Briar had not thought twice about cutting through the alley on Lochmere Lane. She walked through the night fearless of muggers and ne’er-do-wells; as a vampyre, she was accustomed to being the most dangerous thing on the street. The prominent click of her heels on the pavement echoed against the old brick buildings. She could hear the din of the crowds just a few streets over. Briar glanced down at her phone and sighed. It was 7:46 pm. She was supposed to be meeting Ivory at the Spring Awakening festival, but she was running a little late.
"Calixte," spoke a low, male voice that sent a chill through her.
Briar frowned at the use of her true name. She stopped and peered into the darkness. At the mouth of the alley stood a lone figure, his features hidden in the gloom. “Do I know you?” she asked. Her voice was a challenge, steady and confident, though she was gripped by a sense of unshakable dread.
"I know you."
Her frown deepened at the implications of this statement. It was an annoyingly vague non-answer, but it confirmed Calixte’s suspicions. The Reaper needed no introduction.
"The Clave is foolish. The Blue Bloods don’t see your potential, but I do,” he said, “and I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.” She didn’t have the upper hand, but Calixte would be damned if she let him see fear on her face. She folded her arms across her chest and stared back at him.
“Ally yourself with me, and in return I will vow to bring Lucifer back to Earth."
“Bring him back?” She gasped. Was this a dream come true or her worst nightmare? Calixte felt an awful thrill of terror and longing. “You can do this? How?”
The Reaper ignored her questioning. "Your answer?" he prompted her. "If you will not aid me, I will destroy the Blue Bloods and it will remain your loss for the rest of eternity."
God help her, she was tempted. It would be so satisfying to have a weapon with which to lash out at all whom had scorned and degraded her. Calixte could recall all the poisonous things they had whispered about her: treacherous whore, bondbreaker, adulteress, Silver Blood menace - her, the Angel of Love who had so debased herself in daring to love the Morningstar. The angels had forgotten who and what she was, and the evils of which she was capable. They had grown complacent, forsaking their heritage and losing themselves in their temporal mortal lives, just as Aamon had said. Part of her, and no small part, longed to remind them why they had once feared her.
It would be easy to say yes.
Her bondmate was chief among her detractors. Calixte hated Cassius’ cold indifference, which left her grovelling for some meager scrap of his attention. Oh, to be rid of him forever. But for the consequences, Calixte would've cast Cassius aside as she had done once before in Paradise. Loving Cassius had been easy, but leaving him had been easier.
Lucifer had burned with a light that outshone the sun. When he touched her the whole world shuddered. She remembered the days they had shared before the War as if they had been a dream. What a pair the two of them had made: golden, resplendent, and terrifying. Calixte had oft wondered how it was that Cassius and not Lucifer was the mate of her soul. It had been love, or something very close. Idolatry, perhaps. Calixte wasn’t sure she knew the difference.
Lucifer had struck the match that burned Paradise to the ground, and Calixte had poured kerosene on the flames. She had been seduced by his vainglory, by the fervor of his devotion. Her love of him had been a dark adoration and it had consumed her utterly.
God help her, she was tempted. But for the consequences, Calixte would have him back.
Yet Calixte knew now what she hadn’t known then: Lucifer could swallow the world and it would never be enough to satisfy his hunger. Calixte had already sacrificed herself at Lucifer's altar - and for what? She had watched Lucifer turn from visionary to abomination - not her Prince of Heaven, but the King of Hell.
Calixte didn't believe in absolution. Redemption was a fairy tale, a delusion the Blue Bloods clung to so they wouldn’t lose their minds. Their Father had cast them out and abandoned them; they would never be restored to Paradise. He had not stood beside them in the Battle of Rome, and He had not prevented the death of Anmegarice which had led to the Reaper's presence here.
She thought of Ivory, and how she had almost lost her friend in the Repository fire at the Reaper's hands; she thought of Augustin, the Florentine painter she almost could have allowed herself to love; she thought of garden parties in the English countryside, a charmed girlhood, and Michael's easy, unaffected laughter. To give in to her desire was to betray all of it.
The Uncorrupted had shown her mercy when she had deserved none. That debt weighed heavily on her soul.
“I’m afraid, kind sir, I must decline your offer." Calixte spoke cordially, calmly, as if this were a conversation between friends, and as if her entire world had not narrowed to this dark, dirty alleyway. Perhaps the Reaper would kill her and perhaps he wouldn't. Calixte knew she didn't have the power to overcome him, but she would remain unflinching, steadfast. If she had signed her own death warrant with her refusal, so be it; it wouldn't be the first time she’d given herself over to an unworthy cause.
"I have little reason to believe it would be to my advantage to see my love returned. He would kill me as soon as kiss me for what I’ve done. It isn’t in his nature to be forgiving, you see.”
The Blue Bloods had to make their own way in the world, and Calixte wouldn’t be responsible for turning the Morningstar loose on the Earth. She had grown fond of her kin and she didn’t wish to see them suffer.
“The die is cast,” Calixte said. “We find ourselves at cross-purposes. I am no friend to you.”
