Every so often, Elyon, the one many called God, the one true god, our Father—he truly was, of more than a few bastards. When the news came out that he was the former Antichrist’s father, Elyon threw a hissy fit. Tried to start a war with Hell. Failed. Which was when his other son, who it turned out wasn’t his only son, Lucifer’s nephew—Jesus/Charlie—had a bit of a meltdown. He’d said fuck humanity, and with his father in tow, retreated to Heaven. Luc’s advisors tried to claim that his nephew sulked.
Lucifer was more inclined to think the prat was plotting.
Which meant, a war was coming.
Fun. Fun. Fun.
Sparring with the angelic host always provided entertainment. The Devil thrived on pitting his legions against those holier-than-thou, white-winged pricks. They thought they were so fucking special because they lived in Heaven. A so-called perfect place.
Lucifer called bullshit. On the outside, it would seem ideal. Heaven with its perfect sunny days, never any clouds or rain or storms or pretty much…anything. It was the blandest place you could imagine.
Nothing changed. Ever. The food. The seasons. The people.
Bor-r-r-ing!
Lucifer had once been jealous of his brother. Why did Elyon get the perfect place, while Lucifer got cast into Hell?
For a long while, resentment simmered until he had an epiphany during an epic drug binge where he saw the truth and finally admitted: Hell suited him. He liked the sprawling madness of his circles that grew or shrank depending on the population. The wide variety of architecture. The hum of damned souls, and demons, and the rest of his people.
It was dangerous. And stressful. Exhilarating. Maddening.
Everything all the time, demanding his attention, consuming him.
But he thrived on it. The more drama, the better. And Jujube, his sweet daughter, would bring more than her fair share if she lived. If she went to war against his granddaughter Lucille, the world would be torn apart. If they joined forces, though…
They would boldly go where he and his brother had never dared to go before. In all these futures, only one thing seemed constant.
A sleeping Jujube huffed against his skin.
He murmured. “Who’s going to love her mama forever and ever and never kill her?” Surely, there was a future that kept both his daughter and wife alive. Although, he’d yet to locate any out of the one hundred and one prophecies he’d located thus far. Maybe none of them would come true. After all, he’d been wrong before. He’d once thought it was Muriel who would kill Gaia, her mother.
During Muriel’s youth, he’d kept them apart for as long as he could. Eventually, Muriel and her mother met. There had been a knife involved, but everyone survived. As it turned out, Muriel wasn’t the one being spoken of in all those predictions. He’d known for sure the moment Jujube was born.
The baby with the longest lashes and cutest smile was the cause of the chaos.
As he laid Jujube in the crib, she woke, eyes popping wide. In their depths, he saw a dancing flame. The baby cooed and flailed her chubby fists, reaching for him. She grabbed and missed. Reached for him again.
He shook his head. “Time to sleep, tiny princess.”
She scrunched up her face, readying to let out a mighty yell.
“Don’t you dare,” he chided.
“Ahh—”
Before it could erupt into a full-scale scream, he blew smoke. She sucked a breath in and—
Sneezed.
Achoo! The air erupted in a burst of flame.
All the hair on his face evaporated—goatee, brows, even his nostrils felt clean as a bone whistle.
He blinked.
Jujube gazed at him innocently. Smiled. Cooed. Burped and farted before going to sleep.
Very much Daddy’s girl. Boy, was the world fucked.
The moment she was down, Lucifer stepped into a rip that folded time and space, to emerge in a disco hall, formerly known as the Canadian Reaper’s guild, now the Hell side headquarters for Grim Dating, his most recent effort to rebuild his army of darkness.
Inside the former death guild, they processed applications by demons to go Earthside to impregnate humans. Sounded simple, and yet…it wasn’t. They had to be the right kind of matches, or he’d end up with useless minions, the kind whose only use was as cannon fodder.
His sudden appearance in the matchmaking agency led to stuttering in the music before it stalled completely. The dancing lights stilled, and all the eyes in the place turned to him.
Not a word was said.
Not a single knee bent.
No head bowed.
The insolence staggered, and Lucifer might have smitten them all if his eldest living daughter hadn’t appeared and trilled, “On your knees, minions. How dare you not honor my father, your master, the greatest Dark Lord we’ve ever known.”
He wouldn’t quibble about the fact that he was the only Dark Lord they’d ever known. You couldn’t replace greatness. His other daughter, Muriel, had done it once when he was on a mental health vacation, and she just about went mad.
There was haste to the obeisance that followed, and more than a few kicks by his usually better-tempered daughter. Look at her, demanding respect instead of fucking for favors.
She’d changed, and not just her demeanor.
“Bambi, you are looking…”—he eyed her business suit—“more covered than usual.”
“Do you like?” She twirled as she neared, showing off the trim yet severe cut to her skirt and blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a tight chignon. Her lips, though, just as ruby red as ever.
“Let me guess, you’re trying to tempt a married Christian man.”
“Really, Father.” She tittered. “That’s so nineteen eighties. I’m a modern woman now. I don’t need a man to complete me.”
“Since when?” he blurted. His eldest daughter was a real pride and joy when it came to living up to the family name.
“Since I realized that men are scum. Women, too, just so you don’t think they get a free pass. I’ve had countless lovers, and do you know that not one, not a single one, wanted me for my brains?”
“I have a few zombies in the abandoned garden you can play with if it means that much to you.”
Wrong answer. Which he knew before he said it, but the roll of her eyes did amuse.
“I am tired of being wanted only for my body. I want to be respected.”
“You should do what Muriel does then and chop off a few heads,” Lucifer suggested. Nothing said, “don’t piss me off” like a pile of bodies missing parts.
“I said respect, not fear.”
“Respect only comes because they’re afraid. Strength is what matters.”
“My staff isn’t scared of me.” She swept a hand to encompass the people busy working, paperwork mostly, processing demonic applications to be matched with a human Earthside. So many of his denizens volunteered to fuck and impregnate for the good of his kingdom.
“Without respect, comes mutiny. Trust me, I’ve seen it.” Over and over again. Lucifer had lived through just about every scenario. Even one where he thought Gaia had died. That Ice Age lasted a long time.
“You do you. I’ll do me,” his daughter said pertly.
“Sounds like a recipe for masturbation.”
“Did you come for a reason?” Bambi snapped. Since when did she use that tone of voice with him?