Wasteland

by allmyplantsaredead666

AU / Long / Multi-Chapter Slowburn Lucifer x Chloe x Michael A recent string of homicides leads Detective Chloe Decker to the doors of Lux where she meets annoyingly charming nightclub owner, Lucifer Morningstar and his twin brother, Michael. Her pragmatism is upended by the unexplainable, challenging everything she thought she knew about herself and the people around her.

5. Chapter 5

V.

Metamorphosis

—

Suppose you do change your life.

& the body is more than

a portion of night-sealed

with bruises. Suppose you woke

& found your shadow replaced

by a black wolf

Torso of Air, Ocean Vuong

The sunset threw its shades of rose and orange along the old columns of what appeared to be a gazebo, smearing its warm glow on everything it touched. Rolling green hills dotted with white grazing animals cascaded down into a strange lake, now alight with the waning splendor of the departing sun. Lucifer watched as his outstretched hands were consumed in that alien light of the fading day; the ochre tinge ran along his exposed arms and spread onto his naked chest followed by the kiss of soft warmth. A mother's kiss. He felt his face with those warmed hands, running it over the rough whiskers on his cheeks, over closed eyelids that still burst with the afterglow of a sunset that was painting strange colors in a sky that held no blue. Ou suis-je? He asked aloud. The skin on his face seemed to waver in response like an inflating balloon. Teeth that had once snugly fit inside his mouth were rolling marbles. They parted his lips which were now two shades darker, a muffled scream spilling out onto the white floorboards. His hands pawed helplessly against his shifting face, spreading down into his chest and limbs. C'est quoi ça, cette merde. His shoulders seemed to rend apart and a sense of expansion filled up the muscles underneath his crawling skin. Hands that a few moment ago had been wholly his were now growing thick and squat, its meatiness filling out the tendons in his arms before expanding into the grooves of shoulders much too broad. Presque fini, presque fini, a strange voice called in his mind. Almost done, almost done. With a final jolt, Lucifer unfurled onto legs that were impossibly tall, the thighs as thick as Redwood tree trunks. He groped his unfamiliar face and felt a pair of small, round spectacles. Sharp talons grew where his nails had once lived, leaving behind cuts on his cheeks. A small belly hung loosely around his waist. On est la, mon mec. A guttural moan escaped his lips, somewhere between disgust and exaltation. His new body turned to face the setting sun, its colors now a splendid neon that no human eyes had ever graced, bathing him in a baptism of beauty and terror. La vue, mon Dieu. La vue. La belle vue. The sun was starting to slip behind the hills on the horizon but its hot kiss continued to caress what was no longer Lucifer's body—he was merely an observer now, a prisoner. La belle vue. One of the enormous hands reached up, its glistening talons catching the psychedelic light, and wrapped around his face, squeezing the small spectacles against the bridge of his nose. It pierced into the soft flesh of his temples and started to pull, trying to peel its own face off like an orange. Lucifer screamed in horror as he watched helplessly, as the curled hand ripped away the front of a foreign face. Lucifer screamed.

—

Lucifer screamed. His arms jolting outward, pawing haphazardly.

He tumbled out of the sunchair, sending it clattering onto its side. Knees bit into the whitewashed concrete next to the pool, his hands skidding unceremoniously alongside. His breathing came in ragged chunks, seemingly to fill his lungs in cold clarity as he shook the nightmare away from the fog of his mind.

He very rarely dreamed. Hell, he barely slept let alone dreamed. Both had come as a shock, particularly the disturbing nature of his utter helplessness. Sharp pinpoints danced along his forearms, causing him to shiver despite the warm weather and suit jacket. A sense of dread ate into his chest as he saw the golden beams of the afternoon sun slip into the comforts of dusk. The pool glittered in jeweled tones of pinks and yellows but Lucifer still felt the aftereffects of that weird foreign light from his dream. It tainted the colors of sunset—of a real California sunset—in shivering shades of the unnatural.

The joint from earlier was caught under one of the sunchair's legs, crushed where the metal met the paper. Relieved at its demise, Lucifer got up and kicked it lightly with his shoe, not wanting to pick it up with his hands. Somehow he felt it the catalyst to the completely fucked up hostage movie that he had unwillingly taken a part in. That feeling of being trapped in an unfamiliar body, somewhere between Devil and stranger, flared up another bout of gooseflesh.

He regarded the pretty-penny-view of a Los Angeles awash in a gorgeous golden hour. Full of tinkling bellscapes and echoing light. Full of hope and promise and despair. Full of beauty.

Beautyfull.

La belle vue.

The voice that was no longer his had mumbled those words as it watched in abject delight at the surreal sunset of an alien world. Well, beauty in the traditional sense might have been a bit of a stretch. It was beautiful in its unorthodox penchant for destruction, like strange skies over a Kansas prairie when a particularly bad twister was about to touch down.

Lucifer turned away from the balcony, unable to find beauty in the landscape below. He had a strong feeling that he may never find beauty in that view again. At least, not anymore. Maybe it was time to wrap it up on ole Bird Street, given that it now had the tinge of animal blood and gruesome sunsets ground into its floorboards. Let someone else pay their pretty penny for the view. He didn't want to come back here.

The door shut meekly behind him as he punched in the security code, making a note to himself to call the realtor in the morning. Well, cleaning company first, then realtor. Some techbro influencer would be more than happy to take this hillside property off his hands. Seemed to be a common theme lately.

Fuck. He checked his watch and grimaced. It was half past six and he was sure the Detective had some choice words for him about the missed meeting. She'll understand. But would she? How could she, when he himself couldn't understand what had happened over the last 8 hours. How could she grasp the enormity of the divine, the unholy and everything in-between and behind the curtain that writhed outside the human scope?

He reached for the mobile that was still lying on the passenger seat, scrolling for the Detective's number. Fingers hovered over her name as something wheedled in the back of his mind. It fizzled like the first strike of flint on steel, a brief spark of light illuminating an unseen connection.

BEAUTYFULL.

La belle vue.

Bellevue.

Instead of pressing the Detective's name on the screen, he swiped to the map icon and typed in Beautyfull Bellevue Los Angeles. The screen pulled up a few businesses on Bellevue Avenue, one of which caught his eye. BeautyFull Modeling Agency near Echo Park. He clicked on the link which brought up a polished website. Sleek photographs of faces adorned the main page, some of which he recognized. Another click sent him to the About page where it spewed a few factoids about the pedigree of the agency and how it would Give You the LA Edge over those other assholes at the other agencies. A few names stood out.

Founded in 2016 by Shirley Cooper and Maggie Bernard, BeautyFull Modeling is a full- service agency for the aspiring beauty who is looking to make their mark in California and beyond. Our agency represents aspiring fashion models and offers deep connections in Paris, Milan and Los Angeles' advertising and fashion industries.

Cooper? As in Dean Cooper's daughter? He pulled up another window and typed in the name. An image dated from the early 2000s showed a grainy photo of the late Dean Cooper with two fresh-faced teens outside of his sprawling mansion somewhere in Sonoma County. A boy and a girl. Eric and Shirley Cooper, heir and heiress to the largest investment company on the West Coast. So what was she doing with a modeling company and what the fuck did the little cretin Bernard have to do with it?

Lucifer pulled up the address and started the car. Again, he pushed away the nagging need to dial the Detective. Not yet. Not until we know what we're dealing with here. Adding another piece to the already confusing puzzle would only make things more complicated. For now, he needed to be sure that there was something worth telling. He drove his car out of the driveway and said goodbye to Bird Street.

—

Michael pushed the old sedan a little harder while Chloe did some research on the address that Lucifer had given her.

BeautyFull Modeling Agency. We've Got the LA Edge.

Why had he sounded so upended on the phone over what turned out to be nothing more than a small business? The most sinister thing she could think of were the contract fees but anything outside of your basic white collar crime? No. She searched through the public records for any information that could shed some light but was met with the silver standard. Just another mid-tier business in a city already packed and overflowing with them.

"So what's the deal with this modeling place?" Michael flicked the blinker to signal a right turn.

"I'm not sure. I've never heard of them, so they're not one of the big ones in town. Looks like they do a lot of art photography modeling and small time ads. No faces jump out."

"What's Lucifer doing there then? And why did he sound like that?"

Chloe grimaced at Michael's last question. She had almost convinced herself that she had misheard the strain in Lucifer's voice but it had been real enough for his brother to recognize it for what it was. Had he been there all day or had he been out on his own personal investigation that eventually led him to Echo Park? An inexplainable feeling of being left out overwhelmed her. Here she thought they were a team of some sort. Loosely partners in a loosely crazy investigation. There was no rational explanation for her flare of jealousy. Well, that wasn't completely true. He owed it to her to be honest, keep his appointments and share information. He was the one who had planted the idea of a shapeless partnership. He'd been the one who had chased it down and convinced her to slacken her hard stance on riding it by the books. That's not completely true either, babygirl. It hadn't taken all that much convincing, had it? When the thought of solving a case as fucking huge as this without the supposed hand holding of the department, well, it had been easy enough to let a few small grey areas splotch through.

Slippery slope, monkey. Daddy Decker scolded.

The car veered over a small hill and entered into Echo Park. Michael let up on the gas and gave Chloe a raise of the eyebrows. "Okay, so what's the plan when we get there?"

"You stay in the car. I'm going to go in and find Lucifer, bring him out." There was no room for argument in her tone.

"What if you run into trouble? Lucifer sounded…excited. What if he's in some sort of danger?" He veered the car into the leftmost lane and turned into a parking lot laid out beneath a cluster of office buildings. "Chloe, I'm a trained soldier. I'm more use to you out there than in here."

She shook her head, sending a few errant strands of hair against her cheek. She brushed them off gruffly. "No. This is an in-n-out. I'm gonna find Lucifer and you're both hightailing it out of here. If there's something to find…something to deal with…you're both going to leave it to the blue and whites."

Michael slowed the car down and parked it in one of the front row spaces that flooded into a nondescript glass building. The lot was sparse with cars, most of the lines unfilled as the office crowd had gone home for the evening. Most of the building was dark, except for a strip of windows near the top which casted a dull glow onto the black pavement below. The Detective eyed the floor, knowing that was most likely where the agency resided. A firm hand grabbed her wrist as she reached for the door handle.

"Be careful, Chloe. Send up the bat signal if anything starts getting screwy up there, yeah?" He gave her a sideways smile.

She returned it, letting the awkwardness of the elevator dissipate for a moment. "I will, Master Wayne."

The florescent arches of light from the lamps gave the parking lot an eerie haunted house desolation that surprised Chloe. It brought with it memories of fake fog and long skeletons hung from the ceilings. Daddy had always joked that Chloe lacked imagination—something that would eventually make her a great homicide detective—so her recent boughts of daydreaming and fantastic speculations had left her a bit astonished. It was one thing to use her mind to piece together the what-ifs and maybe-sos of an investigation but that had always come hand in hand with evidence. Physics, math, psychology, forensics: they were the hands that held the paintbrush. They created the basis for her daydreams and hypothesis as she worked through making sense of it all. Dead deers, haunted houses, the funhouse effects of where her mind took her these past few weeks felt unnatural, felt unwholesome.

Chloe rummaged into her purse and pulled out a pair of oversized sunglasses and shoved them on her face. The building looked a little older and probably had shit security surveillance but it was always better to be safe. A bleary-eyed security guard looked up from his desk when Chloe walked through the revolving door. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm looking for BeautyFull Modeling Agency."

"It's appointment only. Do you have one?"

She feigned girlish embarrassment. "Oh, yeah, I do. I'm sorry, they didn't give me instructions on how to check-in for my audition."

The security guard furrowed his brows. "It's after-hours. Auditions are over for the day."

"Yeah, I know. They made me feel so bad about not being able to come in during office hours but the girl on the phone said an agent could meet me after I got offa work." She rolled her eyes. "Gotta pay rent somehow, right?"

The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "Sure. We all don't work nine-to-fives." He pushed a clipboard over the lip of the desk. "Sign in and take the elevator up to the sixteenth floor."

She checked the name on his shirt. "Thank you so much, Cliff. Do you know if the girl at front desk already left for the night? I wanted to tell her thank you in person."

"Nah, she's already gone. Six o'clock on the dot every day."

"Must be nice." She shot him a wink and twiddled her fingers goodbye.

Chloe reached in her purse and palmed the gun in its holster as the elevator made its way up to the sixteenth floor, finding comfort in its outline. The doors slid open to a dimly lit hallway, flanked on either side by a set of glass doors. The one closest to her read as an accounting firm. She peered out of the elevator and saw a large empty receptionists desk through the other set of doors. Most of the lights were turned off in the main waiting area but she could see thin rods of light under a few of the closed doors against the wall as well as the glow of lights down a hallway that led deeper into the office.

She quietly took off her high-heeled boots and placed them on the floor next to the elevator. There had been a pair of old sneakers in her trunk but she hadn't considered them until it had been too late. No problem, we're just doing a quick in-n-out, remember? It may have been overkill to take off her shoes but she didn't want to be put in a situation where she may regret not doing so. Taking out the gun and placing her purse next to her boots, she stalked down the remainder of the hallway.

The door to the agency was unlocked and she slid in quietly. She could hear muffled voices down the hallway but they seemed far off and no immediate danger. Holstering the gun into the waistband of her skirt, she made her way around the formidable intake desk and studied a few of the wooden doors against the left wall. Associate agents, admin assistants, finance. The other side showed much of the same. As she neared one of the windowed break rooms tucked away in the corner of the front room, she could hear the squeak of office furniture against linoleum, a sound she recognized from years of listening to her own chair legs scraping against precinct floors. She crouched as she approached the first set of glass, peering around the wall of vending machines to see who was inside. Gasping, she quickly snapped her body back against the wall.

There were two people having sex inside.

She took a breath and snuck another look. A lithe young looking thing was straddled on top of a man, his hands grabbing the firm flesh of her ass. The woman lifted her hands from around his shoulders and ran them through his hair. A familiar face peeked out from the space between her arm and waist.

Red-faced, she tapped lightly on the window. The woman turned around first, her eyes round white circles of surprise. She clambered off of Lucifer, holding an arm against her chest as she pulled her dress down around her thighs.

Lucifer shot her a disappointed look. "Leaving? It's just the Detective. Don't mind her, she won't judge."

The woman gave an indignant cry. "A detective? That's even worse." She grabbed a large handbag from the floor and stormed out of the room. "I could get in so much trouble." The waft of expensive perfume and sex trailed after her as she brushed past Chloe and around the corner towards the front door.

"Well, that was a rude end to an otherwise lovely time." Lucifer tucked his shirt back into the band of his dress pants and cinched the belt through its head. "Didn't take you for much of a Peeping Tom, Detective." He gave her a devilish grin.

Heat danced across her face. "Here I thought you were in some sort of trouble and instead you're just…playing around."

"Just a quick side-quest. At her behest, I assure you." He shouldered into his suit jacket. "I followed our friend Bruce Polivey into the building. That was the main objective."

"Polivey? Did you follow him here? Is that where you were all morning?" She flinched at the hurt in her voice. It would only feed his ego to allow him to know how much their missed meeting had gotten under her skin.

"No. I had other matters to deal with after that bout of strip-teasing at your place. Led me to this agency and who do I see when I pull up but our friend, Polivey. He was with a few other fellows who didn't strike me as the model types—citizen or otherwise."

"Where are they now?" She motioned to an open button hole.

He pinched it shut and smoothed it over with a hand. "Down the long hall in one of the meeting rooms. Sounds like they're having a row about a few other familiar names. Gio. Joel Bernard. Robbie Bernard. I tried to do some snooping but there's too many people coming and going that I tucked away into this break room until they got settled in." He shrugged. "I got a little sidetracked."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "So it sounds like some of the Bernard faction is here. Why at a modeling agency? How did you end up here?"

"I mean, isn't it obvious with Joel Bernard's wife as co-founder of this agency?" Humor danced in his eyes. "Oh, you didn't know. With that whip smart brain of yours I figured it was the first thing you would have put together. It was on the website."

Another flash of heat. "I was a little pre-occupied trying not to die getting here."

He nodded absently and lowered his voice as he led her towards the hallway at the far end of the reception room. "They've been in there for about a half hour, what say we have a little listen?"

They crept down the hall, passing closed doors with dark windows. The hallway encompassed more than half the length of the building, its quiet grey walls giving her a sense of tunneling that was unnerving. Black and white closeups of faces dotted one side, holding sentry as the pair reached the end of a hallway that widened out into an open workspace. Tightly packed cubicles dotted the space in segments; three entire sides of the room were encased in glass, adorned with nondescript modern office chairs surrounding large melanin tables. In one of the room, she could make out about ten men, some crammed in chairs, others standing against the walls with cigarettes in hand. They seemed to be in the middle of a passionate discussion. She recognized Bruce Polivey in a brown sweater sitting at the far end of the table. Next to him was another familiar scrawny figure: Robbie Bernard. He was slunk into his seat, picking absently at the arm of his chair as the others around him talked in fervor.

The discussion was muffled but she could make out that they were arguing over a deal that wasn't moving along at a pace any of them cared for. Half of the room seemed to be arguing for more pay if things were going to take extra time while the other half seemed to want to back out of the deal citing the stench of backstabbing. Partway around the table, sitting back against the chair with his arms crossed, was a beefy man in a chambray button up. He wasn't particularly interesting to look at—just your average everyday Joe—but the way he was quietly observing the argument, taking stock really, was unnerving. He wore small silver spectacles that only enhanced the deadly android robot vibes he was giving Chloe. A small gasp of surprise slipped out when she felt the hard clamp of Lucifer's hand on her wrist.

"It's him." His gaze was transfixed on the man.

"Which him?" She pointed towards the chambray button up. "That guy?"

He nodded, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Yeah, I've been scoping him out too. Gives me the heebs." She furrowed her brows at the intensity of his face. "Hey, are you okay? What's gotten into you?"

Lucifer clenched his jaw but didn't respond. He wasn't sure he would have the right words to tell her of the dream he had that afternoon. How he had initially thought some version of his grotesque Devil face was racking through his human form, trying to rip off his mortal face so that this true nature could shine through. But the minute his eyes had seen the gleaming spectacles on the man's face, his mind shot an instant connection to his dream. To the spectacles he had felt on his own wobbling dream face. Bet you all the money in the bank that when this man stands up he could run tryouts for the Lakers. This gave his dream completely new meaning: he wasn't becoming the Devil, he was becoming whoever this prannit was. Or some version of him anyways. So who was this Incredible Hulk?

"Hey." She patted the hand that was still shackled around her wrist. "I think it's time for us to get out of here."

With great effort he managed to tear his eyes away from the man in the chambray shirt and balked at the Detective. "What? No. I'm the one that called you here. Besides, we're just listening and not in any real danger." His gaze drifted back to the hulking figure who was now rubbing the bridge of his nose, his glasses catching the overhead florescent lights. Lucifer let go of the Detective's wrist and stalked behind a bank of cubicles.

Sighing, Chloe followed after him, staying low to the ground. Guess it's a good thing I took off those boots. They listened intently to another bout of back and forth before the man with the spectacles slammed a meaty fist onto the tabletop.

"Enough." He didn't yell, which surprised Chloe. His voice was soft but deep. No nonsense. "We've gone back and forth long enough and everyone's had the opportunity to give their two cents. I'm sick of listening to you guys bicker. We're staying on course with the Coopers. Delaney or no Delaney we can manage just fine."

Chloe clutched her silk shirt at the chest. Delaney had to mean Stephen Delaney. This wasn't coincidence.

"We're moving forward. Carefully. There's no time to get shitchicken, okay?" He looked around the table at the sullen faces, some barely containing their anger. "D'accord?" He asked a little more forcefully. The men mumbled their agreement. "No more arguments now. We move forward."

Robbie shifted in his seat uncomfortably and scooted his chair back. "Got it, bossman. Can we wrap this up, I got somewhere I hafta be."

"Junkie." Someone muttered loudly.

The scrawny kid got to his feet. "I'm not going out to get fucking high, okay? I'm meeting with my dad. For dinner." He looked at chambray shirt through the tops of his eyes. "Is that cool with you, Gio?"

This time both Lucifer and Chloe gasped, sharing a wide eyed stare. Gio waved him off with the back of his hand. "Go. All of you." He pointed to Polivey. "Not you. I want a word."

Lucifer started to get up to take a closer look before the men filed out of the room but Chloe shot out a hand. He gave her nod towards the room but she shook her head and pointed at her feet. So? His eyes asked. She wiggled the toes in her tights in response.

Elevator, she mouthed.

A hard line ate its way where his mouth had been but he shooed her forward with his hands, ducking towards the hallway as he heard the meeting room's doorknob click open. She was already halfway down the hall by the time he made it, her hair flying behind her in a loose torrent of panic before disappearing around the corner towards the front room of the agency. He ran quickly after her, willing his shoes to be quiet long enough to make it to the end of the corridor. Thankfully he could hear the loud chatter of the men in the open workspace, talking about a baseball game they had placed bets on earlier in the day. He saw that the Detective was already scooping up her boots and bag on the other side of the glass doors by the time he spilled into the large waiting room. She frantically looked up and down the hallway looking for a way out before running back towards the agency doors. Lucifer spun around, too aware of the oncoming voices of a few angry henchmen and motioned for her to follow him. He slid beneath the frosted glass and wood tabletop of the receptionist's desk. Chloe clambered in after him and slid the rolling chair back to its original spot.

The footfalls grew louder, eventually pouring into the front room with heavy boots and raucous laughter. They were speaking in French, Chloe only able to catch a few words she understood: le fric, biere, l'idiot. Lucifer on the otherhand spoke fluent French—amongst other languages—and rolled his eyes at their frat boy conversations about small dicks and loose sisters. They pushed through the glass doors and down the walkway towards the elevators, their noisiness trailing after them. Eventually they could hear the ding of the elevator as it slid shut, bathing the room in silence again. They waited for a few long minutes in the darkness with bated breath.

Chloe shifted uncomfortably. The wooden floors were biting painfully into her shins and her foot was twisted at an odd angle. One of Lucifer's knees was jutting painfully into her ribs. She started to move her legs out from under her but he held a hand out to stop her. A slender finger came up to his lips, the other cupping his ear. The faint sound of voices came from the other end of the hallway. She stilled.

Lucifer's breathing came in shallow gulps as he heard the deep voice of Gio entering the waiting area followed by the more erratic voice of Bruce Polivey. They stopped next to the front desk, both the feet inches away from the two figures inside the desk cubby. Gio was asking why Polivey had been taken in for questioning a few nights ago. Polivey laughed and lightheartedly told him that his bitch of a girlfriend had called the cops for pushing her around after he had had a few beers.

"You really have to stop smacking her around, you know that?" Gio said in his soft tone.

"She's a good lady but she's got a mouth on her. Drives me nuts sometimes." Bruce cleared his throat. "Anyways, wouldn't be the first time I got canned for loose hands. I was only in for a few days."

"The way some others have heard it, they say you've been loose with more than just your hands. They say you've been getting friendly with the cops."

Bruce gave another laugh, although this one sounded a bit more nervous to Lucifer. "Aw, no. You know I wouldn't collude with no cops, right? With my rap sheet? With two kids to feed? No Gio, it's not like that."

"Always good to ask. Prudent."

"Y-yeah, of course." Bruce's feet shuffled nervously.

"Because if I come to find out you're a sale putain de rat, mon mec. Si c'est nécessaire, je vous tuerai. You know what that means, Bruce? Your French is not so good, but I think you understand me, yes?"

Chloe raised her eyebrow at Lucifer and he made a finger motion across his neck. The universal sign for "I'll kill you". She lowered her eyes, straining to remain absolutely still. She was still on her knees, arms clutching her personal effects tightly against her chest, garnering visions of a farmer's daughter helping with the harvest by the armload, caught in mid-scoop. She had the nervous sweat stains on her back to prove it.

"I understand, Gio. And it's not like that at all. Really."

"Okay. Just be careful with those loose hands. The more you're in front of the cops, the more they're going to pry you open. We can't let them get too close, not when we're only a few weeks away from cashing in." Gio's shoes turned towards the front of the room. "Now lets get outta here. The pictures are giving me the chicken skins." The other pair of shoes followed closely behind.

Again, they heard the elevator chime as the doors slid open and closed, washing the entire floor in eerie silence. Chloe slowly exhaled and unfolded her legs out from under her thighs, wincing at the dead feeling below her hips. Sweat had formed between her skin and the leather boots in her arms, creating a swampy slick feeling that made her slightly nauseous. That had been much too close for comfort. Static danced down the back of her legs as she tried to stand up, careening against the chair when her knees refused to lock. Lucifer crawled out after her, managing to jackknife his leg out and under him in one swift movement. His knees slid easily into place as he stood up, running his hands over the front of his jacket and pants, flicking away the errant dust bunnies that had stowed away.

He made his way to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the reception desk and watched as a few groups of the men loaded into cars and peeled out of the parking lot. After a few minutes, the towering frame of Gio and the smaller figure of Polivey exited the building and parted ways. His eyes traced the route of Gio's Mercedes as it pulled out of its parking space, over a speed bump and turned onto the main road. Now the lot was dotted with a few unoccupied cars, napping patiently in their designated spots until their late-working drivers would awaken them for a drowsy car ride home.

"I think the coast is clear." He turned around to see Chloe still in the chair, rubbing her thighs. "I want to follow Gio, see where he's going."

"Yeah, give me a minute to get the feeling back in my legs." She dropped the purse and boots onto the floor next to her in a clattering heap. "They're full-on dead."

He came around the desk to help her up when his eyes met another set from the other side of the door. Two men were standing with hands on the glass, two of Bernard's (or was it Gio's) men from the earlier meeting. One was midway to opening the door when they had noticed they were not alone.

"Who the fuck are you two?" The one opening the door yelled. The other pushed past him and was reaching into the band of his pants.

Shit, a gun. Chloe jumped up from the chair, sending it careening into a false wall adorned with the BeautyFull logo. Her pinpricked legs wobbled and buckled under her in a half-awake stupor. Frantic hands shot back into the waistband of her skirt, grabbing for the handle of her glock. I'm not gonna make it. Bright bursts of pain shot up her neck as she landed on her shoulder, rolling toward the large reception desk. She heard a tearing sound as her shirt caught on something sharp and tore a hole along the back, followed by a searing scar of heat. She wondered briefly when she had last gotten a tetanus shot.

The looming figure of Lucifer careened overhead, sliding across the desktop, sending office supplies raining down around her. She heard the hard thump of bodies connecting with bodies and saw through the crack in the bottom of the desk that he was wrestling on the ground with the guy who had a gun. She shot back up onto her knees and reached for the gun again, but was met with a white blur that connected squarely with her shoulder. The other man's sneaker pulled back again, ready to administer another blow. Hands shot up to block the kick to her face. Jagged teeth bit into her palms as the foot clipped the pinky on her left hand, breaking it. Letting out a yell, she fell backwards, trying to roll away from his stomping foot but he pinned her down with a hard knee to the stomach. Air came out in an explosive burst, caving in her chest, her lungs until she felt like she was filled with nothing. Strong hands found traction against the thin skin of her throat, outlining the faded bruise of the last person who had tried to choke her out. Deep fear pooled in her gut as she tried to buck the red-faced man off of her. Small hands pried uselessly against his, her broken finger protruding at angles that made her feel like passing out. Not like this. Please God, not like this. She thought of Trixie's tiny smile, her raucous laughter, the weird little dance she did every night while brushing her teeth. Please, I don't want that to be the last time I get to see that dance. Clenching her stomach, mustering the last of her strength, she twisted her hips up and over, pistoning her thighs into the air. The man tumbled over, loosening his grip on her neck long enough for her to take a screeching breath. His hands were clenching at her hair, her shirt, trying to gain their place back around her throat. Getting onto her hands and knees, she started to crawl away from him and as she felt his fingers try to wrap around her ankle, she shot one of her legs back to connect with the soft wad of flesh between his legs. Hope I broke them into a million pieces, motherfucker. She turned to see the man clenching his crotch, a twisted sneer of pain contorting his face. Beyond him she could see Lucifer connecting a solid punch to the other man who reeled back, clutching his stomach. He gave out a loud yell before reaching into his pocket and coming back out with a hunting knife in a leather sheath. Focus, babygirl. This time it was the voice of Daddy Decker. Gotta light that bat signal.

They needed Michael. They needed backup. Shit, they needed the whole damn cavalry.

She got up on shaky legs and grabbed the rolling chair by the sides, blindly feeling for them in the dark. With a grunt, she lifted it off the wheels and threw it against the bank of windows behind the desk. It pinwheeled once through the air and clashed against the glass, shooting spiderwebs out along the point of impact but the glass didn't break. Black spots started to dance across her vision as she felt her body weakening, getting ready to take an unscheduled break. Grabbing the toppled chair by the looped arms, she lifted it again and with a strained scream swung it in a half-arc against the windows. It gave away with a sharp crack and she let go of the chair, allowing it to tumble out of the shattered window and down to its death sixteen floors below. Tired legs buckled under her and she skidded to the floor, slivers of glass biting into her knees and hands. It would take him too long to get here. Too long to keep the lumbering figure from crossing the room to finish the job and she would be too weak to stop him. Too long for Lucifer to fend off a gun-totting, knife-wielding maniac from gutting him like a prize stag. Chloe looked up through the tops of her eyes at the staggering figure headed towards her, his hand outstretched, his lips pulled back in a feral grin. This was the face of the devil. This was the face of her demise. A hot tear slipped down her cheek as she closed her eyes and tried to bring up an image of Trixie.

—

Claude Thereaux's balls were on fire. The little bitch had hit him dead on with the heel of her foot, sending a shockwave of pain through his crotch and all the way down to the bottoms of his feet. White pinpricks of pain had shot prisms behind his eyes. He felt like his balls had been kicked up into his goddamn throat. A deep retched gurgled up from his stomach and he curled up tightly trying to fight off the nausea. I'm gonna kill that bitch.

A thin string of spit hung from his lower lip as he rolled onto his arms and knees, pausing for a few moments to allow the wave of pain to subside from between his thighs. The loud crash of something breaking registered dully but he didn't want to open his eyes to check. Not yet. Not until the feeling of choking tightness moved on. With a loud grunt, he hoisted himself onto his feet, fighting another bout of gagging. I'm gonna wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until her eyes pop out. Each pulse of pain in his groin added another notch onto his blind rage. I'll pop em out and eat them smeared on a piece of toast, that goddamn pussybitch. I'll tear her fucking head clean off of her shoulders and punt it down the street for the dogs to eat. Clawed hands reached out in anticipation, ready for another hug around her slim throat.

Claude Thereaux tottered towards the bent figure of the woman. He kicked aside a pencil cup, sending a few pens clattering over the floorboards. You're mine now, you sick bitch. A horrid grin sliced across his face, filled with murder and glee. The woman was slumped on her hands and knees, head lolling from side to side. She didn't seem like she would be conscious for much longer. Claude quickened his stagger, wanting to reach her and make her look into his face before she passed out. He wanted her to know who was stealing her life. He wanted her to know that once she closed her eyes, they would never reopen again.

He was halfway there when he felt a cool rush of wind that blew his long hair back at the temples. The scent of bittersweet myrrh and that particular smell of a perfectly Californian night full of wet mountains and salted water wafted in from the shattered windows. He stopped.

The bitch was growing wings.

The dark room expanded with whispers of feathers and steel. Like a demon hellspawn, she had sprouted inky black wings that ate up all the remaining light in the room. They greedily devoured his eyes, his screams, his reasoning. Obsidian stone wings that beat once, spraying slivers of glass onto his face.

Claude Thereaux opened his mouth in a horrified twist. A gurgled scream started to pour out of the open, mangled hole. He squeezed his eyes shut. They were unable to hold the ruinous display of terror for too long. They simply did not want to. Still, those wings had also been so utterly beautiful. He willed his eyes open again, hungrily wanting to take another look at those wings so devoid of light and glory. Claude saw now that the wings weren't sprouting from the bitch who had kicked him in the balls but that something was behind her. Something big. Something flying in the goddamn air. He had a moment to wonder what kind of bird would have wings that large. A moment to gaze in splendor at the deadly beauty of gleaming black feathers from another world. A moment to reach a shaky hand out in worship of this new god before the wings spread out to their furthest reaches—Jesus, they can touch the sky, they can touch the ends of the world, he screamed—before they shot forward, the feather tips pointed like daggers, and cut the life of Claude Thereaux short.

—

Lucifer had turned at the sound of breaking glass, scanning his eyes for the Detective. He knew she was an adept fighter and fully capable of holding her own but he also knew they were in dire trouble. The two men had gotten the jump on them and he had tried his best to keep them both occupied so the Detective could get her gun but the larger of the two men had blindsided Lucifer, allowing the other to slip away.

Glass was everywhere. The entire space behind the front desk was littered with tiny glimmering shards from two blown out and one partially cracked window. The Detective was hunched over the mouth of the mess, her head hanging loosely against her chest. A few twinkles of glass glimmered at the roots of hair that hung in a river of matted blonde. He was too far away to know if the dark spots on her hand and knees were blood, but he was nearly certain. A lurching form was making its way towards her, its arms outstretched like the caricature of a bad zombie movie.

The Detective was in trouble. The real deep shit.

He moved towards the zombie walker but a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around his chest and tore him off of his feet. The ceiling winked into view as he was toppled over backwards, his neck and shoulders slamming into the hard surface of the wooden floors. The air escaped his lungs in a big rush. Red spots kaleidoscoped in his vision. No, this wouldn't do. Not at all.

With one last glance to make sure the Detective wasn't looking towards them, he broke the chains of human constraints and allowed the Devil to slip out. His face cracked in angry fissures, hot steam rising for breath in the cool air now coming through the broken windows. Gnarled claws reached back and grabbed the man by the shoulders, piercing talons biting into the yielding flesh like an overripe avocado. A quick flick of his arms pinwheeled the man up and over to the other side of the room, his back was a shredded mess of skin and shirt. He propped himself up on elbows, quivering at the hellscape that met him where a well-dressed British man had been only moments ago.

Richard Thereaux, brother of the soon-to-be-dead Claude Thereaux, had only been in the state for two months before today to visit his fuck-up brother and keep an eye on him, as per their father's request. He had swatted the back of Claude's head when his brother had realized that he had left his coat and wallet back in the meeting room. They were going to miss the first round of beers at the bar down the street and would get stuck buying the second round for everyone if they didn't hurry the fuck up. This had definitely not been on their agenda of after-work festivities. He brought a hand up to the back of his shirt and winced at the sponginess of what should have been skin. Now he was looking at a monster that should have been man.

Legs kicked out frantically as Richard scooted up against the wall, his back leaving messy smears of blood against the stark white paint. Glowing yellow eyes seared down at him. Red baked scales burned on rough cheeks. It was the face of Satan. He had come to Earth to collect penance for the messed up shit that Richard and his brother were constantly getting themselves into. Instead of coming for Richard, the Devil broke left, going after the lumbering Claude Thereaux. Instant relief flooded Richard. I love you Claude but I can't live in eternity with that thing.

Lucifer stalked towards Claude, ready to reunite him with his brother when a dark shadow passed over the room. Although, passed over wasn't the right word. Not exactly. A darkness seemed to consume the light in the room, devoured down the gullet of a hideous creature who had broken through the Earth's crust, eyeless and yawning. It swallowed the already lightless room into a deep void of emptiness. It felt as though they all ceased to exist.

A hot gust of wind rushed through the room and Lucifer heard the zombie walker's scream cut short with a gurgle. A thud. Then, light.

"For fuck's sake, Lucifer. What the hell happened?" Michael alighted into the room, his dark wings now carefully on either side of the Detective.

He motioned to the trembling but alive Thereaux brother against the wall. "Little hiccup."

"Is she…" Michael shook the curled form laying in the broken remains of the window. "We've got to get her out of here." He gently placed his arms under her and lifted the small body against him. She groaned in response. A large pink splotch shone against her neck, reminding Michael of the night at Lux where she had broken down after the liquor room fight. Her crumpled shape, the strings of blood on her hands and knees, the tender whites of her eyes…they reignited that deeply buried feeling of desire. Like that previous night, he wondered how much joy Lucifer would take in knowing his goody-two-shoes brother had a deep carnal impulse that threaded his thoughts. Another groggy moan came from Chloe and he could feel her start to stir. Michael opened his wings and jumped out of the window.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and grabbed the Detective's personal effects from where they had fallen haphazardly out of her lap.

"What're you gonna do with me?" Richard Thereaux whimpered.

Lucifer threw a cursory glance at the sniveling man and hoisted the boots and purse under an arm. "I want nothing to do with trash like you." He opened the main office's glass door. "You'll get what's coming to you when it's all said and done. I'll be there to make sure of it."

He left behind the quivering form of the remaining Thereaux brother, who was now an only child. Lucifer envied him of his newly appointed stature. If only it were so easy to get rid of his own troublesome brother. He went to press the call button for the elevator but saw the overhead panel marked its slow trajectory towards their floor already. Downstairs somewhere the security guard had surely heard the commotion and was on his way up to investigate. Lucifer glanced around the hall and saw a stairway at the end. The metal bar for the door stuck halfway through and he saw that there was a black keycard reader next to it. Locked. So much for accessible fire safety, he scoffed.

With a swift kick, he blew open the door and started to race his way down sixteen flights of stairs, taking some three or four steps at a time. Another kick sent the door to the main floor exploding outward, the heavy hinges rattling in their thick brackets. The lobby was empty, its sole sleepy occupant now distracted to the loud upper floors and Lucifer ran out of the swinging doors, the Detective's long boots clunking dumbly against his hip. A warm breeze blew against his hot skin, sending bits of grainy dirt from the parking lot into his eyes. Squinting, he saw the dull gold of the Detective's rental car behind a dark blue sedan with Michael crouched over near one of the taillights, Chloe still in his arms.

"Has she come to?" Lucifer asked as he approached them.

"She's in and out. One of her fingers looks broken." He looked up and his brother was surprised to see fear in Michael's eyes. "I think we should take her to the hospital."

"Okay, get in the car, I'll drive. You stay with her in the backseat." Lucifer opened his hands for the keys.

Michael grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. "Lucy." His eyes were locked on a red stain near his ribs. "What the hell is that?"

He looked down and was dumbstruck to see a two-inch gash through his dress shirt, glistening and red with blood. His blood.

"Looks like you might need a visit to the hospital as well." Bemusement danced in his brother's voice.

Chloe stirred, a gurgled moan slipping past her lips. "No. Ho-pital." Her left eye fluttered open, then her right. "I—" A loud click as she tried to swallow. "I'm. Okay."

"Detective, you are one hundred percent not okay." Lucifer hovered over her, the tangle of boots under his arm now bumping against the back of his thigh. "We're taking you to the emergency room to get checked out."

A thin tongue tried to wet her cracked bottom lip. "Trixie." She lolled her eyes to Michael. "Please." A delicate tear smeared in the corner of her eye. "I. I need to see her."

Michael nodded. "Okay. Trixie first. Do you feel strong enough to stand?"

She stilled for a moment, as if taking stock of her body. "Yes." The slight waver in her calves passed as Lucifer took her outstretched hand and steadied her. "We should—We should get out of here before—before cops come."

Chloe slid into the passenger seat and rested her head against the backrest. Grey shadows still ebbed in her vision, painting the car in swaths of old newspapers. A steady hard pulse throbbed its drum at the base of her neck and she was sure that this time there must have been some major damage—throat, brain, all of it. Hot wavy breath slid out between her lips in shallow laps, raining fire down her throat as she tried to recount the moments after she had thrown the chair out of the window. It had been another of those splotchy looks of discoloration. Bloodied palms twinkling with glass, rough hardwood biting into her knees. Waves of pain and darkness flitting at the edges of her vision as it tunneled around her. The feeling of it physically entombing her in what felt like angel's wings: safe, warm. She had let go then. Given in to the embrace, all thoughts of her daughter, her life, her willingness to cling to all of it…released. She had gone in and out, winking awake in micro-seconds only to blurs of noise and chaos, then retreated back into the warmth of nothing. When she had come to, her first and only thought was of Trixie. Of her gap-toothed smile and sunny eyes. Of her aching need to wrap her arms around her small body and bury her face into her hair. To breath in her innocence and goodness.

The car sputtered awake as Lucifer turned the key, jamming the gears into drive. "Detective, I know you want to see this daughter of yours but I really think we should get to a doctor. Your neck…your hands…"

She shook her head. "Trixie first. I'll be okay. I'm feeling better."

Lucifer met Michael's eyes through the rearview mirror. The man in the backseat shrugged. "Okay, Chloe. Trixie first." His brother placed a hand on her shoulder. "Lucy, you've got that doctor friend that makes house visits, yeah? Maybe you should give him a call. Have him meet us at Chloe's place."

"He'll try to charge us a fortune for coming out this late." Despite his scowl, he handed his phone to Michael. "Under Jason Apollo. If he balks, tell him he owes me one. A big one."

A dry squeal pierced the quiet neighborhood as Lucifer pushed the old sedan through a yellow light, crossing his fingers against oncoming traffic. There was no immediate need to peel through Echo Park with such speed lust—the Detective was awake and mostly lucid—but he wanted to put major distance BeatyFull and himself. The feeling of helplessness had been thick, knowing that the Detective was teetering on the verge of having her life winked out. And that dull look of defeat in her eyes…it had unnerved him. Was it that easy for humans to disappear from this mortal plane? One pair of hands around a throat and suddenly Dad's judgement passes from Earth to Heaven or Hell. One small twist of a knife, one little bullet shot from a gun, one thoughtless cross of the street without looking both ways and, bam, you're wiped away and forgotten. Rinse and repeat. It seemed a cruel environment to create for these creatures that He had made in His image. The asshole.

Another squawk as a front wheel bumped the curb of the Detective's driveway, sending their heads bobbing up and down. Before he had even shifted the car into park, she was spilling out of the car, stumbling for the first few steps before clambering up the short stairs of the porch. She reached for her keys in a purse that wasn't on her shoulder—it was still propped haphazardly near Michael in the backseat of her car—and resorted to pounding on the door instead. Alarmed footsteps approached and after a moment she saw Sarah their babysitter's face peek through the window next to the front door.

"Mrs. Espinoza, are you okay? Where are your keys?" Sarah took a step back as Chloe stumbled into the front room. "Mrs. Espinoza?"

Chloe didn't have the strength to correct the babysitter who had been watching Trixie since she was old enough to start preschool. Old habits died hard.

"Trixie." The detective tried to run a hand through her tangled hair.

"She's getting ready for bed upstairs." Sarah palmed Chloe's shoulder. "Mrs. Espin—Ms. Decker—you're bleeding. I think we should get you to a hospital. I'm going to call Dan to come and get—" She froze when she saw two tall men approaching the front porch. "Hey! Who're you!" Sliding her body in front of the distraught Ms. Decker, she flicked the porch light on, hoping to scare the strangers away. "Get outta here!"

The man in front, the one with the nice suit and perfect row of teeth, held up a hand. "We're with the Detective. We brought her here. Against our better judgement."

Another man, almost identical to the first—Jesus Christ, twins—gave her a lopsided grin that felt out of place for the situation. "Hi, you must be Sarah, Trixie's babysitter. Do you mind if we come in and make sure Chloe is all right? We've got a doctor on the way."

Sarah nodded, suspiciously. These two didn't strike her as law enforcement and the one in the nice suit definitely didn't strike her as the type of man Ms. Decker would be riding around town with, case or no case. Still, the other one had mentioned the detective and her daughter by name. Hell, he had known her own name and if this was some sort of home invasion then these men had done thorough research. The young woman stepped aside and motioned for them to come in. "Ms. Decker, do you want me to—" She turned around but the detective was already halfway down the hallway. Mr. Nice Suit pushed past Sarah and caught up with Chloe at the foot of the stairs.

"Detective." Lucifer gently grabbed Chloe's forearm and turned her around.

"I want to see my daughter." A wild fear foamed to the top of her eyes. "I have to."

Lucifer softened. "Okay. But first, lets do a little cleaning up. No need to scar her for the rest of her life looking like you do." He led her off of the first step and she followed in an absent empty way.

The kitchen sink sputtered cool water onto a dishrag he had found in one of the drawers. Next he placed a tall glass under the spout and placed it alongside the Detective once it was nearly full. He held out the hand with the washrag and looked at her expectantly, like a mother to a petulant child. "Lets get this over with, yes?"

A light twist of distaste marred her features but she gave him her hand. With a gentleness that seemed unbefitting to a man who had only taken care of himself for the last few centuries, Lucifer wiped down first the left hand, then the right, carefully fingering away any slivers of glass that were still embedded in her palms, being careful not to disturb the pinky finger that was now an angry shade of pink. Sighing, he motioned to her knees. She continued to stare at him, disengaged and somewhere else, then finally gave an imperceptible nod.

He was mildly aware that Michael and the babysitter were watching from the living room, partaking in mild chatter while they waited. Upstairs he could hear the water running, a low rumble of a bathtub filling, then a few minutes later, the muffled splash-splash and porcelain squeaky skids of a kid having a swimming party. Inside, he felt numb. There was always a measure of detachment he had with humans. It came easy to view them as lesser beings—blind, listless things with too many airs of self-importance and self-preservation. His connection to them beyond the need to feed his own desires and wants were thin and always at arms length, maybe out of necessity for his own self-preservation or for theirs. He wasn't sure if either of it were true but they didn't necessarily feel like a lie either. Divination always went hand-in-hand with detachment though, didn't it? When one had to sacrifice or be the sacrificed…the knowing that time was just a few thousand circles around the sun all for the pleasure of one God…well, how could anyone find love and peace in that? How could he, as a celestial, be tasked with opening his heart to creatures that would blink in and out of this world on the vast timeline of existence?

Lucifer rinsed out the kitchen towel and paused in front of Chloe, his hand with the damp cloth hovering near his chest. "May I?" His eyes searched hers for a few seconds before she lowered her gaze. He gingerly wiped her face of the soot and sweat that had accumulated from the last few hours, taking care not to press too hard against her skin. She flinched when he brought the towel past her jawline and he snapped his hand back. "Maybe this part is better left in your hands." He held out the cloth and after a moment she took it in one of hers but didn't use it. Lucifer turned to Sarah. "Is there a medicine cabinet downstairs?"

The young woman took a step forward. "Yes, in the half bath down the hall. I can grab whatever you need."

He waved a hand. "No, it's all right, I'll take a look."

Bright white light flicked onto a small bathroom painted a rosy beige, the same color of the coastal sands found a few miles from here. A glass medicine cabinet hung above a plain white sink and Lucifer pried it open. The shelves were full of basic first aid items: antibiotic creams, Band-Aids with brightly drawn cartoon characters, swabs and salves all in various states of use. He grabbed the rubbing alcohol. The closed cabinet reflected back a face in pensive thought. He didn't much care for the furrowed brows or the lines that dimpled his turned down mouth. The last few weeks had thrown an annoying wrench in his long line of hedonism but tonight had been particularly irksome. Again, that feeling of helplessness welled up. If Michael hadn't shown up when he did, would Lucifer have made it in time to stop the lurching figure of the other Thereaux brother from throttling the Detective? If Michael hadn't been there, would the Detective be lying on a steel table instead of sitting in the kitchen in a state of shock? It had been a mistake to call the Detective to the modeling agency. He was more than capable of handling and doling out his own version of justice. Had never needed someone to give him permission. Had never needed someone there as witness or jury. So why did he feel he needed the Detective there tonight, what was the strong compulsion that wanted her to bear witness to what he had found?

Aggravated, he untucked his dress shirt and opened the buttons to reveal the annoying gash on his side. The pain was dull, almost a nuisance, and the bleeding had been minimal but its existence still baffled Lucifer. Never in his life, from Heaven to Hell to Earth, had anything mortal been able to harm him. Yet the rebuttal to this fact was staring back at him, like an evil grin. He grabbed a few cotton balls from a glass container above the toilet and dipped them in the alcohol. They came away in smears of blurry reds and pinks, a picturesque testament to something changing inside of him. Something he didn't want to see.

Michael and Sarah were standing next to Chloe when Lucifer came back into the kitchen. The babysitter was telling the Detective a story about something her daughter did that afternoon. A soft thaw had happened during his trip to the bathroom and he was relieved to see that she was delicately wiping at her neck with her non-injured hand while she listened. The squeaks and splashes from upstairs had stopped, replaced by the slow gurgling drain of the bathtub. The Detective's daughter was singing a song about Jake the Dog, her dampened voice echoing down the stairs in giddy delight. There was still a lot of innocence in that voice, an observation that Lucifer found distasteful. It would only be a few short years before that would be taken away from her, as she started to see the world around her more fully. As the monsters under the bed became the monsters that roamed the streets in search of innocence such as hers.

A tinkling of laughter pulled Lucifer back into the kitchen. The Detective seemed more composed now, more together and herself. More human and less law. "It sounds like your little cretin is finishing up." He eyed the ceiling.

Chloe placed the washcloth on the kitchen counter and stood up. "I'd like to see her now." She turned to Sarah and smoothed out the front of her blouse. "Do I look okay?"

The young woman nodded and grabbed a hold of Chloe's hand. "As good as one can after what happened to you. We can turn down the lights cause God knows she's got eyes like an eagle. But she may ask." Sarah led her up the stairs, still tenderly holding the detective's hand.

"Fucking hell, Michael." Lucifer wheeled around to his brother once the two women were upstairs. "What was that about?"

"Which part, Lucy? The part where you begged Chloe to come meet you at the modeling agency—you know, the one full of crazy degenerates—or the part where you almost let her die?" Michael grabbed the discarded towel and threw it into the sink. "I don't know what happened up there in the twenty short minutes it took to have an office chair come crashing out of the window but it's on you."

"You killed someone." Hot venom welled in his throat.

"And you almost got Chloe killed." He slapped a fist into his hand. "Don't start throwing around this morally empathetic superiority with me. You couldn't keep her safe so I had to do what needed to be done for the greater good. Dad would have understood."

"Don't you dare bring up Dad in this. Don't you fucking dare."

"You failed her, Lucy. You failed her by calling her into the lion's den like some modern day Daniel. You failed her by putting your own selfish needs before the safety of the people you pull into your little web of debauchery." Michael snarled. "If you should be mad at anyone, look in the damn mirror."

Oh, but he had, hadn't he? Not more than a few minutes ago he had looked into the mortal reflection of a mortal's face and he had turned away at what he saw. "Her safety is not my sole responsibility. She can take care of her own. She's capable."

"Not your responsibility? You're a fucking angel, Lucifer. A celestial being of unimaginable power. You were created to protect and serve all of creation—humans included."

"Is that what I'm doing down there?" Lucifer stalked over to his brother and motioned to the floor. To what lay beyond the floor. "Am I serving and protecting them down there while I stick hot pokers in their eyes and create horrors for them to relive for all of eternity?"

"This isn't about your qualms with Dad's decision. This isn't about your fuck-up and your punishment. This is about your inability to care beyond yourself and how that almost got someone I happen to care about killed."

Lucifer threw up his hands. "And what about the one you killed? Just because you didn't care about that one, it justifies what you did to him? If you want to start preaching about self-serving justice, make sure you're casting the right stones, brother."

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about what those stones are doing to you." He pointed to Lucifer's blood-stained shirt. "You may not be as all-powerful as you think. Your time here…it's taking its toll."

A loud purposeful cough caught both men by surprise. Lucifer whirled around and was met with a sheepish middle aged man carrying a small brown handbag. "Uh, I knocked a few times but no one answered so I let myself in." Doctor Jason Apollo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just going to forget everything I heard in the last few minutes. Where's the patient?"

Heat flashed across Lucifer's face as he motioned for the doctor to follow him upstairs. He wasn't worried about the doctor's discretion over what he had heard. One of the reasons Doctor Apollo was so expensive was that he operated with tight lips as long as one paid the right price. What he was worried about was the judgement the good doctor would pass about Lucifer and if his row with his brother would sever his own position of power. The Detective almost died and here all you can think about is your own social standing? Pathetic. Maybe you have been up here for too long. Maybe it's time to go back and carry on with your punishment. You sure sound like you deserve it. As small and guilty as Lucifer felt, every part of him cried out against the thought of going back to Hell. Anywhere but there, his body pleaded. Anything but that.

The two men waited at the top of the stairs as Chloe and Sarah fussed over the little girl in one of the small upstairs bedrooms. They had gotten Trixie into an oversized shirt adorned with the faces of five young men—NSYNC it said—and were now all sitting on the bed, listening to a story the girl was telling. Chloe was sitting behind her daughter, legs splayed out on either side, holding her small back tightly against her chest. The three of them laughed loudly as Trixie smiled the smile of those who loved the spotlight. The Detective placed a hard kiss on the top of her daughter's head and Lucifer felt another twang of guilt.

"Can I sleep in gramma's room tonight?" Trixie motioned to the bedroom around them. "Her bed is so much more comfy than mine."

"How about we have a sleepover in my bed tonight, monkey?" Chloe brushed a damp clump of hair from the girl's face. "We can even make some popcorn and watch a movie as long as you promise to brush up after."

Her daughter's eyes lit up and she bounced forward off of the bed. "Whoa, really? The kind with lotsa butter? None of that low calorie stuff dad eats." She cocked her hip and placed a hand on her waist. "It's gross and tastes like little pieces of paper."

"Sure, babygirl. We'll bring out the good stuff for tonight."

"All right!" She turned on her heels and ran out of the room. "I'll go put it in the microwave right now! Oh!" Trixie stopped right outside the bedroom door and palmed a mess of hair out of her eyes. "It's you! You were here this morning."

Lucifer shrugged. "Thought I'd drop by to say good night."

"Are you gonna watch movies with us?" Again, that cocking of the hip and the bossy hand to the waist. "You hafta tell me now so I know how much popcorn to make."

Oh, she was rightfully going to be a handful for the Detective when she got older. Lucifer pursed his lips in thought. "How about you start with two bags and we'll see where your mother's heart lies on my presence during your movie night." The girl nodded solemnly and tumbled down the stairs two at a time. He led Doctor Apollo to the bedroom door and peered in. "Detective, do you mind if the doctor takes a look at you for a moment? Take a little bit of inventory and make sure you're all right?"

Chloe nodded and Jason Apollo walked into the room and laid his bag down on the bed. Lucifer motioned to the babysitter but she gave him a frown. "Nuh-uh. I'm staying right here with Ms. Decker." She gave Chloe a raised eyebrow. "Is that okay with you? Do you trust these dumbasses with Trixie downstairs?" Another nod.

With an exasperated sigh, Lucifer turned away and headed back down the stairs. Trixie was in the kitchen, two plastic bags in hand, chattering excitedly with Michael. She held up the packages and gave Lucifer a gapped smile. "Can I put both of them in at the same time?"

Michael took one of the bags from her hand and pulled open the plastic. "That's a lot of popcorn for one person."

"It's not just for me. It's for me and my mom. And maybe Lucifer if mom says it's okay for him to stay over." She slipped the plastic off of her bag and took the one in Michael's hands. "I've never done two at the same time though. Do you think it'll be okay?"

Michael raised his eyebrows toward his brother and Lucifer was delighted to see jealousy in them. "Hm, what do you think?" Michael pulled the stainless handle of the microwave and Trixie put both of the bags inside.

"Let's try it. For science." She giggled as she punched in the numbers. The machine kicked on and after a few moments they heard the first few pops. "It's so cool that you guys are twins! What's that like?" Soft brown eyes looked up into Michael's face as she lowered her voice. "Do you sometimes switch places and play tricks on your friends and your parents?"

Michael lowered his own voice. "Yes, but we'll get in trouble if you tell anyone."

The girl placed both hands over her mouth and giggled again. "Are you gonna stay to watch a movie too? You know, if mom says it's okay? We can watch a twin movie if you'd like."

He smiled. "I live inside of a twin movie, my dear. But sure, we can watch a twin switching movie but only if the movie is It Takes Two, deal?"

Trixie gasped. "That's my favorite one!" She opened a cabinet near the floor and pulled out a large plastic bowl. "Mom doesn't like twinning movies because she says they don't make logical sense but it'll be three against one and then she'll hafta watch it."

"It's only fair." Buttery steam rose up into the air as Michael opened one of the bags and poured the contents into the awaiting bowl.

"What about you, Lucifer?" She glanced over her shoulder. "What's your favorite twin movie?"

"A Zed & Two Noughts."

Michael gave him a reproachful look.

Trixie shrugged. "Never heard of it. Does it have the Olsen twins?"

"No. It's a film by a Welch bloke named Peter Greenaway who explores the ideas of birth and death. I'm surprised you haven't heard of it." Lucifer crossed his arms and gave her a twist of the lips.

After a brief pause Trixie rolled her eyes and continued filling the bowl. "Mister, you're weird and I like it." She held onto the bottom of the container with both hands and looked from Michael to Lucifer. "I vote we start the movie while the popcorn's hot. I'm sure mom won't mind." She pattered over to the living room without looking back.

"You've got to be kidding me." Lucifer shook his head at his brother. "I'm not watching a kid's movie with that thing."

"Why? You got somewhere better to be?" Michael walked out of the kitchen and sat next to Trixie.

"Why, yes, I do." He called after Michael but still came into the living room and hovered near the edge of the couch.

After a few moments two sets of footsteps came down the stairs. Doctor Apollo was reciting instructions to the babysitter about medication and left her with his private number. Lucifer approached them, shaking the doctor's hand.

"I gave her a low dose of a mild sedative, just to calm her nerves a little and bring down her blood pressure. Help with the pain in her finger. She's coherent and lucid, albeit a little spacey." He nodded goodbye to Sarah then grabbed Lucifer's arm and walked with him towards the front door. "Listen, she's had some reoccurring trauma to her neck. Physically it'll take a few days of rest and care but mentally…" the doctor squeezed his eyes, "I mean, man, she's a tough lady but her mental state is fragmenting. I'd see if you could convince her to see a doctor about it. That's the kind of stuff that gives people PTSD."

Lucifer nodded and opened the door. "Thank you, Doctor Apollo. I'll look into it."

Jason Apollo turned to walk away but paused for a moment. "You know I'm the last man to pass judgement, seeing as how I'm a moonlighting doctor-for-hire, but whatever situation this whole thing is embroiled in. With beat-up detectives and twin brothers and young bystanders," his shoulders slumped, "Mr. Morningstar, I sure hope it ends right-side-up." The doctor shuffled down the porch steps and into a black Mercedes parked along the street.

"I don't know who you guys are and at this point I don't think I really want to know, but that doctor's right: it better end right-side-up." The babysitter approached Lucifer. "I've known this family for a long while. Watched Trixie grow up, watched them work together even after it all fell apart just to give their kid a good life. If you two are here to mess that up for them, my advice is for you to scoot your asses outta here and don't look back."

"I intend to do no such thing." Still, he could feel a flush creep along his face and was grateful for the lightless hallway.

"Right. Good intentions, huh? Well, you know what they say about that, right?" She scowled. "You strike me as the type to be full of good intentions that lead straight into the mouth of Hell and you'll grab as many souls as you can on the way there. I see it in your eyes. They're damned."

The stairs creaked as Chloe shuffled downstairs, her pale hand holding onto the wooden railing. "Is everything okay?"

Sarah came to meet her at the landing and held onto her shoulder. "Yeah, I was just relaying some information to your friend here." The woman shot him another withering look. "Doc said you'll be feeling a little airy for a few hours so you gotta stay off of your feet tonight, okay? You want me to fix you up some supper?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. It's getting late and I know you have to be up early tomorrow for your classes." She walked her to the door, just as Doctor Apollo had done to Lucifer earlier. "Thank you, Sarah. For being here. For helping to deal with all of this."

The younger woman held one of the detective's hands in both of her own. "Ms. Decker. Chloe. I love your family and I'm here however you need me to be." A gentle squeeze. "If anything happens. If you start feeling…unsafe," she flicked her eyes towards Lucifer, "call me right away. Call Mr. Espinoza right away." She waited for another nod and brushed by Lucifer without so much as a glance.

He frowned and closed the door loudly. "Well, she's a real treat, hm?"

"She's good folks." Chloe closed her eyes and rested her back against the wall. "Lucifer."

"Yes?"

"What happened back there?" A delicate vein stood out along her forehead as she clenched her jaw. "I mean, I know what happened but…after that. When I was passed out. I thought for sure I was a goner."

Lucifer leaned against the door and carefully watched her features, waiting for a thread of recollection to rear up and put the pieces together but she remained still. "We stopped that from happening. Michael and I."

"Permanently?" Another firm clench of the jaw.

"Well, yes. One of them."

She shot open her eyes and they burned unnaturally. "The one that was coming for me?"

He nodded.

"God, Lucifer. I'll have to report it and I don't know how I'm going to explain away this one. I feel like my life as of late has been," she motioned helplessly with her hands, "a nightmare. All of this. Ten years on the force and I've never had a case that put me in so much danger. Not even Palmetto when the bullets were flying." A shaky hand reached up and raked through a tangle of blonde. "It's been the weirdest, hardest few weeks ever since—" She sighed but didn't finish the sentence.

"Ever since you met me."

"Yes. No. No, that's not what I meant. This case feels different somehow. Wrong. I don't feel like myself. I'm not acting like myself."

"Detective." He took a few steps forward and held up a hand to place on her shoulder but drew it back suddenly afraid. As if his touch might somehow baptize her in his own wrongness. "You've had a bad few weeks. Tonight in particular was…frightening. There's nothing to implicate that we were there. There's nothing to lead police to think we had anything to do with those men who were trying to kill us."

"I have to report it, Lucifer. It's my duty."

"Listen, Doctor Apollo gave you something to help calm your nerves and we wouldn't want to put good drugs to bad use, right? Let's just get you to rest up and spend some time with your little one tonight. That was your priority then and it's your priority now. We can do some deep brainwork tomorrow when you're clearheaded." He motioned towards the living room where they could hear the blare of mid-90s pop music. "She made so much popcorn you could comfortably raise a few horses and make a fortune."

A stifled laugh bubbled from the Detective's lips and he was relieved to see the slight glassiness of the sedatives taking affect. She raised the injured hand which was now wearing a bulky metal splint on the end and rested it against her forehead. "Yeah. My head is all…light. Drifty."

"For now, that's a good sign. Let's get you settled in then Michael and I can leave you two in peace." He held out a hand and she regarded it with amusement. After a moment, she carefully grabbed it with her own and they walked down the hallway—debutante and suitor on their way to the ballroom floor. She giggled. He raised an eyebrow but didn't press her.

"'Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.'" She quoted in a terrible rendition of an Old English accent.

He chuckled. "Didn't take you for a Shakespearean."

A small smile. "I was an actress in a past life, remember?"

"Your Queen's English could use a little work."

"Maybe you can teach me." She gave him a sly look.

His foot fumbled on the next step and he cleared his throat at her unexpected guile. "Do near death experiences always bring out this side of you, Detective? Or is that just the drugs doing their work?" She cocked her head to the side and laughed. The sound sparked hot pinpricks up his forearms.

Trixie and Michael's eyes were raptly fixed on the television, a few errant pieces of popcorn dotting the beige couch and the rug. The little girl pointed at something and whispered into Michael's ear and he nodded his head. The sight of the two of them engaged in something so ordinary—so familial—gouged Chloe. How many times had she walked into a living room to see Trixie and Dan watching a movie, shoving handfuls of popcorn or candy into each other's mouths? The family nights with just the three of them living in their own little world. Being known and being loved.

"Mom! Mike said we could watch It Takes Two. It's on the approved list." She clambered up and came over to Chloe. Tiny, salty hands grabbed for hers and led her to the couch. "C'mon, it just started." The detective sat next to her daughter and placed an arm around her thin shoulders. Trixie looked up and gently placed a kernel of popcorn in Chloe's mouth. "Are you okay, mom?" With solemn eyes much too adult for a face so innocent, she brushed Chloe's face with the back of her hand. "Are you feeling better after the doctor saw you?"

Tears welled in the detective's eyes at her daughter's tenderness. "Yes, monkey. I'm feeling a lot better now. Much better now that I'm here with you."

Trixie smiled. "And you're not mad anymore? At Lucifer?" She glanced at the man still standing near the edge of the couch and gave a comical wink.

"Mad? No, why would I be mad at Lucifer?"

"You know." She widened her eyes as if the answer was obvious. "Cause he saw you naked this morning."

Lucifer snickered. "Right, well, we should be going. I'm sure you want to rest up." He motioned to Michael who was giving him a scathing look.

Trixie balked, grabbing hold of Michael's arm. "Oh no, can you stay and watch the movie with us? Please?" She turned to her mother. "Mom, please? Can they stay, just til the movie's done?"

"Oh, I'm sure they've got better things to do than hang out with us tonight." Chloe peeled her daughter's hands off of Michael.

"It's all right. I don't mind staying and watching the movie with Trixie. If, you know, it's okay with you." He searched her face for a sign but only saw the soft haze of whatever stuff the doctor had given her earlier. "Besides, it might be good to have someone here for a little while just to make sure everything's the same."

"You've got to be kidding me." Lucifer threw up his hands. "Play house all you like but I have a date with a hot shower and a glass of Margaux."

Michael shrugged and flicked a kernel into his mouth. Suit yourself."

"Ridiculous." Lucifer turned on his heels and huffed back down the hallway, the raucous noise from the telly fading as he met the evening air. Distant sounds of city life whispered in the background—the hum of streetlights, the vibration of passing cars, the faded blare of other houses full of families eating their bloody awful snacks and huddled mindlessly around their tubes of glowing lights. On any other night he would have welcomed the noise. Tonight they only raked against his ears, ratcheting up his annoyance. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his car key, meaning to tear through the sleepy neighborhood on his way to the beloved lights and sounds of Lux. He stopped, allowing another sneer to pull at his face at the realization that his car was back in Echo Park, a few blocks from the modeling agency.

Annoyed, dejected and mad as hell, Lucifer stalked down the short driveway and turned onto the sidewalk. He would have to subject himself to calling a private car, or worse, a ride share. By the time he got to his car and into the arms of Lux, it would be too late to catch dinner at his favorite place. Not that he needed to eat but there was a sense of comfort in the act. He pulled out his mobile and made to call the car service but his finger stopped short of the icon. That damned image of Michael, sitting so comfortably in the Detective's living room, as if his body belonged there. Sure, his brother's lack of imagination to solely wear things that came off of a discount rack gave him an air of normalcy—of blending into backgrounds as an everyday nine-to-fiver—but the way in which he could be so all right sitting there, kid and all, brought up a feeling of inadequacy. Lucifer loved the life he had created for himself in Los Angeles. It suited him. It fed his appetites. Still, the jealousy over something he didn't even want in his own life—that cookie cutter normalcy—dug a small trench and nestled itself inside.

He continued walking the next two blocks lost in thought and found himself on the corner across the street from a shabby liquor store. Might as well, he thought. The man sitting behind the counter barely looked up from his book, lifting a distracted hand in greeting before turning the page.

Lucifer pointed to a box behind the counter, high on a dusty shelf. "Aberlour 12, please."

The man didn't move his eyes away from his book, only his hand seemed to be willing to do much of anything as it slowly hovered towards the slim box and plucked it deftly from above his head. A few errant tufts of dust floated down onto his balding head but he didn't seem to notice. "Eighty."

Lucifer rolled his eyes and slapped a hundred on the glass counter and took the box. "Keep the change. Looks like you need it more than I do, mate." He tucked the scotch under his arm and walked back out onto the street. He felt a bit more grounded with the weight of the box and its promises now held firmly against his side. Around the corner and further down the block he saw the glowing neon of either a bar or a restaurant and wandered towards it with no discernible reason why. He recalled the word that the Detective had used earlier to describe her mental state…drifty, she had said. Yes, that felt right. He too was feeling a bit drifty.

The lights turned out to be from a small Chinese restaurant bookended by an accounting office and a florist, both their windows dark and closed up for the night. Wu's Cantonese the sign above the door read. Willowy bells tinkled his arrival as he pushed through the door and was met with the pleasant smell of food and warmth. Another older man, another counter, but this one looked up and smiled when he saw Lucifer. "Hi, how are you? Are you looking to takeout?"

"Sure." Lucifer took the sheaf of paper the man handed him.

"You let me know when you're ready."

"Um, do you have anything kids really fancy?" He shuffled uncomfortably.

"Kids?" The older gentleman looked him up and down, as if assessing the likelihood of Lucifer as a parent. "Uh, yea, sure. They like basic stuff: gu lu rou, number six. Char siu bao, number twenty. Kids always like egg rolls too." A bemused smile spread across the man's face. "All of them are good. You know, Cantonese cuisine is the best of Chinese cuisine."

"Ngo fei soeng tung ji." I couldn't agree with you more. Lucifer smirked at the surprised look on the man's face.

"Ni de zhongwen hen hao." The shopkeeper smiled back, genuinely happy to hear his native tongue in such a delightfully unexpected way.

"You can thank my friends in Guangxi for sharing their language with me." He slid the paper menu back over the counter. "Can you put a few things together for dinner? Your choice."

"You sure?"

"I trust you."

The older man slipped the menu back onto a pile of others and nodded. He walked through a set of swinging doors behind the register and he could hear him rattle off a few dishes to the kitchen staff. After a few moments he returned with two empty tumblers and slid one across the wooden surface. His wrinkled face disappeared under the table for a few seconds and returned with a white bottle. Lucifer lifted his glass with two hands as the older man poured and waited patiently as he filled his own.

"Gan bei." The shop owner raised the glass in a toast and took a large gulp.

Lucifer knocked back his own. "It's been quite some time since I've had baijiu. Thank you." He lifted the box under his arm. "May I?"

The older gentleman chuckled. "How could I say no?" He swept the empty glasses off of the counter and brought down two clean ones from a shelf behind him.

They made small talk about Hong Kong and how much had changed over the years. Lucifer mostly listened, taking small sips of his scotch and filling his storyteller's glass once it became empty. Eventually a young man came through the swinging doors with a large plastic bag in his hands. The room filled with the aromatic scent of salty pork and fried chilis, of histories and legacies passed down and filled into cardboard containers.

Lucifer pulled out his wallet but the older gentleman waved it away. "No. You shared enough scotch to pay for whatever's here two times over." He shoved the bag into Lucifer's hand. "Go, enjoy with your family. Your kid."

Blinking in surprise, Lucifer hefted the bag into his other hand and pulled out another hundred dollar bill and slipped it under the half-drunk bottle of scotch while the shop owner turned his back to shoo the young cook away.

"Mm goi daai lou." The stunned Lucifer bowed deeply. "And thank you for your company tonight."

"You come back next time, yes? Bring your family." He held out his hand and Lucifer shook it.

"Yes. I'll remember." With a heavy arm, he turned around and walked out of the restaurant, trailing the scent of fragrant rice and rich sweetness. Once outside, he felt like a different version of the person who had walked this same sidewalk twenty minutes ago.

The clerk at the liquor store looked up this time when he entered, giving Lucifer a raised eyebrow. "Back again so soon?"

Lucifer slid another hundred dollar bill to him. "The usual."

He placed his book facedown on the glass and reached for another box of Aberlour. He was searching Lucifer's face for an answer as to what happened to the previous bottle but found no reward. "Usual eighty. You want change this time?"

Lucifer shook his head and turned to walk out the door when the book cover caught his eye. He brushed over it only for a moment but a deep feeling of his Dad's meddlesome predetermination took a hold on him on the walk back to the Detective's.

Book XII of The Metamorphoses by Ovid. A purposeful little easter egg of divination or just a coincidence? He had learned about the existence of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon in the nineties, when you notice something new and then start seeing it over and over again. Was that all this was, a frequency bias, or was there actually something deeper happening?

The scene was just as he had left it: telly blaring and the cold smell of old processed butter thickening the air. He walked into the living room and placed the bag onto the coffee table. "Thought you'd want a bit to eat after a night like tonight."

Chloe's glossy eyes studied his face before breaking out into a small smile. "Thought you were a goner."

"And miss the Olsen twins? Not on your life." He pried open the box and placed the new bottle of Aberlour next to the bag of takeout. "Besides, I got what I needed most, right here."

"Is that Wu's?" Trixie leaned forward excitedly and took a dramatic sniff. "Whaddya get? Anything for me?"

"Take a look and see for yourself. While you're up, why don't you get us a few plates and glasses." He shot a quick look to Michael who was quietly watching him, expressionless. "What's wrong brother, everything the same?"

"After that big show of storming out, I'm just surprised to see you, that's all."

"But we're glad you're here." Chloe interjected. "With food nonetheless. I'm starving."

Trixie returned with plateware and clattered them onto the table before digging eagerly into the plastic bag. "All right! I see my favorite!" She started pulling boxes out and spreading them on the table. "Mom, is it okay if I have some if I promise to brush real hard before bed?"

The three adults left it to Trixie, who had adamantly claimed herself the lunchlady of Wu's, to pile heaps of slippery noodles and chunks of tender meat onto plates which she handed over with delight.

The television spit out images of Steve Guttenberg and Kirstie Alley splashing around in a lake while a tight-faced woman watched in disdain, to which both Trixie and Michael had laughed over in their whispering back and forth. Lucifer took another sip of his scotch and laid against the back of the couch, watching the movie with mild amusement. The racing pace of his thoughts had slowed to a comfortable lull and for that he felt grateful. Being here, surrounded by the motley crew of people he wouldn't have imagined to gather together for any purpose other than to wait in line at the DMV, had a weird, tickling sense of familiarity. Of another life lived. Somewhere, in his deepest parts, he knew it to be true. Their tethering. That they were all somehow destined to meet and end up here. He took another long sip and watched the amber liquid slosh up against his glass, wondering in what ways and when his Father would sever those tethers.