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âJust what do you think youâre doing, Lucifer? Â You know you canât drive.â
Looking scandalized, the boy growled, âI most certainly know no such thing!â
Amenadiel chuckled, in spite of himself.
Despite his brotherâs earlier assumption that Amenadiel would find humor in his de-aging, the warrior angel hadnât shown anyâuntil he did. Â Not only did Luciferâs voice lack its usual timber, but his genteel British accent and clipped delivery sounded comical, coming from his little lips.
But studying his very young brother, Amenadiel felt more wonder than humor. Â Created whole by their father, the angels had never been children. Â Looking at Luciferâs soft featuresâthe slope of his tiny nose nestled between his full cheeks, under a mass of dark, wild curlsânot to mention those big, dark brown eyes with their fluttery lashesâthere was no denying that Lucifer Morningstar made a beautiful child. His cherubic face somehow looked even cuter, wearing a dark scowl, annoyance marring his smooth brow. Standing there with folded arms lost inside his sleeves, the boy looked every bit like his adult self, only hit by a shrink ray. Â Amenadiel just had to laugh again.
âLuci, you canât even see over the dash, let alone reach the pedals.â The angel made a hand-it-over gesture, âNow, câmon, Iâll bring you home and weâll try to figure this out, together.â
âNo. No way am I letting you drive my car! No!â
Amenadiel rolled his eyes and reached to take the keys, but his brother ducked and backed up, shouting, âNo, no, no, noooo!â The young devil stamped his foot angrily on the rough cement, stubbing the tender skin of his teeny big toe.
âOw, bollocks!â Hopping on his uninjured foot, little Lucifer stooped to inspect the bleeding scrape. Â âOoowwww, that reeeeally hurts.â A high-pitched whimper escaped the boyâs lips and without his permission, dissolved into a sob.
2087
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