When Callie arrived, she was in prime distraction mode and acting like she wasn’t. I know she’s all in on this plan, so the logical conclusion is that she’s having doubts about our relationship.
Now I’m the nervous one. Father showing up like he did is not a good sign. To say the absolute least. Hopefully even if Father says no (as he almost certainly will), it won’t ruin the rest of our day. And night.
“After you,” I say to Callie, doing my best to conceal my nerves. I sweep a hand to the grand arch carved with frolicking demons.
Callie hesitates only briefly before she enters Father’s den.
I pause for a second and reflect on how different this feels from my many previous times in Father’s throne room. This time I’m not being summoned by my lonesome. Not being dragged in to be informed of all the ways I am a disappointment or of my desperate need to plumb greater depths of evil or face an unmaking. Even the last time I was here with Callie it wasn’t an unfortunate accident on my part that we bumped into him, but his design.
This time not only am I not alone, I’m not lonely. I asked to come here.
Getting to know Callie is changing me, challenging me, and that scares me. Maybe more than I’m scared of Father.
But I’m also grateful. And I’ll never say any of this to her. How seductive would it be to know someone is fawning over you? Telling you that you’ve changed them for the better?
No. Way.
I need to show her that there’s more to this place and me (and, frankly, to show myself). But it turns out a lifelong habit of hedging my bets isn’t so easy to shrug off.
Porsoth fidgets. His usual state is extreme worry. “Should we wait for your mother?”
Mother is not known for being punctual. She’ll be here when she intends to.
“No, better not.”
“Then go on before Callie makes him angry,” Porsoth says quietly. “Crack some skulls.” The phrase is Hell’s equivalent of break a leg.
I tug my leather jacket the tiniest bit crooked and saunter in to join Callie.
She swallows when she meets my eyes. This I’m certain of, our physical chemistry. Sauntering is a devastating look on me.
I gaze back at her, the reason I’m here risking Father’s wrath. Those vibrant stormy eyes, a lift of that determined chin. Her presence steadies me.
Father sits on his ostentatiously large obsidian throne, wings thrust out wide on either side, his knees sprawled open in the way that drives Callie up the proverbial wall. Thin gray light streams in through the tall windows with stained-glass portraits of demons slaughtering angels. The tactical table Father uses to represent our forces, the Above’s, and humanity languishes in one corner. It hasn’t seen that much action since the near-Armageddon Callie and I thwarted.
Father still isn’t aware how close I got to archangel Michael and the pearly gates. That I held the Holy Lance and survived. Or is he? It’s hard for me to believe his spies wouldn’t have gathered every scrap of intelligence they could for him. In truth, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he and Michael secretly play chess every Tuesday at midnight. Father is nothing if not unpredictable.
Porsoth click-clacks in. He and Agnes take a spot behind Callie and me. Once we’re assembled Callie hesitates, then opens her mouth to speak.
Father lifts his left hand and commands: “Wait.”
She closes her mouth with a grimace. I give her what I hope is a “hang in there” look.
We wait.
And wait.
Eventually, after staring at Father and likewise for too long for comfort, my mother breezes in witchily on Rofocale’s arm.
Father studies the two of them, and Rofocale drops Mother’s arm as if he’s been scorched by it. How interesting.
She comes to me, ignoring Father, and lifts her hand. I kiss it and say, “Mother, you’re looking beautiful enough to bewitch any human or demon, and also right on time.”
“Am I late?” she counters with a bat of her kohl-rimmed eyes that tells me she knows precisely how far past the appointed hour her arrival is. “Rofocale and I got to talking about old times.”
She tosses Rofocale a sultry look over her shoulder and he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. He’s in an overly slick black suit, looking like Hell’s version of an investment banker or maybe an administrator in the “Church” of Scientology.
“About what old times?” Lucifer asks, voice chilly as the grave. He’s possessive to the core.
“Oh, all about the boy,” Mother says dismissively. “Of course.”
Father’s lips gather and then he smiles at her. Mother preens.
“Our boy,” he says, “is a man now. And so he has come to present us with his first idea for the realm. And brought his consort along.”
Nice way to help me out, Father.
“Consort’s a little old-fashioned,” I say. Not to mention we haven’t precisely consorted yet.
“Are you going to present this scheme of yours to me or not?” he counters.
I hesitate and Callie gives me an encouraging smile. Here goes … my heart.
“As you know, the customs of soul-gathering are well established…” I should have practiced this. I don’t know how to say it. “You have always said understanding humans should be among our goals and…” I check in with Callie and see her brow crease in concern.
“If you want something, you must ask for it,” Father says.
He’s right. It’s now or—
“We’re here because we want your approval to try something.” Callie blurts it. “Something revolutionary.”
Father’s lips quirk to one side. He lifts a brow at me. Am I going to let her speak for me?
He gives me my moment to object, which I don’t, then waves. “Okay, I’m prepared to have my mind blown. Proceed.”
Rofocale has his brows raised at me too, but snorts at Father’s humor. Father shoots him a quelling glance. Agnes has her hands clasped in front of her, studying the floor. Porsoth shifts from hoof to hoof, as nervous as Callie must be. As nervous as I am. It takes all my effort to not show it outwardly.
Mother crosses her arms, and I’m mostly with her. This is a disaster.
But Callie, as Callie does, seizes her moment. “I’ve been learning about the kingdom … your kingdom … from Porsoth and Luke. And then I met Agnes.”
“Agnes?” Lucifer asks, though he certainly knows exactly who she is.
“Agnes, Porsoth’s library assistant.” Callie looks over her shoulder at Agnes, and then back. “A damned soul. How can it be that an eleven-year-old is stuck in Hell? I began to ask how exactly people end up here. Not all of them. Obviously I know for murderers, thieves, the worst. But what about people who might change if given the chance? Or the only kind-of bad people? Who make a bad decision in the heat of the moment and then die suddenly, like Agnes? The ones who make a mistake and lose their soul, because they’re convinced to?”
“Our entire business model, you mean,” Lucifer says.
Callie lets that pass. “Once Luke told me that the reason he had trouble with taking souls is because the real offense for most of the inhabitants here—”
I cough because I didn’t realize this would ever be aired with my father. His eyes have narrowed.
“Some of them anyway,” Callie says, “is just that they’re human. The whole system—the business model—doesn’t seem fair.”
Lucifer is stone-faced.
“I’ve found evidence that you have changed procedures in the past. There’s an entire section of amendments in Being the Rules of the Kingdom of Hell, Vol. 100 and—”
“Someone’s been studying,” Rofocale says with irony.
“And one of them related to Agnes herself. You allowed Porsoth to tailor her punishment. Why not expand that rule so that she and others like her can have a second chance?”
Father stays quiet.
“Lucifer, king of Hell,” Callie says, and gestures at everything around us. “I know you’re not afraid of change. You didn’t start out here.”
She’s invoked the fall. The thing Father hates most is any implication that his current state is worse than Before, when he served his own Father. The one Above.
“I might then remind you,” Father says, “that it was not me who created the hierarchies between humans and celestial beings. The rules were mostly established by then. We play within them.”
“But you also help create and enforce them,” Callie says.
Father steeples his fingers and leans forward. “Your idea is that we stop enforcing them? You’ve been here for a month and you’re proposing we stop competing for souls and let bad people float in the void instead of having any afterlife at all? Interesting. I didn’t realize you had this cruel streak.”
Callie’s mouth has dropped open. “No, that’s not—is that—”
“Very funny, Father,” I say, stepping in. “I know Rofocale told you about this idea. It could work.”
Father nods. “And you agree with this plan? You want to do this?”
Callie is confused. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m with Callie.” I redirect my attention to a smug, smirking Father. I’ve heard Callie talk about this enough that, now I think about it, outlining her plan is easy. “We simply want the ability to select a few test cases—starting with Agnes—and return them to Earth and see if they might have a different outcome, soul-wise. They’ll remember their time here but be unable to speak of it. We’ll monitor them carefully.”
“To what end?” he asks. “That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Fairness,” Callie says. “Giving them a second chance. Adding a little fairness to the universe.”
“Adding a little fairness to the universe.” Father rolls the words over his tongue. I can’t tell, but he might be considering this. That surprises me. In truth, I’m not sure I believe that it’s possible.
Callie has so much faith. I wish I could borrow some. So I am, by supporting her. She wants this and I don’t know what I want—besides her. The combination was a good enough reason for me.
“What if fairness is the one thing the universe can’t withstand?” Father asks. “It’s not something Above was very good at including in the so-called intelligent design.”
“Let’s keep this focused,” Callie says. “We’re asking for a simple experiment, to prove this can work.”
Father looks down his nose at her. “What if your idea is unfair at its premise? How is it fair for you to give some second chances and not others? How do you know who’s capable of this possible redemption and who isn’t?”
Callie squares her shoulders. “Well, I—”
Father cuts her off. “I can’t help but feel you asking me for this experiment and me simply granting permission for something that’s such a fundamental upheaval of our ways isn’t fair at all either. But I will allow this to proceed. On my terms.”
“Which are?” I ask.
Father ignores that part. “To prove to me how committed to this idea you are, how serious about it both of you are, I’m going to ask you to prove it can work by showing me a particular soul can be redeemed. You’ll have your experiment, if you can. Do you agree to these terms?”
He’s so pleased with himself. Every shadow in the room seems to creep toward me.
Callie looks at me. I want to say No. No way. We should leave.
She gives me the slightest nod, a request. I could say no to Father, but I can’t say no to her.
I close my eyes rather than see Father’s face switch to gloating. We’re waltzing into a trap. I’m certain of it.
“Fine,” I say.
Callie drops her hand into mine and it’s almost worth it, whatever nightmare he’s cooked up for us in the burning fires of his mind.
“Excellent,” Father says. “I want you each to fully understand the ecosystem you’re proposing to throw out of balance. To understand the difficulty of truly reforming someone. To answer the age-old question of whether some people are simply incompatible … with redemption.”
Porsoth raises a wing and blurts, “Sire, if I may—why not let them begin with the young lady—”
“Would that be better than the person I’ve chosen?” Father asks.
Porsoth stumbles. “Sire…”
The throne room goes quiet.
“Who is it?” I venture. We might as well get this over with, see how bad it is.
Father glances at Rofocale. “Bring him forth.”
Rofocale’s lips split in a wide grin. He lifts his hand and snaps his fingers, emitting a puff of smoke.
Or not. The smoke emerges from the back of the chamber, where a fiery seam opens in the floor and a rush of heat fills the room. Two small, round, pointy-winged demons are flying a man out of it, each holding an arm. His face and ragged jeans are streaked with soot, sweat running down his cheeks. His broad, muscled chest is covered in a tattered black T-shirt.
He’s not my type, but even I recognize that he’s somehow making the look work. The look of being fresh from torture and carted around by demons.
Callie’s mouth has fallen slightly open.
The demons drop him unceremoniously on the floor in front of us. Rofocale lifts his chin and they depart, smoking seam closing behind them. Lilith fans herself, despite the heat having dissipated.
“Who is he—a missing Hemsworth brother?” Callie asks.
The man in question stands and scans his new surroundings. He winks at Callie and speaks in a posh British accent. “They wish.”
“Meet Sean Tattersall, a man known by many names,” Lucifer says.
Sean opens his mouth to speak and Lucifer raises his hand. No sound emerges from this Sean’s lips. I find I can’t access basic information about him, a bit of editing on Father’s part to make this more difficult, no doubt.
“Sire…” Porsoth manages nothing else.
“What good is a test if it’s not a difficult one?” Lucifer asks.
He focuses in on this Sean character. I don’t like how Sean is staring at Callie. His lips curve knowingly and I want to punch him. I’ve never liked the idea of punching someone before.
Callie slips her hand gently from mine and stops staring back at our mark.
“So,” Callie says, “you’re setting us up to fail?”
“Think of how many souls you might save if you succeed,” Lucifer says. “How much fairness you might create?” He lets that sink in. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Callie says, “But it seems so … unfair. For you to pick.”
“You have no idea,” I say under my breath. This is bad news. I can feel it.
“There’s just not much fairness in the universe right now,” Father says. “Sorry. Take it or leave it. You have ten seconds to decide.”
“We’ll take it,” she says immediately, sounding uncertain, before I can tell him he’s won and we’ll regroup with another idea.
Father settles his gaze on Sean, who’s watching this with a studied boredom. “You may go.”
He flicks his wrist and Sean disappears.
“Wait,” Callie says, “where did you send him?”
“Earth,” Father says. “I wanted a few more words with you two.”
The throne room goes quiet, all of us calculating the odds this audience is a colossal mistake. Father is a stickler for the spirit, if not the letter, of the law.
“Can you tell us any more about him?” I have to try.
“That’s part of your test. And this will be a good test of your affections, as well,” Father says, and settles his gaze on me. “Of how well you can pursue your common goals.”
The task he’s given us, I am certain, will be so hard as to be almost impossible. I understand what he’s about. He’s chosen a way to drive a wedge between me and Callie. He has no intention of letting us upend his rules. He knows this is her idea more than mine. He thinks this maddening task will force me to give up, and her to see me for who I really am, and leave. Then he can get back to remaking me in his image.
I refuse to let any of that happen. We’re going to have to do this. Save Sean Tattersall.
I cover up my misgivings with a cocky grin. “Game on.”
“You have forty-eight hours,” Father says.
“Why give us a time limit?” Callie says. “Two days isn’t enough.”
She sounds worried. I imagine she’s trying to figure out how we manage to pursue Sean and redeem his wayward soul and work for her mother all day.
“I get bored,” Lucifer says. “Seventy-two is my final offer.”
“No problem.” I’ll figure that part out. I’m excellent at getting out of tight spots.
“Oh,” Father says, and bares his teeth in a smile directly at me, “one more thing … since we’re indulging revolutionary change and all.” Still smiling, he flutters his hands around in the air.
A shift happens inside me, a lessening of sorts. My body feels like a cage made of bones and skin. I’m not a fan.
Looking over at Callie’s gasp, I watch as my wings—my wings!—extend from her back.
He’s made me human. He’s made her a demon.
Even for Lucifer himself, this is low.