs time to stitch her parts back together."
"Will she be okay?" she asked.
"As good as she'll ever be. You said it yourself, you can't unsee a divinity. She'll never lose the scars of inevitability or the certain knowledge of what lies beyond the mortal realm." He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before rubbing his head, leaving his hair in tousled spikes. "Eventually, the guises will break down and she'll remember. It'll start as a vague itch she can't put a finger on, that will grow into a conviction she can't prove. One thing is for sure. She'll be recruited by some paranormal team or another. But that's a bridge we can cross when we get there."