"I know you're out here," Lucifer said to absolutely no one. Silence stretched out before him and he stepped away from the bar, heading toward the trees. Gravel crunched under his shoes, the only sound in the night around him. "I've no doubt you heard us talking, so it's a bit pointless to pretend you aren't there."
It was a true silence about him. No insects buzzing, no night animals calling out to each other. It was as if the very air held its breath. Lucifer grew impatient. "Raneem?" he called out. "Or is it Bujailah? Don't think me so incompetent that I can't tell when one of my own is up here doing my work for me."
"Well, someone has to do it." The voice came from behind him, and Lucifer whirled to find nothing but the way back to Merlotte's back door.
"It's not like you're in Hell, meting out justice on the damned."
Lucifer scowled, turning again, trying to spot something, anything. A whiff of smoke had him turning again, to catch sight of smoke threading through the trees close to the building, sparks of fire lighting here and there.
"Bloody hell, would you just stop messing with me, Bujailah?" Lucifer swore, deciding he knew precisely which ifrit demon was following Patrick Devins. "We need to talk, you and I."
"Do we?" Bujailah asked, her voice like silk billowing in the wind. "So you can send me back home? Why? I was rightfully summoned here."
"Yes, yes. By some poor, dying woman on her last breath. As she was murdered in cold blood, no doubt. But I'd still talk with you, all the same."
A hot breeze engulfed Lucifer, the ifrit's frustrated sigh.
"Bujailah," Lucifer intoned, putting plenty of authority into his displeasure. He was not in the mood to play her little game. And if she kept it up, he was going to send her back to Hell regardless of whether or not she should stop her quest to kill those she assumed were worthy of punishment.
The hot wind whirled around Lucifer in what felt like annoyance before a single flame lit the darkness. That tiny flame, floating midair, grew larger, taking on the shape of a human before burning a bright blue and then coalescing into a solid body. Dark skinned, long-haired, and with voluptuous curves, the ifrit in question was indeed Bujailah. Now, if anyone looked out the back door of Merlotte's, it would just be two people having a private quarrel in the dark.
Of course, she wasn't exactly dressed like a paying customer of Merlotte's Bar and Grill, but then neither was Lucifer in his delectable 3-piece suit. Still, Bujailah had barely any clothes on so to speak, although she had lovely golden chains draped anywhere they could be draped. Of course, one did not enjoy wearing fabrics when one could set them on fire with just an accidental sneeze. The chains and simple leather would have to do.
"What do you want?" Bujailah asked, petulant and ready for an argument. "To rob me of my right to punish?"
Lucifer cocked his head to the side, trying to decide what it was he did want. "Not necessarily," he finally replied. "I'm not convinced that Patrick Devins does not deserve the torture you've set aside for him. However, I would like to request that you live Terry Bellefleur alone."
Bujailah pouted, the look familiar to Lucifer. It was the look a demon gave you when you told them they couldn't be the demon they were. One part unhappiness and two parts anger. And in Bujailah's case, a little bit of sexual energy thrown in for good measure. She was a firecracker in bed, if Lucifer recalled correctly. Of course she would be—she was an expert in all things hot, after all. "I was promised a whole squad of soldiers and I'll be damned if I don't get to have them all."
Lucifer glowered at his minion. "Then perhaps you shall be damned. I've met with Terry Bellefleur and he's been punished enough. I will not have you kill him."
"Why not?" Bujailah asked. "My instructions were clear—kill the entire squad of Marines until only one was left—and then let that one live with the guilt of killing not just innocents, but his brothers-at-arms as well."
"Terry Bellefleur does not need punishment," Lucifer told the ifrit. "I have met with him and seen his pain. It has now been lifted from him and I would just as soon not see him suffer more of it."
"But he is supposed to suffer. For those innocent lives he snuffed out. You would let him walk away consequence free?" Bujailah hissed at him, the sound like a wet log sizzling. Her hair seemed to float, as if on a breeze.
"He's paid his dues, I can assure you," Lucifer said. "It is my decision that he lives the rest of his life in peace, do you understand?"
"Since when do you get to decide if I complete the summons of a human?" Bujailah asked, and there was fire in her eyes—literal fire. In fact, the tips of her gloriously wavy hair were sparking too. He was pissing off the demon and she was in her demon form, not limited by a true human body. He was poking at her very limited temper and it showed in the amount of sparks that were beginning to fly. If he didn't tread lightly, she might accidentally set the bar on fire, and Lucifer couldn't have that.
"Bujailah," Lucifer coaxed. "I decide who receives punishment, not you. You mete it out, but I have always been and always will be the deciding factor. Besides, consider this—if you don't kill either of these men, your job will not be finished . . ." he trailed off, hoping she'd put two and two together. She hadn't liked the idea of going back to Hell . . . perhaps letting her stay free would be incentive enough.
The fire that seemed to swirl about the ifrit demon began to smoulder for a second before going out completely. "If I don't finish the job, I don't have to return to Hell?"
Lucifer shrugged and held his hands out in a gesture of indifference. "You made a deal with a dying soul. Who am I to deny you from wandering the earth until that deal has been met, whether by your own hands or by the ravages of time. Who knows how long both men could live? How many years would you have to take in the sights?" Lucifer smiled a coaxing smile, his eyes fevered almost. "I know I enjoy the pleasures this world has to offer—don't you as well?"
Bujailah seemed to contemplate his offer. "You wouldn't force me back to Hell?" she asked. "Even when you decide to go back yourself?"
"You would remain as per the structure of your deal made with the dying woman, regardless of my own plans. Are you willing to make this deal as well?" Lucifer asked, feeling confident he would walk away from this encounter having saved not just Terry's life, but Devins's as well, whatever its worth. And how many deals would he have swung? Two? Three? He was beginning to lose count.
"Stay and play with the humans, rather than return to Hell and the tedious work you enforce down there?" Bujailah pondered. "There are no other stipulations?"
"Not from me," Lucifer urged. "Although you might want to abide by humanity's rules, lest you get caught doing something they don't appreciate." Lucifer grinned widely. "That doesn't stop you from appreciating all of the earthly delights though."
Bujailah returned his grin in the dark. "That sounds like a lovely proposition. But all you get in return is to lengthen a human's stay on earth. How the hell do you gain anything from all this?"
"Deals within deals, my demonic friend," Lucifer replied, tugging at a cuff to straighten his suit properly. "I promise, I will get what I want from this."
Bujailah gave a dainty snort of a laugh. "If you say so." A warm wind seemed to reach Lucifer, an indication that the ifrit demon was getting ready to take her leave. But she seemed to stop momentarily. "I'm not to kill either man, but would it be possible to continue to scare them? I do so enjoy watching men who think they're strong and resilient cry and piss themselves."
"Not Terry Bellefleur," Lucifer said quickly, not because his happiness had been part of the deal, but rather because he genuinely wanted the man to be happy. Not that Bujailah needed to know. "His happiness hinges on a deal, do leave him alone. As for Patrick Devins . . . Well. He did come to Bon Temps to drop you on Terry's doorstep, did he not? A coward, indeed. Let him wonder the rest of his life if you'll breach your deal with me."
Bujailah's smile grew large and almost seductive. "Why thank you, Lucifer. Don't let anyone ever tell you you're a hard ass. You're the best boss I've ever had."
With those parting words, the ifrit's physical body swirled away on a hot wind, fire undulating in waves through the air as it shot upward and away from Merlotte's. Lucifer watched her go, thinking it had gone much easier than it could have. If it had been Raneem, he would have had to force him back to Hell rather than convince him to spend some time on earth while avoiding his duties. Raneem was very much a stickler for following the rules, but Bujailah . . . well, she was more like Lucifer where it counted.
Feeling ridiculously satisfied with himself, Lucifer went back into Merlotte's. Down the hall, out into the main dining room, past the tables to the booths. He paused to place a hand on Eric's shoulder before he moved on down the row to the booth by the door. Where Patrick Devins was packing up his things and getting ready to disappear into the night.
Typical.
Coward.
"Might I have a word with you?" Lucifer asked, folding his arms over his chest to frown at the man.
"I've—I've got to go," Devins said.
"So it seems," Lucifer agreed. "But before you do, I'd still have a word with you about your ifrit friend."
Devins pulled his book about djinns off the table and held it to his chest. "The ifrit is no friend of mine," he said.
"Fair, but she is a friend of mine," Lucifer replied smoothly. "I've had a word with her."
"You have, have you?" Devins asked, disbelief not just on his face but in his voice too.
Lucifer nodded. "Indeed, I have. Not hard to find, was she? Considering she's been tailing you for so long. Seemed pretty obvious she'd be within earshot."
"You expect me to believe you went out back and spoke to a demon within the last ten or so minutes?" Devins asked.
"What part of being the devil didn't you understand?" Lucifer asked, giving the man an annoyed frown. Typical. He'd already forgotten their conversation earlier—or simply decided that Lucifer was a little bit looney.
In fact, Lucifer could see the man gearing up to say just that, and for once, rather than just annoying him, it pissed him off. He was tired of people not taking him seriously. How was it so bloody hard to believe the devil existed when everyone readily believed in vampires? "Don't start with me, Patrick Devins," Lucifer growled out, and he felt his devilish side begging to come out and play.
So he let it loose just a tiny bit, feeling the rush of his pulse as the fires of Hell ignited his blood. His eyesight became crisp, the edges of the world around him seeming to burn in his vision as he focused on the man in front of him. The disdain on the human's face quickly changed to surprise and then fear. Not outright terror, but that wasn't too surprising. He was a soldier after all. He'd seen some serious shit. He'd dealt some serious shit, too.
"It would do you well to hear me out, Patrick Devins," Lucifer said slowly. "I'm giving you a reprieve although I'm beginning to suspect you don't deserve it."
"A reprieve?" Patrick asked, his high voice the biggest indication the man was very close to losing it.
"Indeed," Lucifer said, and then nearly jumped in surprise when Eric seemed to materialize directly beside him. That vampire quickness. It was unnerving every now and then. But touching that Eric wanted to be close to him.
"The ifrit—she will leave both you and Terry alone," Lucifer said. But the fire was still circling in him, that otherworldly glow illuminating everything he saw. He was angry at the man for being a coward, and he was doubly angry at himself for letting this man slip his curse. But a deal was a deal, and Lucifer would just have to have the satisfaction of knowing that this one would undoubtedly end up in Hell, one way or another.
Still, it wouldn't do to just let him walk out of here with his conscious clear and no worry in the world. He needed to give Patrick Devins' incentive to leave Terry alone. And he needed to ensure that the man would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder—just in case things changed.
"There are some stipulations," Lucifer said, unconsciously steepling his fingers together to look sinister. "You are to leave Bom Temps immediately. The ifrit will be watching you." His eyebrows knit together. "Both of you," he amended, so as not to let Devins think that he could still try to pass the ifrit and curse onto his friend. "So long as you don't revert to killing and torturing innocent people, the ifrit will leave you alone. If you do stray off the moral path, I assure you she will see it as breach of contract, and well . . . the curse isn't completely absolved, you see. She will finish the job she started, with my blessing."
"Why are you doing this?" Devins asked. "Any of this?"
Eric growled from Lucifer's side, as if questioning the devil was an affront to him. And perhaps it was.
"I do this because I deal in favors," Lucifer said smoothly. "And you're lucky enough that someone wanted something from me."
Patrick's fearful eyes slid from Lucifer toward the bar and the unseen Terry beyond it. "Was it Terry? Did he make the deal?"
"That is none of your business," Lucifer said, leaning back to look insulted. "The devil might make deals, but he does not divulge secrets." He gave the man an assessing look up and down. "Now if I were you, I'd accept the terms, and get the hell out of Bon Temps before you insult me further."
It took Patrick Devins all of thirty seconds to make his choice. He reached into his pocket to grab his wallet, pulling out bills to slam down on the table next to his empty mugs. "I'll be left alone so long as I keep to myself, right? I won't be attacked if I live a nice, quiet life."
Lucifer spread his hands wide. "So long as you keep to your end of this bargain, you can live a long and happy life. Leave Terry Bellefleur alone, keep your hands to yourself, and I suspect you should be fine. Although I can't necessarily control all of my demons all of the time, you understand. So tread carefully."
The fear remained in Patrick's eyes as he gathered his things. He gave a passing glance at Eric, the moody vampire acting more like a bodyguard than vicious predator. Then he nodded at Lucifer, turned tail, and ran for the door. No thanks, no acknowledgement that Lucifer had done him a good deed.
Coward to the core, indeed.
"Do you want me to . . . follow him and deal with him?" Eric asked.
"No, Viking. I've kept my end of the bargain and that's enough for me." Lucifer sighed and turned back toward the dining room. It wasn't the best deal he'd arranged. But he'd removed the pain from Terry's life, secured his safety, and set a coward running. Quite a bit done in such a short time, really. And all to get into Sookie Stackhouse's house—so that Eric could prowl around and look for clues.
Lucifer scanned the still-full dining room. Arlene was standing at a table, ignoring her customers to give him a hopeful look. Lucifer gave her a winning smile. "Now to get payment," he said, grabbing Eric by the arm and moving forward to go speak to the waitress.
It was time to do the thing he least wanted to do.
Fall back into Eric Northman's memories of when Sookie had taken care of him. What a way to test the limits of your relationship.