Eric awoke from a lovely dream about brown eyes. It was pure dark in his coffin and the image from his dream remained imprinted in his mind until he finally opened the lid and stepped out into the currently empty dungeon beneath Fangtasia. He noticed that Pam's coffin was already open and his progeny had already gone up to start the day, but Tara's coffin was still tightly closed. The younger the vampire, the more sleep required. He considered knocking the coffin around, forcing the baby vamp to get up, but he was in too good a mood to be an asshole.

He took the stairs two at a time, ending in the back hall. He stopped by his office to see a fresh sheath of bills sitting in the middle of his desk, needing processing. Admittedly, he'd been neglecting the business side of things for the past few days, and perhaps it was time to catch up. After a quick change of clothes, he sat down and began crunching numbers, once again annoyed that technology just couldn't keep up. What was the point of having vampiric speed, if you couldn't use it to shorten how long you had to do the chores that kept your life in order?

He spent an hour in the back, no one coming to bother him, not even Tara asking questions. It was a blissful silence with only the pounding of the bass making it through from the club. He wondered if Lucifer was out there and decided he probably was. It made him smile knowing there was someone out there waiting for him, wanting to see him.

It made him fucking smile.

He should be falling apart. Or giving up on the pretense of wanting to be good. He'd been told he had no soul the night before and yet he was feeling amazing tonight—what was wrong with him? A tiny part of him niggled that idea at him. That he should be wrought with worry. But he wasn't. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was convinced that there was a possible salvation for Eric, and it was apparently all the hope he needed. Lucifer would continue to help him prove his worth and Eric would get to continue spending time with him.

It was an utter shame he couldn't ever taste the man's blood, but at the same time it was a bit refreshing of an idea. A relationship based as equals with someone who wasn't a vampire. An immortal, sure, but not a vampire. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met a person he spent time with that he hadn't tasted.

When he was finished with the paperwork and submitting the proper payments to the right companies, he filed away the bills in the dusty filing cabinet. It was getting pretty full—perhaps he could get Tara to clear it out and refile everything at some point. Why employ an underling if you couldn't get them to do the boring shit, right? For the moment though, he simply shoved the cabinet closed with his hip, locked it for good measure and finally left his office.

He pushed through the door into the club, his eyes searching the small amount of tables that allowed people to sip on a drink in between dance sessions. The vast majority of his clientele was on the dance floor, wearing too much black and desperate to get bitten. But at one table sat a man in black pants, white shirt, and dark green vest—sipping on his signature single malt whisky. His hair was neatly combed, the perpetual five o'clock shadow looking darker in the dim lighting of the club. And he was staring right back at Eric, as if he'd known the exact moment Eric would walk through the personnel door. He sat up straight, smiled, and beckoned.

Ignoring everything but the tall, dark, and handsome man sitting at the table, Eric let the door swing shut behind him and weaved through the patrons to arrive at Lucifer's table. Rather than sit down across from him, he sat next to him, daring to take a breath and scent the man he could not bite. Something to dream about for the rest of his life.

"Hello, Viking. Just sitting here and enjoying the ambience of your bar." Lucifer raised his glass and took a sip, his eyes turning back to the mass of fangbangers on the dance floor.

There weren't that many vampires in the bar at the moment. Him, Pam, Tara—and two more vampires who had come in to nurse a True Blood and pick and choose their real meals from the actual clientele. It was all the wannabes and hangers-on, pressed against each other on the dance floor in some weird mating ritual that would end with very few of them with the undead partners they wanted. Still, it was the way he earned his living. And if these blood bags wanted to be fed upon, who was he to deny it to them? In reality, a place like Fangtasia offered a safe experience—as long as you didn't piss off the owners.

He wondered what Lucifer made of all of this. Whether he was offended by the idea or accepted it. He felt self-defensive as he wondered. If Lucifer had a problem with it, he was a blind fool. These people were going to go looking to get bitten regardless of whether there was a bar catering to them or not. Despite everything he'd ever done to damn his nonexistent soul, Eric was all for keeping the peace. A sustainable food source was a happy food source and offering the exotic to the curious and the morbid allowed Eric to not only monitor the suicidal tendencies of the humans, but to make sure his brethren didn't overindulge themselves either. He was doing everyone a service and it was why the original Queen of Louisiana had allowed him to open the damn bar in the first place.

For all the showboating he did to seem the dangerous villain, Eric cared deep down. About his own safety, anyway. He much preferred being out of the coffin and he didn't want to go back into hiding if he could help it. So let the fangbangers grind against each other on the dancefloor. Look the other way when a young vampire and an eager human slipped down the hall to the bathroom. At the end of the night, lock up the bar and don't ask where people were intending on sleeping off their buzz.

Better than the alternative, after all.

But looking at Lucifer assessing the dance floor, Eric noted there was a light in the man's eyes. He was enjoying the show. Which, he supposed, shouldn't be all that surprising. He was the devil, after all. Wasn't the devil supposed to delight in earthly pleasures? Or at least want humans to do so? And that comment about Lafayette's handcuffs the night before. Yes, Lucifer could hardly judge what went on in Fangtasia. He'd have to judge himself while he was at it.

Lucifer finally stopped watching the dancing and turned his full attention to Eric, seeming to give the vampire a once over. "You look lovely tonight, Viking."

Eric raised his eyebrows in surprise and then looked down to assess his own outfit. Tight fitting blue jeans, white shirt and black leather jacket. How the hell did he look lovely?

"Why, you've put on your best leather jacket for me, have you not?" Lucifer asked, cheeky as always. A hand touched Eric's forearm briefly. "I've brought my own tonight actually." He gestured to the jacket hanging off the back of the chair.

"My best leather jacket . . ." Eric said slowly, trying to wrap his head around what the man had said. Was he flirting again? It was hard to tell. He seemed willing to flirt with just about anyone. Eric was fairly certain the man swung both ways, and he wanted to actually confirm that. After all, why keep fucking thinking about him if there wasn't a chance he could take the man to bed?

Before he could continue the conversation, Ginger came waltzing up to put a warm True Blood in front of him, her scant outfit showing far too much skin for someone her age. But the hanger-on was a loyal subject, if anything, and Eric had never had the heart to turn her away from the bar. She was an integral part of Fangtasia at this point, even if every single bump in the night terrified her. Yet she was unfazed by the devil himself, putting a fresh whisky next to his almost empty one and giving him the kind of smile only Ginger could give. It was the sort of smile that invited a man like Eric or Lucifer to take her, oh god please take her—any way you please. It never worked on Eric, although he humoured her on occasion by pretending.

Lucifer thanked her politely, but Ginger lingered, hoping one of them would do something other than stare at each other. When it was obvious she was being ignored, she finally tucked her tray under her arm and disappeared back toward the bar. Of course, once Ginger was gone, it was Pam who was coming up to their table to interrupt their conversation.

Eric let out a long-suffering sigh.

"What now, Pam?"

Pam settled herself in the seat next to Eric, eyeing Lucifer as if he were a stain on the bottom of one of her expensive designer shoes. She was dressed in layers of purple at the moment, her corset cinched too tight and her heels too tall. Her cascades of blonde curls were held aloft in an old style that would have taken her an hour when she was mortal, but probably only took a few minutes—and a hundred bobby pins—with her vampiric speed. Eric pushed the True Blood in her direction, but she ignored it as well.

"Eric, have you forgotten that you run a business?" Pam asked. She sounded peeved rather than worried about him, which was a step in the right direction, but Eric was getting tired of her trying to tell him how to lead his life. He'd only been away from the bar a handful of days; it wasn't like he'd never been gone this long—or even longer, for that matter—before. Why was she being so damn needy?

"I've been keeping up to date with the paperwork, Pam," Eric replied back, slowly so she couldn't pretend she hadn't heard him. "And besides, this bar runs so smoothly in your capable hands."

Pam glanced at Lucifer again and then leaned in as if Lucifer wouldn't be able to hear her if she whispered. "Is this about Sookie?" she asked. "Is that why you're spending time with him? Is he trying to help you win her back or something?"

Lucifer made a noise, one of annoyance. Eric looked at him and wondered. He finally glared back at Pam. "This has nothing to do with Sookie." At least not anymore, he decided. Now it had everything to do with Lucifer, and Lucifer alone.

Fuck Sookie.

This time he meant it, he realized. Fuck Sookie and her impossible demands. He'd never be the creature she wanted him to be—clearly.

He was still bothered about his soul; he couldn't deny that. She'd changed him and there was no going back at this point. But finding the answer to his question? No, that had absolutely nothing to do with Sookie now. And he had Lucifer to thank for it. Whether it was because Lucifer was a good distraction or perhaps because he seemed to genuinely care about Eric, he wasn't quite sure. But in either case, no. No, this had nothing to do with Sookie anymore.

So when Pam gave him a skeptical look, he growled at his progeny. "Know your place, Pamela," he told her. "I said it's not about Sookie."

"It's hard to believe, considering you've been lying to me for weeks," Pam said. "What makes today any fucking different?"

Lucifer was watching the two of them and he grinned when Pam talked back. "Oh, I do believe I like this vampire."

Pam glared at him. Any mortal would have pissed their pants, but Lucifer's grin only widened. "Who the fuck are you?" she asked him, clearly unimpressed with the man in the perfect designer clothes. You'd think she'd like him—he was undoubtedly dressed in the hottest names, exactly her style. But she was still acting like an overprotective parent, it seemed.

"Why, I'm Lucifer Morningstar," Lucifer said, pretending affront at the idea that Eric hadn't already told Pam about him. But Eric had—she just hadn't believed him. "I do apologize. I'm afraid I've been keeping your boss from you. He's been entertaining me, helping me solve a mystery."

This received an eyeroll from Pam. "Yes, do vampires have souls. So Eric tells me."

"Oh, so you do know who I am," Lucifer gushed, another smile lighting his face. His eyes had that manic look in them again—Lucifer was enjoying himself immensely.

"That you're the devil? Bullshit." Pam crossed her arms and glared him down.

Lucifer seemed oblivious to the hatred coming off of the woman. He was too busy clasping his hands in glee. "I do believe Maze would love you," he told Pam.

Pam flicked her gaze back to Eric, confusion in her eyes. "Who the hell is Maze?"

"Oh, just a demon I know," Lucifer said. A moment later and he had his phone out, typing away fast as he messaged someone.

Pam sighed. "How can you stand all of his nonsense?" she asked Eric.

"Actually, I'm finding that it's not nonsense," Eric replied.

Pam nearly gaped at this revelation, but Eric refused to say anything more. He wasn't going to reason with her about Lucifer right in front of the man. Could you get more rude? And besides, he needed her to go run the damn bar so he could continue to spend time with the devil. Getting into an argument wasn't going to get that to happen.

When Lucifer finally put down his phone, Eric shifted in his chair, subtly showing Pam that his attention was on the other man and decidedly not on her. He was dismissing her—not that she was listening. No, she'd rather listen to his conversation with Lucifer—she was adamant that Sookie was a problem, and Eric was sure she wanted to find fault with Lucifer to blame on the waitress as well.

No matter.

"So you're back again tonight. Is there something you wanted to do?" Eric asked.

"Actually, yes," Lucifer said, tapping his fingers against the back of his phone before taking a sip of his whisky. "I thought we might ask my brother if he has any insight."

"Your brother . . ." Eric trailed off. The devil had siblings?

"Yes, of course. I've many brothers and sisters. But I've one in particular who is right here on earth. Easy to bother."

"And he would have better insights than you?" Eric asked, unbelieving that there could be another angel that might know more than the devil.

"Well, that's just it. I've not really had much to say to Dad in a very long time, you understand? Amenadiel—he's been up in heaven this whole time. Until recently. He likes to think he's Dad's favourite child. He might have more of an understanding than I would, especially since Daddy Dearest isn't around to question at the moment."

Eric nodded his head, finding the answer made sense. Pam, meanwhile, was rolling her eyes so hard Eric was surprised they hadn't rolled right out of her head. "You have got to be shitting me, Eric. You believe this shit?"

"I do, actually, Pam. And it would be smart of you if you'd stop with the attitude." Eric gave her a meaningful look. He loved her, he really did. But sometimes she was way too willful. His own damn fault, choosing a madam who had run one of the best damn brothels in San Francisco to be his only progeny.

"And if I don't?" Pam asked.

Eric growled at her, his fangs snapping out as he told her without words just what would happen if she kept this up.

Pam sighed. "I miss the old Eric," she pouted. "The one who didn't worry about his stupid, useless soul."

"They're not useless," Lucifer said. "Missing, perhaps. But once we figure out where vampire souls go, I assure you they're not useless."

"So let's go see your brother," Eric said, moving to stand up.

The look on Lucifer's face told him there was a 'but' attached to his idea. Eric raised his eyebrows in question and settled back down in his seat. His shoulder brushed against Lucifer's for a moment, and the movement dove to his groin.

"I'm afraid Amenadiel is back in Los Angeles. It's a bit of a drive, and I don't think you'd much appreciate the trip, what with your light restrictions." Lucifer gave Eric a sly smile. "Care to fly with me? Think you could make it to L.A. before the sun rises?"

Eric snorted a dry laugh. "It's rather inconvenient, but I think I can manage."

"And if you can't?" Lucifer replied.

Eric offered the devil a smile. "I'm sure you'd be happy to make a deal with me."

"Have you owe me a favour?" Lucifer perked up at the thought. "Indeed, that might be nice to have in my back pocket."

"Los Angeles?" Pam asked from her spot at the table. "Eric, how long do you intend to make me run this place?"

"It's a joint venture, remember Pam?" Eric asked coldly. "Why am I always the one in the fucking chair?"

"Because you're the one they want!" Pam exclaimed, throwing an arm out toward the dance floor. "They don't want me, they want the goddamned Viking."

"Don't we all?" mused Lucifer.

Pam cocked her head to the side, studying Lucifer for the first time rather than just glaring at him. Lucifer smiled back at her, neither one of them speaking. Pam leaned back in her chair and sighed. "Fine. Go to L.A. See if I care. Maybe you can fuck your way through Hollywood and get over your stupid little fairy while you're at it."

"That sounds lovely!" Lucifer said, looking between the two vampires. He, at least, was enjoying the conversation immensely. "Viking, I might have to join you in that."

Eric stood abruptly from the table. "Shall we go?" he asked. "The sooner we take to the air, the less likely I'll risk a sunburn. Dawn starts earlier in L.A., after all." Pam had given him her blessing—or what constituted as one, no more how grudging. He was taking it and running before she could change her mind.

"Right you are," Lucifer said, standing up and pulling his jacket from the back of the chair. "Pamela, it has been a treat. Take care of Fangtasia while we're gone. Perhaps Eric will return with some new ideas for the décor." Lucifer looked around for a moment, looking a bit pained, and then he was putting his arm behind Eric, leading him out the front door and into the night.

With little fanfare, he shrugged into his jacket, changing himself from posh and rich to just badass enough that you might actually believe he was the devil. He zipped it up, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then unfurled his wings.

The two lifted off from the Fangtasia parking lot, heading due west and straight for Los Angeles.