“What the—?” I squinted as a shape took form in the center of the flames. A man stepped through the fire, his wavy golden hair and bare chest untouched. The fire evaporated as the man continued forward, his feet stirring the dust of the fallen Nightcrawlers.
Holy crap.
I knew my mouth was hanging open. I didn’t care. That kind of power was unimaginable.
“No need to thank me,” he drawled. “I couldn’t let any harm come to my new friends.”
“Lucifer.” Zayne’s arm around me didn’t slacken. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Stepping into the moonlight, the devil smiled. “I know.”
* * *
Lucifer sat in Roth’s living room, stretched out on the sectional, watching television. Clothed at least. Actually, partially clothed. He’d manifested a pair of black leather pants, and that was about it. We had no idea if he was successful in creating The Omen. We’d asked. He gave us a look even I could see that said mind your own business.
And at the moment, that’s what we all were doing. Minding our own business.
That and trying to get Lucifer to be somewhat useful and tell us how he could kill Gabriel.
He wasn’t being exactly helpful.
First, he was hungry. So Cayman ordered up some late-night Uber eats. While he waited for the food to arrive, he found the television, and I’d never seen someone so enthralled before. He flipped through the channels continuously and then somehow ended up on one of the streaming services. I’d gone to use the bathroom, and when I came back, someone—I was going to blame Cayman for this—had turned on Supernatural, to the Lucifer season, and the real one was invested. He’d all but forced Layla to pull up some website to give him a blow-by-blow description of season one through whatever. By the time the food arrived, he was completely caught up. Then he ate. Then he watched two more episodes, a box of Pop-Tarts appearing out of thin air it seemed. At this point, it had to be almost four in the morning. Layla had passed out on the end of the couch and woke up, and I was this close to throwing the TV through a wall.
“Lucifer,” Roth tried again, at the end of another episode. “You said that if you killed Gabriel, we would create a whole new problem. Can you tell us what that is?”
“If you let me watch one more episode in peace and quiet, I will,” Lucifer retorted.
“You said that at the end of the last episode,” I said, sitting on the edge of the couch, struggling with my patience.
“But Lucifer is about to start the apocalypse—”
“He doesn’t succeed!” I shouted, and yes, it was superweird to hear Lucifer refer to the fictional version of himself. “He ends up in the cage with Michael, who has possessed the one Winchester brother everyone has forgotten!” I shouted. “It will be, like, seven more seasons until he comes back.”
Lucifer stared at me.
I stared back at him.
“You just spoiled the plot,” he snarled.
“It came out over ten years ago! There is a time limit. Sorry. You can no longer cry spoiler.”
“But there’s no cable television in Hell,” he shot back.
“He has a point,” Zayne murmured from where he stood behind me.
I sent him a glare that should’ve fried him on the spot. “Look, Lucifer comes back again and again. Okay? There’s plenty more seasons for you to watch. I won’t tell you what happens if you just answer our questions.” I drew in a deep breath. “Please.”
“I’m starting to regret saving your life earlier.” Lucifer sighed heavily. “Do any of you even know what happens when you kill an angel?”
“No. Sorry,” I said. “We don’t make a habit of killing angels.”
“Well, my familiar ate two of them once,” Roth chimed in. “Nothing really happened.”
“Nothing that you were aware of. When an angel dies, their Glory will return to its source.”
“God?” I guessed.
He nodded. “Just like a kid returning home to Daddy Dearest.”
I blinked.
“Okay. So is that a problem?” Zayne asked.
“Is that a problem?” Lucifer chuckled. “Not normally, but what’s inside Gabriel is a festering taint. His Glory and his grace are corrupted. Probably more so than mine, and it would be like launching napalm at the Heavens. God isn’t going to allow that to return home.” Lucifer glanced at the TV, and yep, he was sucked right back in. He grinned as he unwrapped yet another Pop-Tart. “I like this portrayal. Though Sam and Dean really need to start communicating better.”
I took a deep breath and tried to count to ten.
Roth leaned forward, impatience crowding his features. I half expected him to snap his fingers. “So what does that mean exactly?”
“What does what mean?” Lucifer asked around a mouthful of pastry.
“I think he has that thing you have. You know, being unable to pay attention,” Cayman whispered from where he collapsed on the couch beside me, and I nodded in agreement. There wasn’t enough amphetamine in the world to treat Lucifer.
Roth briefly closed his eyes. “What will happen if God doesn’t let it return home?”
“Oh. That.” Lucifer stretched back, sweeping away a dusting of crumbs from his chest as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Knowing God like I do? He’s going to punt-kick that shit back down to Earth. All that nastiness is going to explode all over His most treasured creations—How many seasons are there of this?”
“A lot,” I answered. “What’s that going to do? All that...nastiness?”
“What will it do?” A slow smile crept across his face, and the tiny hairs all over my body rose. He truly was unbelievably beautiful, especially when he smiled, but dear God and baby angels everywhere, he was also unbelievably creepy, especially when he smiled like that. His eyes closed and he made a sound that made my cheeks heat. “You won’t just have an air quality problem. The taint will reach across the world, until every land, every sea and all the mountains are coated with the corruption. All that anger, that hatred and bitterness and evil, will work its way into everyone.” He moaned, the sound rapturous. “Brother will turn against brother, mother against child. It will be an unending orgy of violence and depravity. Only the most pious will be spared and even they will suffer great losses.”
Uh.
“That, um, sounds problematic,” I murmured.
Lucifer took a bite of the Pop-Tart as he refocused on the screen. “To you? Yes. To me? I’ll have an influx of long-term houseguests to occupy my time with.”