Part 21 (1/2)

”We're done-”

”I. Said. Sit.”

The words, and the tone in which they were spoken, rang with the divinity Alex had previously deemed lacking.

Absolute divinity.

She returned to the table and sat.

The Creator's eyes opened, glittering diamond-hard. ”You're right, Alexandra. I have failed. Many times and on many levels. I created Lucifer as my companion, as the yang to my yin. In my arrogance, I believed I had created the perfect creature and that, because he was perfect, he could do no wrong. I believed in him. I trusted him. I loved him with every fiber of my being. But I remained a creator. It is what I do. What I am. And so I continued to create. The stars, the planets, the galaxies and universes . . . all the skies that you see and infinite others beyond those. And then I created Earth and seeded it with the potential for humanity.”

The One stood, pacing the cramped kitchen: table to sink, sink to fridge, fridge back to table. ”I loved watching your planet's evolution, the birth of humanity, your discoveries, your growth. I wanted to believe Lucifer shared my joy, but in truth, your every success drove another wedge between us. He resented the time I spent watching your world unfold, hated that I could find happiness in anything but him. I ignored the warning signs, found ways to justify his outbursts, tried to soothe his jealousy. I gave him a”-she paused in both step and sentence, straightened her shoulders, and continued. ”I gave him a son, thinking a child of his own would a.s.sure him of my love for him. But he wanted nothing to do with Seth, and before I had recovered from the birth, he turned the Grigori against me. Against you, my mortal children.”

Alex wanted to run from the One's confession, from a story that, surely, she had no right to hear. But she stayed seated, held in place by the tale of betrayal and the Creator's raw, unspoken grief.

”He gave me an ultimatum,” the One continued at last. ”Him or humanity. The rest of the story you know . . . except for this. When part of the host followed Lucifer and we went to war to defend your world, I did try to stop him. To destroy the monster I had created. And I failed.”

Chapter 46.

Resting an elbow on the arm of his chair, Lucifer idly rubbed a forefinger over his eyebrow. He stared at the journal on his desk, a pen laid across its blank page. Each of the entries he'd made over the last month had been progressively more difficult to write, and now this. Nothing. No words, no inspiration, no desire.

No need.

It was as if he had emptied himself. As if he found himself in Limbo, where nothing existed anymore. Where nothing mattered.

Oh, he still cared-his whole existence was about caring, for all the good it had done him. He'd just run out of reasons to write about it.

And this interminable waiting didn't help.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pen and pitched it across the room, scowling when it stuck point-first and quivering in one of the fireplace stones. What in b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven was taking Samael so long? Finding the Naphil's sister was such a simple task, the last piece in his plan, and the G.o.dd.a.m.n Archangel couldn't get his act together long enough to complete it.

The dish of peppermints on his desk followed in the pen's wake, shattering against the mantel and sending a shower of gla.s.s shards and candies across the room.

Lucifer pushed out of his chair. He wouldn't put it past his aide to be focused on the whole Mika'el and Seth issue rather than on his orders. Samael's ability to think strategically might be his greatest a.s.set, but it could also be his most annoying one. The Archangel was forever searching for hidden motives where none existed. Or worse, where they might exist but didn't matter.

He closed the journal on his desk and turned to slide the volume back into place in the bookcase. Then he paused, staring at the top row of books, the ones at eye level. He inspected the Roman numerals on their spines, neatly lined up in ascending order. Except they weren't. Not entirely.

They couldn't be, because the fourteenth journal was missing from its place.

His gaze swept the row, then the room, then returned to the shelf. He released his hold on the journal he'd replaced. Sliding his hand between volumes XIII and XV, he pushed them apart and scowled. Not just missing from its place. Missing, period. As in gone. As in someone had entered his domain and taken his private property. Had dared trespa.s.s against him.

Disbelief unfurled in his gut. A snarl of fury-cold and visceral-drove it out. He whirled and stalked around his desk. If he had to rip apart the whole of h.e.l.l, he would- The door opened as he reached it. A diminutive Cherub stood in the opening holding a tray, eyes wide and startled. ”Light-bearer!”

Lucifer stopped short of plowing over her. He glowered down. ”You're in my way.”

”I'm s-sorry,” the Cherub squeaked. The dishes on the tray rattled as she held it out to him. ”I have your tea.”

Lifting his arm to brush both the tray and the Cherub from his path, he saw her gaze dart past him. The pupils of her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He went still, resisting the impulse to turn and look at what he already knew she'd seen. The gap between the books on the shelf. His own eyes narrowed as the Cherub's dropped. Her breathing quickened, and the pulse at the base of her throat hammered. Lucifer stepped back and aside, turning his raised arm into a sweeping invitation to enter.

”Raziel, isn't it?” he murmured.

Shocked blue eyes lifted to his. ”Yes, sir.”

Raziel, favored informant of Samael for several hundred years after the Fallen had departed Heaven. His nostrils flared. b.l.o.o.d.y Heaven, he'd rip the Archangel apart with his bare hands.

”You can leave that on the desk.” He smiled and, hands in his pockets, wandered toward the fireplace. ”Thank you.”

Thank you for solving my mystery for me.

Raziel hesitated for a second more and then scurried forward to set the tray, now jangling in a most irritating manner, on his desk. She slanted a glance at him. ”Weren't you going somewhere?”

”Hm? Oh. It can wait. I think I'll have tea first.”

She hovered, biting her lip, and for a moment, he wondered if she might not confess on the spot and save him the trouble of digging for the details. But with a quick last glance at the bookshelves, she sidled toward the door. It slammed shut as she came within reach of it. She stopped in her tracks, a hiss of air escaping her.

”Stay,” Lucifer said. ”We've never had a chance to chat. I'm sure you have much to tell me.”

The Cherub turned to face him. Her gaze, hollow with the knowledge of what was to come, met his. He smiled, and with a soft mewl, she crumpled to the floor.

Chapter 47.

Alex waited for the burn in her throat to subside, then poured a second, generous portion of whiskey. Swirling the amber liquid in a slow circle, she stared at her reflection in the dark kitchen window.

”So you're not really all-powerful.” Even now, with one drink already warming her belly, her brain kept dancing around the idea. The blasphemy behind it. Except the One herself had said it, so was it really blasphemy? She slugged back the second shot of whiskey.

”I have limits,” the One agreed.

”How? How can you have made all of this”-she waved an encompa.s.sing hand-”and still have limits?”

”Everything I've made is a part of me, a tiny bit of my essence. My power, if you will. That holds true of Lucifer as well, only he is more of me than my other creations. A great deal more. I wanted a helpmeet in him. A partner. I wanted him to be my equal, or very close to it.”

The liquor in Alex's stomach gave an uneasy roll. Lucifer, equal to the One? That didn't sound good.

”The real problem,,” continued the One, ”lies with the part of myself I used to create him. Whether because of instinct or a need to retain at least an illusion of control, I wanted him to be just slightly less than what I was. I didn't want him to feel lesser to me, however, so I compensated by giving him the illusion of equal power . . . more of my yang than my yin, I suppose you could say.”