snippet to my fic, Past the Clouds, Find the Sun, which is also a sequel to my fic, Past the Clouds, Find the Stars.
Natalie stared at him long enough that even he felt uncomfortable, and very little bothered him anymore, not after centuries of watching people stare into their own reflection, feeling all the while like they were looking into his. Lucifer didn’t back down from a challenge and met her gaze head on, even if he had the uncomfortable feeling that she was deciphering the parts of his story that he had never shared till now.
The hands folded beneath her chin fell onto the table, the loudest sound in their empty apartment. He wondered if she would think differently of him, for all the things he had done in the past, all in the name of a shallow victory or senseless vengeance. It unsettled him. He had spent a long while content to please no one, enjoying the times that he disappointed others because it would never compare to how they disappointed him. But not with Natalie.
He didn’t disappoint her and she didn’t disappoint him.
The silence bothered him for the first time in centuries. He opened his mouth to interrupt it--
“Lucifer?”
“Yes?” A small kernel of dread filled him. He couldn’t decipher her tone or her eyes, not even after weeks of studying her, trying to remember her when their paths diverged.
“Kiss?”
He stared wordlessly.
“What? You’re too tall.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“I did. It doesn’t change anything. I love you and it’s about time you accept that.”
It’s after dinner and her dad has disappeared into his room, leaving the house in its usual silence. Natalie washes the dishes, passing them along to Satan to dry and put them away, but she pauses with her hands under the water.
A long moment passes.
He puts away a cup, waiting for the last plate in the sink, but she’s still lost in thought, an uncharacteristic furrow to her brows. He squints at her, but ultimately lets her think because she’ll blurt out whatever is on her mind soon enough.
Another long moment passes then she cracks a grin. He narrows his eyes.
She cups her hands, water filling the small space between her palms. There’s barely concealed amusement playing across her face that makes him uneasy. “Hey, hey, Satan.”
He considers pretending to not here, but she’s looking at him expectantly.
“Satan,” she says again, twisting where she stands to smile at him.
“What, kid?”
“This...” Natalie has to pause to laugh. He steels himself, knowing what’s coming before she even finishes. “This water is getting out of hand.”
They both look down at her hands. The water has overflown, spilling over the sides. It’s exactly what he knew she would say and yet it’s even worse to hear it aloud. The look of defeat on his face brings a loud giggle to her lips.
snippet #3 for @astarisms ♥ Thank you for putting up with me!
if you haven’t read the first story in this series, check it out here! and stay tuned for the sequel, first chapter out on September 25th!
They both stared at the apartment. It was nice looking from the outside, nestled into a city block near Natalie’s college and fenced off from the random populace, and the pictures they had seen from the inside were promising. It should have been perfect, big enough for them to have space and different enough from the old place that Lucifer wasn’t plagued with memories.
Something about it unsettled him, though. Blissfully ignorant of his sudden refusal, Natalie bounced on her feet, nudging him to open the gate. His hand settled on the gate, waiting for the bite of the cold metal to prick his fingers.
He felt nothing. His heart stopped and resumed in a jerky beat, something coursing through him that was a hitherto unknown emotion. Fear, perhaps, something he hadn’t ever felt, not even in those moments when he had been picked apart by that mirror and shoved inside. He had only felt anger then. But not this. Not panic and fear. Not the sudden stop of his blood.
“Lucifer?” She rested her hand on his elbow, concern etched on her face.
He forced away the panic, resuming a look of indifference. “Colder than I expected,” he lied.
“Well,” she said skeptically, a knack for reading him. Natalie plowed on, her voice gentle. “We have to move on sometime. If this place doesn’t work for us, then we can find somewhere else. Its as much your decision as it is mine.”
“You’re paying for most of it,” he said.
Natalie laughed, the sound of it calming him immeasurably. “Is that what you’re worried about? You don’t want to be a freeloader? You can pay me back somehow, I’m sure you have some tricks up your sleeve.”
This actually took a little while for me to figure out. I wasgoing to go angst, like high-key angst, but then I had this idea and I just…loved it so much more? Forgive the errors, this got out of control.
title: past the clouds, find the starswords: 7,500~rating: uhh T I guess.
Natalie has a little problem with her apartment. But the not sofriendly ghost isn’t so bad once she gets to know him.
…
Her new apartmentwas haunted, no ifs ands or buts about it. There was no other explanation forthe falling books, the creaks and moans in a middling younger than her, or thehaphazardly misplaced items. Truthfully, she had excused each mishap as astrange but not entirely impossible coincidence until the day she found her petfish, Libby, in the bathtub, swimming like a predator among the plastic boattoys she bought for her nephew a few months prior.
Her parents didn’traise a fool. The biggest question was who or what – and that was only slightlyless hard than trying to convince her family that there was more at work herethan mischievous neighbors. Her father outright didn’t believe, an unsurprisingbut still painful outcome. Her brother accepted it with reluctance, buthis overnight visits had resulted in a zero on the ghost activity scale and hisdeparture had led to her very first interaction with the ghost.
Nice try, girl.
She didn’t jump orscream when the slanted, narrow script had appeared on her bathroom mirror thenight her brother left. It was quiet, too quiet, and she hadn’t noticed itappeared as she brushed her teeth, staring mindlessly into her own reflection.She rinsed her mouth with water and then choked as she finally noticed thewriting, spluttering to clear her airway as a strange, warm laugh filled theroom.
She had fled thatevening, swearing off her only bathroom for the rest of her life, but by thenext morning, Natalie was back again. The writing was gone and faded; shehesitantly prodded the glass, testing its strength and trying to convinceherself that it was nothing, when she felt the strange sensation of a handbrushing her arm as though to nudge her aside. She had shivered and leftwithout doing or saying more.
When she returnedfrom work, the books on her shelf had been reorganized and she stubbornly kepttrying to return it to normal until, at last, she had asked the ghost how hewanted them arranged then. She had seen a flash from the corner of her eyes andupon the mirror decorating her living room wall, she saw the handwriting appearonce more, lecturing her on the disorganization of her home.
“Does it matter?”Natalie had asked in her very first conversation with the ghost.
I have to live here, too.
“Then stop puttingLibby in the bathtub, please, and tell me what you want.”
The ghost hadn’tresponded for a long moment. So long, in fact, that the writing had sunk backinto the mirror like some bizarre mist. Then, after she began stacking the booksby author, it appeared, the writing perfect from beginning to end, as thoughthe hand holding it had spent a while agonizing over it.
Fine.
…
They settled into an uneasy routine. Stan – as she had come tocall him when he tried to write a name on the mirror only for her friendMichael to burst in the room, leaving her with only a vague impression of fourletters – didn’t seem to meet the qualifications for either a friendly ghost ora malevolent one. She took it to mean that he was a mixture of both.
He did an odd mood change every few days. Sometimes, he wouldknock all the books off her shelf on every second hour and scare off herboyfriend when he arrived for a late dinner. Then a day later, he would –somehow – convince her neighbor to stop his blaring music as she struggled tofocus on a paper due in a few days. It was perplexing to her, but as dayspassed, one after another, she found the day wasn’t quite complete without himplaying with the pages of a book or tugging on her hair while she cookeddinner.
“Do you talk? I mean, canyou?” Natalie mused aloud, her back resting against the armrest of her couchand a large, reddish book supported on her knees. Her exam on the paranormalwas in a few days, but she found it a struggle to concentrate; the only thingshe could really remember was the line about Bloody Mary’s real name beingMargaret. Probably the least likely thing to appear on said exam.
Her eyes were heavy. Her jaw cracked from another yawn and shetossed the book aside, deciding to switch to another subject. Namely herfavorite one: Stan.
Of all her friends, she thought Stan was her favorite and yet shehad never heard his voice or seen his face. Not once in the six months thatthey had been living together, for lack of a better word to describe theirstrange roommate situation. Oh, she knew what he would say if he did ever speakto her. The way he wrote was telling enough, but Natalie sometimes dreamed ofwhat he would sound like, wondering if it would be gruff to go along with hisbrusque words, or smooth to go along with his witty retorts, or soft like whenthings became emotional.
She tilted her head, listening, almost as if he wouldsomehow say something just to prove a point. He didn’t and she shifted on thecouch to face a mirror on the wall. Though he wasn’t fussy about which surfacehe wrote on, Natalie noticed he preferred this one. She couldn’t figure out whythough. The glass was clouded from age with a cracking, aged gold frame. Itwould have been much easier to use the glass table, where he had more room towrite and required less scrutiny from her.
The mirror won again.
Yes.
“But not to me?”
He thought for a while before replying. I haven’t tried.
“When was the last time you spoke to someone?” She askedcarefully, wary of sending him off into a fitful silence. He never likedtalking about why he was a ghost or how long he had been one. Sometimes, whenthe subject drifted that direction, he would fall into a heavy silence thatseemed to weigh on the whole apartment. She thought this might be one of thosetimes, but he proved her wrong within seconds.
A long time. Not sinceMichael sent me here.
“I’m sorry.” It must have been a lonely existence. “Who isMichael?”
Don’t apologize, kid,I’ve been dealing with this a long time and my brother is going to rue the dayI see him again.
She didn’t comment onhis use of the word rue, which she had never heard in casual conversation andalso not on the subject of his brother who was apparently the Michael he sodisliked. “How long?” He couldn’t be that old, nobody had said her apartmentcame with a ghost when she talked to the previous tenants about her new friend.
Very.
Natalie frowned, but though she seemed to be on the edge ofan epiphany, she couldn’t figure out what. For her homework? For Stan? “How…old are you?” She hadn’t ever asked; she had always assumed from his mannerismsand words that he wasn’t much older than she was, but perhaps more experiencedthan herself. She didn’t know why something about that assumption seemed offnow.
I stopped counting afew millenniums ago.
“Are you a ghost?” She asked bluntly. Then she amended,because a ghost seemed too generic of an answer to get anything concrete. “Whatare you, I mean?”
He didn’t respond, but Natalie figured that was answerenough.
…
Someone was knocking on her door and she moaned, rolling over tosquish her face into a pillow. It was too early to entertain; she hadn’t lookeda clock, but some things were instinctive. She dozed off for another secondwhen the knock returned again with more force.
“Stan, who is at the door?” she asked, shuffling over in her bedand squinting at her alarm clock. She gasped, jolting out of bed and tumblingto the ground as her clock read after eleven in the afternoon. Scrambling intoclean clothes and socks, Natalie shot out of her bedroom, pulling a handthrough her hair as she headed for the door.
Though she had slept for over twelve hours, she stifled a yawn asshe pulled open the door. Jericho frowned at her appearance, studying her sockswith intensity. “You do realize you’re wearing mismatched socks, right?” hesaid bluntly. She looked down, but then shrugged, smiling brightly at him andtugging him inside by his wrist.
“I forgot you were coming over for lunch today and overslept,” sheexplained sheepishly, closing the door behind him. He settled on her couch anddespite the sharpness of his words, his gaze was gentle as he watched her enterthe kitchen. “So we’ll have to make-dowith any leftovers I have in the fridge. How old is this spaghetti? Two daysago? Yeah, I think that’s all right. I have some bread, too, if you want someof that. Not garlic, but just regular bread. It’s just as good, especially withbutter. Do you want one, two, or three slices?”
He replied in the affirmative, but didn’t answer her question soshe gave him two. Worse case, she would have a third one.
It didn’t take long to heat up the spaghetti, but after herbabbling about the food ended, the two lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Jerichowas her first boyfriend and though they had been together for three months now,she found it a little difficult to interact with him still. Often, he agreedwith anything she said, content to list to her talk and contributing a questionor two. They had only been out and about a few times – one of those times waswhen she met him, trying to dig up answers about the guest staying in her home.
He had found her description of Stan to be funny and he had beenthe only one to respond to her question on Facebook. Only a few days later, hewas asking her on a date. They had spent a while at a restaurant and, the weekafter, he had asked to make her dinner at her place. She had agreed, but onlyafter verifying that Michael and his date would be able to attend as well. Ithad been fun, though it hadn’t felt much like a date. He had spent more timestaring off at her decorations than talking; later, he explained it as shynessaround her friend.
“Hey, do you want to go to the arcade on Saturday? I almost haveenough tickets to get the prize.” She had her eyes on an ugly painting worth10,000 tickets, but she was almost tempted to give her tickets away, just as anexcuse to keep playing at the arcade when Jericho frowned upon it.
No. Sorry, I just don’t think…“ He ran a hand over his head,ruffling his blonde hair. The lights flickered and both their gazes lifted tothe standing lamp in the corner. Like most of her apartment decor, it wassecond-hand and old. “Huh, is it storming or is that your friend, Stan?” Shecouldn’t tell if he was playing with her when he talked about Stan; maybe hewas just humoring her. She couldn’t read the brightness of his eyes asamusement or intrigue.
“I don’t know. Stan, is that you?” She called, eyes landing on themirror. Jericho followed her gaze, eyes widening.
“When did you get that?” He whispered.
“A while ago. Not long after I moved in,” she said, confused.“It’s always been there.”
Jericho blinked rapidly. “Does Stan talk through it?”
“Not really talk, more like write. He’s being quiet though, Iwonder why.” Natalie stood up, approaching the mirror. Her fingers touched theglass and it was cold beneath her touch. She squinted at it, but all she couldsee was her own foggy reflection staring back. No sign of Stan; not his writingor the foggy, indistinct shape that could have been him. “Stan?”
How longdoes it take you to realize my name isn’t Stan? I’ve told you eight times. Canyou even read?
It was his usual question and she smiled. “I think my neighborswould lose it if I called you Satan… or Lucifer, if you prefer that,” shemurmured, trying not to let Jericho overhear her words. The glass warmedabruptly, so hot that she jerked her fingers away. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Jericho asked, hand on her shoulder. “Who are youtalking to?”
“Stan. See?” Natalie gestured to the writing. It hadn’t faded yet,though she could see it growing opaque.
Jericho squeezed her shoulder, but without any of the gentlenessthat she expected, fingers digging into her skin tightly. She winced and thelights flickered sharply in protest. “I don’t see anything,” he said stiffly.“Are you sure there’s something there?”
“Yes. Look, he asked if I could read,” she pointed out theletters, tracing over them with the tip of her finger. The mirror was stillunusually warm, but not so hot that her fingers burned. She swallowed back herquestion because Jericho was scowling, a look quite unusual on his usuallysmiling face. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He jerked his hand away from her. She frowned at him, steppingaway as he paced, muttering angrily to himself.
“Tell Stan to talk to me. Give me a sign that he’s reallyhere,” he ordered, coming to a stop directly in front of the mirror.
Natalie swallowed, looking from him to the mirror,expecting something to appear on the surface in response. But Stan was silent,not even the flickering lights an announcement of his presence. It frightenedher, to be left alone with this stranger wearing Jericho’s face, and shestraightened her spine, locking eyes with him. Something dark flickered in hiseyes and she blanched at the anger pushing past the usual softness.
“Why does it matter if Stan is here ornot?” She asked stiffly.
“I didn’t waste weeks trying to find him,listening to you, only for this entire thing to be a figment of a little girlsimagination,” he spat, fists clenching by his side.
Her eyes flickered over his face. The last shreds ofhis old personality – a facade for all she knew – sinking beneath the wavesof his true face. She didn’t like it. “All for Stan? What are you, a ghosthunter or something?”
“You don’t even know who you’ve got your handson, do you?”
Oh, she did. He relished telling her every otherday, most often after she referred to him as Stan to some degree. Whenever herbrother was over, he took great pleasure in drawing on her mirrors, mimickingher handwriting despite never seeing it. She wouldn’t tell him that though.“Stan is just a ghost, he’s got the mentality of an eighteen year old andI guess that’s how old he is,” she lied, crossing her arms. “It’s theonly way to explain his pranks or the way he writes. I don’t know what else Ican tell you.”
Jericho stared at her and she knew without beingtold that he didn’t believe her. “You have Satan himself as a roommate andyou think it’s some random ghost?” He asked in disbelief. He had believedher, he thought she was an actual idiot, she realized, relieved beyond measure.If he thought she was an idiot, maybe he would just leave. If he thought shemade it up, maybe he would just… Give up.
She didn’t know what he wanted with Stan, but it wasn’tanything that Natalie would allow him to explore. Not without Stan’s expressedapproval and if his strange, out-of-character silence meant anything then hedidn’t agree in the slightest to Jericho. Wildly, she remembered his reactionwhenever Jericho was nearby. His nearing cruel antics and his impatience mademore sense now that she could see Jericho as he really was.
“Satan?” She whispered, feigningdisbelief. “I don’t have Lucifer as a roommate, that’s kind of ridiculous.Are you alright? Do you need me to get you some water?”
“No. Just… call Stan would you?” Hisvoice softened, returning once more to the face she knew, but the mask hadslipped for too long for Natalie to be fooled again. “I mean, I heard hemight be dangerous, I want to make sure you’re safe.”
She studied him, but then forced an optimistic smileon her face. “Silly. Stan hasn’t hurt me at all in the past six months,why would he begin to do it now? But if you’ll settle your nerves, I’ll ask himsomething. Umm, just give me a second, he’s particular about questions, if Iask him something boring like the weather or the time, he gets mad. He’sself-centered too, likes to talk, so it has to be about him.”
He didn’t say anything and Natalie trailed off, hertime for stalling done.
“Stan, who put you here?”
He didn’t respond with words, but she could see thefaintest trace of a star along the mirror. Like he was showing her that he wasthere, even if he didn’t share that with Jericho. She smiled softly, a littlehuffing laughter escaping her that was only partially a lie. “See?”Natalie said, waiting for Jericho to respond.
A slamming door was her only reply.
“That… was a close one,” she said quietly. Then –
“As much as I loathe saying I told you so, it’squite appropriate now. I told you so.”
Her heart thrummed to life, beating futilely againsther skin as a voice washed over her. Without seeing, without ever hearing itbefore, without a single delay, she knew who it was. His voice was neitherbrusque nor soft, but something deep and almost melodious; the type of voicethat narrated audio books or rallied a crowd.
“Lucifer,” she said breathlessly, a bright smile onher face.
…
If she expected their routine to change at all withthe arrival of his voice, she was dead wrong. If anything, Lucifer was atoptimal levels of petty antics: Libby ended up in the sink, her pictures hadchildish doodles over the glass that made her brother leave behind a number forthe local pastor, and her bookshelves had all turned so the spines faced theback of the shelf. It didn’t annoy her, which she assumed was his goal, becauseshe got back at him by creating a playlist of songs dedicated specifically topissing him off.
He was funny when he raged and she learned that hedidn’t disappear nearly as often as she used to think. Sometimes, while doingher homework, she would hear him mutter to himself and the ruffle of pages ashe read a magazine she had left on the couch. When she forgot about dinnercooking, he would tug her hair and urge her to rescue the stew before shekilled them both.
And it was hints like those that made her rememberthat he wasn’t a ghost at all. He was Lucifer.He wasn’t meant to be hanging around like a permanent guest, there must havebeen something that kept him here. Something… But what? She chewed on her pen,the paper in front of her blurring with each blink as a heavy weight settled onher back. “Lucifer?” She asked tentatively, yawning. “When are you going totell me why you’re here?”
“I live here.”
“Don’t be stupid, you know what I meant.”
“I…” His words trailed off and she lowered her pen,anticipating welling up inside her. This was it, he was finally going to tellher, finally going to explain. “I live here,” he repeated, voice tight as ifsomething squeezed as his throat and kept the words from escaping him lips.
“You can’t tell me?” She asked, tapping her fingers.
“Something like that.”
“Then I’ll just figure it out myself,” she said witha shrug, closing her notebook with a snap.
“You do that and let me know how it goes.” She stoodup. “Wait, right now?”
“Well, it’s better late than never, don’t you think?You should have told me a while ago that you were stuck, I thought you werejust messing around and hanging out whenever things got boring.”
“Because I would spend my free time in yourcompany,” he drawled.
She beamed. “I know you would, buddy.” He could saywhatever he wanted, but she knew the truth that he cared. Why else would hebring water to her room when she was sick? Or throwing a scarf at her facebefore she left just in case it was cold? Or remind her to eat after a homeworkbinge? It should have been frightening, to have someone so infamous to havesuch a focus on her, but Natalie didn’t care.
Natalie loved him.
The thought was so shocking, so sudden, that shestopped in her thoughtful pacing, unable to pinpoint the moment her feelingshad become concrete enough for her to think it without hesitation. She shouldhave felt different. Lighter, stronger, or happier like the characters in anyromance ever, but she couldn’t feel anything except a strange sense ofcontentment and a voice – her voice – whispering yes, finally like it had known her feelings all along.
“Natalie?”
“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled, scrubbing the blushfrom her warm cheeks. “I’m going to figure it out. What can you tell me?”
He choked and then fell silent when the words didn’tcome out.
“Seriously? Nothing at all? Not even a little hint?”She asked in disbelief. He laughed with little amusement and she pouted at theceiling because she didn’t know where else to look, his voice seeming to bounceoff the very walls. She scanned them for an answer, but there was only herbookshelf and a mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that made sense.“How do my neighbors not hear you? For that matter, why didn’t Jericho seeyou?”
His laughter halted all at once, leaving adisconcerting silence, but in the time it took for her to turn into a confusedcircle, he was back again. “You’ve been exposed to my presence long enough forthe normal… protection,” here his voice croaked like a frog and if she didn’tknow what it was from, she would have laughed, “to wear off. There’s more to itthan that, but my hands are tied.” He didn’t say literally, but Natalie heardit nonetheless and her resolve to find him shot up a notch.
“Natalie?”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, I don’t expect you to do this,kid. It could be dangerous.” There was raw honesty in his voice, anuncharacteristic seriousness that frightened her.
“Danger is my middle name,” she joked, eyes trailingover the room, forcing back the fear. She would do this. It was long overdue. Nowall she had to do was figure it out.She knew there was something here; the knowledge of something without wordshummed in the back of her head and the longer she thought of it, the more tiredshe became.
If she could see him, she knew he would be smirking.“Thought your middle name was Anabella?”
“At least my middle name isn’t The,” she snarkedback. He huffed, but the noise was far from annoyed. Perhaps fondly exasperatedwas a closer description. She blinked rapidly, her eyelids feeling heavy andshe pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to force the feeling away. “Man,what time is it?”
“It’s eleven in the afternoon,” he said quietly,another hint in his voice.
“Oh.” She paused, hands still over her eyes and ananswer behind her eyelids. “You’re making me tired. Is it making you strongeror something? Is that how you can talk to me now?” She hadn’t ever consideredwhy; there was a lot about Lucifer that she just accepted as part of thepackage deal.
“Or something.”
She sighed quietly. “Is that something the thingwon’t let you say or something you don’t want to say?”
“…Both.”
She nodded, chewing on her lips. “Do you want me tohelp you? I mean, I don’t even know what you want. Maybe you like haunting thisplace, maybe you like staying here with me and all the other people you haunt.Maybe you like the break from Hell. Or do you want to be free? How does thiseven work?” Her words came out in one breath, words running over each other. She ran a hand over her face, still tired.“You have to be honest with me. I mean, I don’t want to do something you don’twant me to do, dude.”
He thought before he spoke; she didn’t know how sheknew that, but she did. “I want you to help me.”
“Okay.” The world seemed to tilt on its axis and aloud noise blared in her ears like thunder. Her heart hurt and she closed hereyes until the feeling passed a second later. A ringing silence met her ears,but only for a moment before she heard breathing. His breathing. Then histhoughtful hum and he called her name. It was as if cotton was removed from herears, the sound so clear that she could pinpoint its exact location.
It was coming from behind her.
She whirled around; her reflection gapped back ather, equally confused. “You live in themirror?” Natalie whispered, stepping closer. She remembered the glass warmingbeneath her touch, right after she said his name and only a little bit later,he had said his first words to her. How was she blind enough to miss it?
“I do,” he said, relieved. “But not quite. Whateverit reflects, that’s where I live freely. I can… move around, so to speak, withsome effort.”
Natalie put her back to the mirror and cupped herhands around her eyes, trying to see the room as he did. Her couch stood in thecenter and the side of the coffee table; right behind the couch was herbookshelf, the one he so often rearranged and Libby’s bowl rested on top, thefish swimming in merry circles. It was plain, most of her décor out of hisview, and she sighed. “No wonder you kept messing with my books. If you wantedsomething more, I would have given it to you. Maybe a nicer pillow?” The oneson her couch were flat like cardboard and nearly as rough; it wasn’t somethingshe would give someone to rest on.
“It’s fine.”
“Fine, but we’ll get you a bed of some sort onceyou’re out of there.” She hesitated. “Umm… how do I actually get you out?”
“Good question. Let me know when you have ananswer.”
…
Her want to free him didn’t decrease over the nextweek, but though she had brought home nearly every book in the sections ofmythology and religion at the library, they were no closer to answers. Luciferhelped, the flicking of pages as he read their only conversation long into thenight, and their books dwindled little by little. A full two weeks after herrevelation, they were done with any relevant books and she fell to pluckingrandom ones off the shelf as she walked, hoping one of them would could containsomething of substance.
Lucifer thought this was funny. “There’s hardlygoing to be an answer in a cook book or a book about someone named HarryPotter,” he pointed out when she came home after work. Her arms ached from thebooks and she shot a look at the mirror that made him laugh again. It was adelight sound and she softened against her will. She deposited the books on hercoffee table, spreading them out with a thoughtful frown.
“Probably not going to be in cooking, but a lot offantasy stuff might have a kernel of truth, you know.” Natalie dropped the cookingbook into a pile to be returned tomorrow and the Harry Potter book into themaybe’s. She had read the entire series and nothing about it stuck out asparticularly helpful, but she would leave no stone unturned. “Maybe I shouldask Jericho. I mean, it sounds like he knew something about you and if anyoneknows how to set you free, it’d probably be him,” she mused.
“What makes you think he’d tell you that? No, it’sbetter off to avoid him,” Lucifer disagreed. She wished she could see him, sheimagined his lips would be curled with disgust right about now. His voicealways took on that tone whenever Jericho was brought up – and since hisdisappearance a few weeks ago, she hadn’t spoken to or about him.
Natalie blew out a breath. “You can’t think ofanybody who will help?” He was Lucifer; he must have known somebody that wouldknow. She grabbed a book at random, skimming through the table of contents foranything that might be relevant. Nothing. She tossed it aside to the pile of returns, hefting up anotherone that talked about a cursed mirror in one of its sections. Seemed promising,if you asked her, but then she found it was another story about Bloody Mary.Not useful – except… Hadn’t she read recently–
Her musings were interrupted by his response.
“Nobody who wouldn’t extract a price.”
“There’s no price I wouldn’t pay,” she saidhonestly. Then, because he was quiet and she might have said more than she waswilling to admit, she babbled, closing the book on her fingers. “Maybe they’lljust want a lot of money. I’m sure I could take out a loan or something.Pretend it’s for school. Then you’ll just have to get a job and help me pay itback before they try to repossess my car for missing payments.”
“Not a possibility, Natalie.”
“Fine, fine.” Relieved, she stood up, dropping thebook onto the table and pushing aside her own feelings for the embers of anidea.
Bloody Maryhad reminded her of something else, another book she had read months back aboutfolklore. For school, she remembered slowly. A book from her school librarythat she had never returned and forgotten about until just this moment. Like itwas just waiting for her, but that was silly. She disappeared into her bedroomand returned with a large, reddish book. “Hey, do you know about Bloody Mary?”
“Nasty woman,” he said, more admirable than shethought someone should be. “Her name was Margaret though, not Mary, but she didhave a high death count before she arrived in my domain. Why?”
She decided not to ask. “This book talks about herand her connection to mirrors. It sounds like she was an evil spirit who theytrapped inside one, but it didn’t work the way they intended because she coulduse that mirror to travel to any other one in an instant. Sounds like her deathcount got really high before these two realized that breaking the originalwould kill.”
Lucifer made a noise like a grunt. “I never heardhow she died, but if she was trapped in the mirror by somebody, it goes withoutsaying that breaking it wouldn’t do anything except set her free—oh, hmm.”
“I didn’t tell you that so we could break the mirror,”she sighed, exasperated by his thoughtful hum. “If we break that mirror, youcould die.”
“It takes a lot to kill me,” he pointed out.
“That’s when you weren’t in a mirror, stupid, who knowshow much strength you have after centuries of being trapped? We could just talkto the author!” She held up the book, flipping open the back tab to show apicture of a tanned man with sandy-blonde hair. “I mean, wouldn’t he be the oneto talk to about this? If he actually names her by Margaret then he must knowsomething.”
She could hear the frown in his voice, but it wasn’tabout confronting the author as she expected. “Where did you get that?”
“The library, obviously. Same place I got all therest of them.”
“That book has certainly never been in a librarybefore, not if he was the author,” Lucifer grumbled.
“Who is he?” She glanced down at the book. The manhad a goofy face and almond-shaped blue eyes; something about his smile wasunsettling to her, but she thought it was just the type of picture. “It sayshis name is Michael, I don’t know—oh. It’s… YourMichael? Your brother, that Michael? How? You said you’ve been trapped for agesand this was published ten years ago.”
“My brother doesn’t age anymore than I do. It’s notsurprising that he’s still alive and kicking all these years later, especiallyamong you humans, but I don’t know why he would publish a book. Not much of awriter, my brother.”
“People change.” Like him. Like her. She didn’t sayit aloud, letting them hang in the air between them, but if Lucifer noticedthem, he didn’t say anything about it.
Bitterness clouded his words, heavier than even theunspoken words between them. There were centuries of bad feelings and angerbetween him and Michael and she feared how a confrontation between them wouldend. Not well, but hopefully Michael was long gone, a threat that Lucifer wouldnever have to face. “Not him – but this is good.”
“How? We can’t trust what he says,” she said,shaking her head.
“He’s not prone to lying, not about something with thistype of magic on it. Anything in that book is going to be true otherwise hewouldn’t waste time hiding it. When was the last time anybody opened that bookaside from you?” It was a question to prove a point, she could tell from thesudden smugness.
She flipped to the front of the book and there, in ashiny stamp, was only her name. In the library, Natalie hadn’t even noticed it.“I’m the only one. But how? Every other book has been checked out eight timeseach.” Hiding it, he had said. She hadn’t seen anyone like Michael at thelibrary to do so and it had been tucked, quite plainly, on a shelf aboutphilosophy and religion. There was nothing hidden about this book. It wasalmost like magic. Natalie managed a wary smile, a sense of dread building in her.“Since when have you become the optimistic one?”
“More like experienced, kid. Same reason you don’thave issues reading my writing or hearing me anymore, you’re immune to a lot ofthat magic now, that’s probably why you saw it,” he said, growing more excitedat the prospect of freedom by the second. It was the excitement and thereminder of his wistful voice whenever he spoke about outside that reminded herof her goal. She would free him.
“What…” Her throat dried up, brain trying to protestthe incredible risk they were about to take. “What do I have to do?”
He quieted, thinking, and her heart raced in herchest, nearly overshadowing the sound of his breathing and the way he mutteredto himself. She wished it wouldn’t because she was trying to memorize him andthe sound of his voice, afraid that this would be the last time she ever heardhim.
“Right. Just break the mirror.” Natalie stood upslowly, licking her lips. “Throw something from far away. You don’t want to getany of that glass on you, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he warned her.Maybe it was the mirror knowing what was coming, but she thought the fog wasswirling like a storm.
She picked up a book and she figured it was ironicthat Harry Potter’s contribution was as a weapon rather than any real help.Nevertheless, it was the thickest of her books, easily heavy enough to break amirror if she threw it hard enough. If she could even throw it. Her fingerstrembled from the weight of it, nearly letting it slip, but she held tight. “Ifyou die, I’m going to bring you back and kill you myself.” She had heard thatin a movie a thousand times before, but Natalie had never understood that dreaduntil now.
“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice.
She threw the book with all her might. It crackedagainst the reflection of the mirror, which darkened with turmoil as the bookthumped to the ground. The mirror hadn’t broken and she stared at the smallcrack left behind like a taunting smile. In the mirror, the fog had darkeneduntil it was black, oozing out from the crack like hissing smoke. Her lightsflickered on and off, dimming.
“Lucifer?” She whispered, but the apartment wasabuzz with noise and she couldn’t hear him over the static, so loud that ithurt her ears. “Lucifer!” Nothing. She couldn’t hear his breathing or hiswords; she couldn’t feel the slightest hint of his presence. The apartment wasaltogether too empty and stale. She held her breath. Tried to yawn. Anything tomake the feeling dissipate and bring him back. She heaved another book at itand the crack grew the tiniest fraction. Even if she threw all the books aroundher, it seemed to make little difference.
What was the most cliché thing movies had taughther?
Natalie wrapped her courage around her like a cloakand sprang at the mirror with her balled fist. The mirror shuddered, crackingmore and she pulled her fist back, hitting it again, the glass cutting into herknuckles and leaving a print of blood on the mirror. She trembled as thetiredness returned with a vengeance. Something swelled behind the mirror,something she could only feel and not see, and with a wailing moan that wasn’ther own or even Lucifer’s, the mirror shattered, showering her in tiny shardsof glass that pricked against her hands and face.
She stumbled back from the mirror as though burned,her knees trembling and her breath coming in ragged pants. Her lights had shutoff entirely, leaving her in darkness and she fumbled her way towards thecouch, her hands protesting the slightest twitching. “Lucifer?” She whispered,her ears buzzing too loudly. The static had stopped, but the pulse from themirror made her head spin. Natalie sucked in a breath, holding it in andletting it out again when her head seemed a fraction clearer.
“Lucifer? Are you here? Say something. I know you’retired. Just say anything, even swear, I won’t make you put a quarter in thejar.” Still nothing and she felt her lips tremble. The pain in her hand rose,but she ignored it.
There’sno price I wouldn’t pay.
Apparently they had taken her words to heart.
…
The first day was spent in a day of shock and pain.She called his name and received silence in return.
The second, her brother had come over to help fixwhatever kept her electricity from working and promptly escorted her to thedoctors to have the glass from her hand removed. She broke something in one ofher fingers, too, which wasn’t as much a surprise to her as it was to herbrother when he found out how she got it.
The third, she shooed her brother off and coveredher face to hide from her nephew’s puppy eyes. It was easier when they weregone though because she could drop her back on the couch for an hour, crying atthe ceiling and feeling more lost than ever. She didn’t do much of anything thenext few days.
The seventh day was easier, but also not. Her movementswere robotic as she packed up the books and a slow, agonizing walk to thelibrary to return them. The only one she kept was the one by his brother andshe fought the urge to toss it into the fire every day after that; it hadn’tworked, after all, because Lucifer was gone and the book was wrong, wrong, wrong.
She read it instead. It was easier to scour throughit, scanning paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, for some sign ofwhat went wrong than to wallow around. It didn’t help much, but the words werefascinating and if she were in the right mind, she would have enjoyed studying itmore. Halfway through, there was a footnote about Lucifer and she had to pause,tracing the name, wondering how so much could change in little over a year.
She hadn’t lost a best friend before. She hadn’tever had one either and somehow that made it worse.
The footnote’s exasperation as it explained Luciferand his involvement with a random tree – she hadn’t paid attention to the name,though if she came across it again, she thought it might stick out – had herlaughing. Then frowning because how could Michael talk so fondly of his brotheronly to trap him away? She wanted to ask, but there was an equal chance of contactingMichael as there was Lucifer.
Blowing out a breath, Natalie sped through the lastof the book, eager to be done with it. There was nothing in there to explainwhere Lucifer was or if he would be back. She bit hard into her lip at theintrusive thought, shoving it in a box labeled never and continuing to read. Solost in her own thoughts, she nearly skimmed past a whole footnote, the longestof any and its entirety dedicated to Lucifer.
It read like a confession and after the second line,Natalie felt too guilty to continue and skipped straight to the end. A singleline, handwritten unlike all the rest, in loopy writing so like Lucifer’s,stared at her from the end.
Tomy brother, with my eternal apologies.
She put the book away, a tidy little hiding placefor something that seemed sacred, and then crawled into bed. When she criednext, it wasn’t for only her and Lucifer; it was for everyone involved in thismess and the answers they would never get from it now.
…
The next day, she woke to someone knocking on herdoor. Groggily, she swept her hair off her forehead, moaning because everythingin her body ached. No more skipping out on dinner in favor of reading, it neverended well for her. Her stomach grumbled in protest as she climbed out of bed,the knock persisting.
“Imma coming,” she called, rubbing her eyes. Shejumped in place a few times before opening the door, trying to wake up hersleepy bones for her brother. “I told you not to…” Her words trailed off, astrangled gasp escaping her instead.
She had never seen his face before, but somehow sheknew. He was much taller than her with wavy, well-kept black hair streakedwhite, broad shoulders, and small, narrow eyes. She studied the sharpness ofhis cheeks, the point of his chin, and his soft-looking lips. They curved intoa smirk under her studying and she shot back up to his eyes, mouth-hanging openin a fair imitation of Libby that made him laugh.
If she had any doubts, the laugh ended them. “Lucifer!”She sprang at him, their height difference causing little problem when shewrapped her arms around his neck and tucked herself into his chest. He stumbledback, one hand falling onto her back to hold her steady and the other grippingonto the threshold.
“Natalie.”
If she thought it was strange how much could changein a year, it was nothing compared to how things could change in a second. Justsaying her name made her heart race. Tears welled in her eyes and she thumpedhim once on the chest. “You idiot, where have you been? I thought you were agoner and the book didn’t say anything helpful, it was awful. No, not awful, Ineed to read it again, but it didn’t tell me anything. I can’t believe youtalked me into that!”
“You can still talk up a storm, I almost forgot,” hesaid fondly, extracting her face from his shirt. “You’re also getting snot onmy shirt.”
“Gonna dump Libby’s bowl on you, how’s that forsnot?” She muttered, still crying, a shaky laugh escaping her. “You’re alive!You’re… you’re alive right? I’m not talking to a ghost?”
“As alive as I can be. I don’t think you could touchghosts and I don’t think ghosts could touch you.” His fingers touched hercheek; she thought it might have been to prove a point, but his brows werefurrowed and it lingered. “You’re very warm,” he commented, seemingly surprisedto know that she wasn’t cold as ice.
“That’s just…” Her blush, probably. “Don’t put offmy original question either, I noticed.”
“I didn’t just pop back into place as a human being.I wasn’t one to begin with and it’s been a long time since I’ve had flesh andbones to walk on,” he explained, quite content with their position. Both hishands moved to her waist, toying with the hem of her shirt absently. Her ownwere settled on his chest, chin tipped up to watch him speak, focused intentlyon the way his lips moved with each word. He spoke exactly as she expected himto, but to actually see it…
She missed some of the specifics of his explanation, but he was safe and whole so what did it matter?
When he finished, staring at her expectedly for a response, she straightened,standing on her toes. Her hands reached around his head, smoothing over andthen through his dark, soft hair. He blinked once and then he was grinning.Such a beautiful grin. She hadn’t thought she would even see it and here itwas.
She tugged his face down to hers, pressing her lipshard against his and it was a messy kiss for a first one, but she didn’t care.Didn’t care that her face was tear-stained and her lips were inexperienced. Hislips were soft and warm, slightly chapped, but they didn’t hesitate or pause.He allowed her control for a moment before surging forward, tilting his headand his hands rising to her cheeks, thumb stroking over her cheek like she wassomething precious. She smiled against his lips and parted from him enough tospeak a whispered “Welcome home” before kissing him again.
His hand fell from her face. He stepped forward andshe stepped back until they were crossing over the threshold of her apartment.With his freehand, he reached behind them and closed the door, only breakingfrom her lips when it closed and dropping his forehead against hers. “We’re notstaying here long,” he told her and Natalie giggled, knowing where he was going. “I’ve had quite enough of all these walls.”
series: Satan and Me
pairing: natan
rating: T - for language in future chapters
Also available on ffn, check my profile!
if you haven’t read the first in this series, check it out here!
a/n: thank you to @astarisms for reading this over for me and encouraging me to write it! ♥ I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you! The next chapter will be out October 3rd!
summary: Two months after their reunion, Natalie and Lucifer discover there’s bad luck in breaking mirrors.
Past the Clouds, Find the Sun
Chapter One - It Could Have Been Worse
Someone with more nerves than her would cower at the idea of facing a ghost head on, but then no other person had a ghost turn human turn boyfriend the way she did and they didn’t have a ghost insulting their best friend either. Said friend floated between them with wide-eyed disinterest, darting around the edge of a tower to avoid the confrontation brewing above her.
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong with Libby!” she said, crouching beside the tank, eyeing Libby the fish with uncertainty. She wasn’t an expert on animals and though she loved Libby a lot, she couldn’t quite recall if she had always been that color. Was it a trick of the light or Lucifer’s words that made Natalie McAllister worry?
“It looks a little sick, cross-eyed even,” he replied, squinting down at the fish, who floated absently around the fish bowl that was her home. “And you’re saying this fish is how old?”
Natalie gave the fish tank a tender touch, wary of touching the glass edges and smearing the result of her most recent cleaning spree, but unable to contain the tenderness that flooded through her.
“I got it when I was ten with my mom. She didn’t have any pets when she was younger, I can’t remember why, but she was pretty insistent that Max and I have something. My dad said it would teach responsibility,” she said, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. Mentions of her mother often rolled Natalie into a grab-bag of nostalgia in which her mood could never decide if it wanted to swing one way or the other on the sadness-anger-happiness scale. She blinked once. “So she’s about ten now. Much longer than most goldfishes.”
“Indeed?” His tone changed, not quite soft, but the teasing dropped in the face of a history he didn’t know.
“Yup.”
The sudden silence reminded her of how new and tenuous they were together. Though they had been unwanted roommates for over a year and friends for the next year, they had only really seen each other for two months now. It wasn’t even long by her standards, let alone the millenniums of his. Was this entire year a mere blink to him? She hadn’t ever asked, afraid the answer would shatter them before they could even really begin.
She rushed to continue the conversation, following the whim of an idea. “So do your threats to Libby have something to do with the dinner later? I mean, I know it was out of the blue, but I can’t really avoid it for much longer. I don’t want to avoid it either,” she said, nose wrinkling. “They are my family and you’re my family, that makes them your family, you know?”
Lucifer scoffed. “It was hardly a threat to say she looked ill.” It was answer enough to her and she hid a smile by stepping into the kitchen for Libby’s food.
Her brother’s unanticipated arrival had scared the pants off her and Lucifer alike though it was nothing compared to her brother’s reaction. She didn’t keep him up-to-date on her entire life – her love life especially, there were just some things that a brother didn’t need to know – and she suspected that it was just as much hurt as it was mistrust that led him to stiffly invite them both to dinner the next night. She also suspected that Lucifer would undergo a vast interrogation on her brother’s part if not her father’s part as well, though she would do her best to step in before it got that far.
Who knew Satan would be afraid of meeting the parents? She thought to herself, sprinkling food into Libby’s tank, trying to smother her smile and failing.
“We’ll figure it out, it’s not like we have to lie very much about it.” Except the fact that he was much older than her, he didn’t have anything in the way of a history that could be explained, and he was, well, Satan. So maybe a lot to lie about, but these were important to hide. She didn’t want to imagine her father’s reaction, short of an irrational fear that he would cart her off to some institution for believing it. He didn’t even believe her about having a ghost in her apartment for the last year, he certainly wouldn’t believe the ghost was Satan and that she had helped free him over two months ago because she loved him.
“I admire lying in most cases, but in this one, I’m inclined to believe that the truth would be much better.” There was a little too much delight in his tone for her to believe this was a wholly angelic suggestion. He might not have been Satan for a long while, but the mischief was still engraved in him. It explained a lot of his antics when he was incorporeal, though.
“My dad would take us both to church.” His fingers twitched, but she didn’t comment on it, filing the knowledge away for future reference. “So I’m afraid that’s not really an option. You’ll just have to be Stan, a friend of someone who used to live in this complex.”
“Why Stan?”
“The only other option is Lucy. I’m not opposed to it, but I figured you would prefer Stan. You’ve heard it enough that you’ll probably respond to it, too, so that will give our story credit.”
She thought the plan was rather brilliant of her. Simple, yet somewhat truthful. When he had haunted her building like a random ghost, they had communicated almost entirely through nudging, caveman gestures, and writing on reflective surfaces before he had grown strong enough to speak. When she had gathered the courage to ask him his name, she had only gotten a brief glimpse of the letters S T N before her friend Michael had interrupted and she had incorrectly assumed his name was Stan.
It was a rookie mistake that he had rectified over the weeks, but she still used it sometimes and it worked well. She was more afraid of slipping and calling him Lucifer than of him forgetting to respond to Stan though.
But, anyway, he had been named Stan at some point and he was a friend of someone who used to live in the building. He was her friend after all and he could be friends with himself. It wasn’t a total lie, though it erred close enough to one that Natalie felt uncomfortable thinking about it. If she were younger, she would have blurted out the secret right then and there, but the newness of what they were had her biting her tongue.
“You’ll just have to wing the rest of it,” she continued, frowning. “I don’t think we’ll have time to go over an entire story for this and I’d probably forget it, too.”
He watched her, his eyes narrowed as though dissecting her thoughts. “As you wish,” he murmured.
…
Natalie spent more time worrying than she did getting ready, something that would have irritated Lucifer if he hadn’t been doing the same thing. Oh, he played it off well, picking out an outfit to wear from his meager choices and styling his hair in half the time that it took Natalie to pick out her clothes alone, but every so often, he felt his finger twitch with nerves. Every day since he was free of that mirror was unknown territory, but tonight was far beyond any of his realms of expertise.
Only one wrong move would be all it took to muck it up. As amusing as it would be for him in the moment to scare the hell out of Max and Alex McAllister, it would be temporary fun in exchange for months of despondency when Natalie fretted and worried.
Not that she wasn’t doing a fair share of it from the time they climbed into her car till they arrived at her father’s house. She worried her lip between her teeth, nearly chewing off the lip balm she had added before they got in the car, and he wordlessly passed the tube over to her again when they stopped. He had swiped it off the counter when they left, expecting that she would need to reapply it.
The more she worried, the more anxious he felt. It just wouldn’t do for them both to panic. “We could sneak away,” he offered, eyeing the door with distaste. It wasn’t his first time in the car since he was freed and it wasn’t the first car he had seen either, but it was infinitely different to be in one than see it on that television of hers. The time he lost in that mirror never felt more acute than when he was looking at some strange, mechanical beast without any idea of what it was.
It didn’t bother him so much as annoy him. Natalie was patient, teaching him the things he didn’t know, but the fact that he even needed a teacher was….
Well, there were no words to describe it. How did one explain the feeling of being plucked from the world and then dropped into it again only to find that everything he knew had changed? Well, almost everything he knew. The sight of Max McAllister in the doorway reminded him that he was very familiar with human emotions still.
Society changed; people didn’t.
The house was the corner lot down a suburban neighborhood and the only difference it had from all its neighbors was the size of the front lawn, which stretched in emerald green grass around the bend of the street. Each house was cream colored with dark grey slated roofs and matching fixtures with window placements that were identically placed. The lawn was neatly cut and the foliage beneath the windows was a cheery addition, but identical to every other house on the block.
“Did you grow up here?” He said in disbelief. Natalie was casual in looks and actions. She didn’t go out of her way to decorate the room with a thought in mind to it and that led to a rather odd result. But it was colorful and bright, the type of place that looked lived in, and he couldn’t picture the Natalie McAllister beside him with the one who had likely grown up in a home so unremarkable.
“Not really,” she said, leaving the rest unspoken. He nodded in understanding, deciding that all the things that made Natalie her would be the type of things that reminded her father of someone else. He could see not wanting to live in the same house where so many memories lingered – even if they were good – just because there were simply too many.
Natalie waved at her brother. Like her, Max was tall and slender with ginger hair and green eyes, but unlike her, he didn’t have much happiness in seeing them. His brows were furrowed and he stared at them with such frostiness that Lucifer thought the temperature outside could have dropped several degrees. He hid a smirk as Natalie, undeterred, tugged him forward.
“Max! You didn’t have to wait for us, I still have the key,” she said, loosening her grip from his arm to fish out a silver key from her bizarrely packed purse.
Her brother didn’t look as though he would unwind himself from his disapproving pose. “It’s fine,” Max said after a moment, his eyes locked on Lucifer, before he stuck out his hand. “I’m Max, which I would have said last time if you weren’t sticking your tongue down my sister’s throat.”
Lucifer accepted it, trying not to laugh at the sharpness in Max’s words. “Stan as I’m sure you already know. It would help to knock if you want to avoid a repeat, it’s what most people do.”
Neither of them let go, stuck in a private stare-down till Natalie let out a huff. She gripped both their wrists, her grip stronger than Lucifer expected, and dragged both into the house. Despite her urgency, her pace was steady and her tone normal. “Honestly, I’m starved, what are we having? Hopefully not barbeque, I enjoy a good steak as much as the next girl, but I remember the last time dad tried that.”
“I cooked,” Max interjected.
“Brilliant. You can’t cook either,” she said cheerfully. “But at least it won’t be badly burnt.”
Lucifer snorted. “I see your cooking talent comes from both sides of the family.”
“As if you could do better,” she shot back, a pleased smile on her face.
“Next time, I’ll prove it,” he said, patting her on the head, fighting back a laugh when she swiped it off with a mocking pout. He had little of an appetite since he returned, needing only to eat every couple of days, and he hadn’t needed to prepare any food so his cooking was likely on par with an inexperienced teenager. But he was certain that a chipmunk could cook better than Natalie. He wouldn’t need to work hard to surpass that goal – and he saw on her television that giving food was something people did when they were fond of each other.
A win-win. Prove that he was the superior cook and give her something from him, when he had so little in material things to give her.
He felt a pang at the knowledge that he could offer nothing, but it was momentary as Natalie directed them into the dining room. From the outside of the house, Lucifer had expected something posh and boring, with matching table sets and a floral centerpiece, but, unexpectedly, it was a simple dark wood table with plenty of nicks and mismatched brown and black chairs. There was no tablecloth and no silverware set in advance. It was plain, sure, but there was more character in the table than the rest of the house. A marker stain, scrubbed to near invisibility, told him that this was a table that Natalie or Max had used in their youth.
The room flowed into a brightly lit and sparsely decorated kitchen where an average height man with red-blonde hair and crooked, rectangle glasses stood in front of the stove. His hands fiddled with a pot, where a stew bubbled and popped, sending a strong aroma into the rest of the house – Lucifer didn’t think it was an awful smelling one, but he wasn’t sure if he would say it was good either.
Natalie dropped his arm, nearly skipping across the kitchen. Her father beamed when he saw her and she pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Hi, dad! I thought Max was cooking?”
“Just pasta. It will go well with Max’s food,” he replied, replacing a lid on the pot and turning around to face Max and Lucifer. He wore a teal colored apron around his waist, beneath which he wore a loose sweater-vest and pants, and the smile on his face was identical to his daughters, if not a little less happy. “Welcome, Stan, I’ve heard some about you!”
“Not nearly as much as I’ve heard about you, I’m sure.”
“Alex,” he said, offering his hand.
“Stan.” Lucifer shook his hand, wondering what his family would think if they could see him. Then he decided they weren’t worth the effort and pushed them from his mind.
Natalie chattered with her father and brother animatedly, her hands and face expressing more than her words ever could. The kitchen felt small with the four of them standing there and there was a part of him that felt out of place in the homely room. He hadn’t ever felt that way before either and he frowned, trying to dislodge it, when Natalie placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. She didn’t stop speaking, but her eyes met his momentarily with a smile before she continued with her story about an obnoxious reader at the library.
Dinner progressed in much of the same way, though they roped Lucifer into conversation more often than they had while dinner was being prepped, and he found it was more difficult to explain his than he anticipated. There were so many things about his life that couldn’t be translated into mundane speak. Natalie answered where he couldn’t.
(“Do you have a job?” “Not currently, my previous went out of business. I’ve found it to be difficult to find a similar position around here.”)
(“Do you go to school?” “With work being so iffy, he hasn’t had the chance. I’ve been trying to persuade him to go! What do you think? Maybe a doctor?” “I would sooner gouge out my own eyes.” “Hmm, perhaps history then.” “Possibly.”)
(“Where is it you lived again?” “Small town, quite far from here, but unremarkable other than its intense heat.” “He calls it Hell sometimes.”)
He had thought the most important questions were out of the way, especially when they moved on to how Natalie and he had met. It was so much easier to describe their relationship from the time they met and onwards than it was for Lucifer to explain his life before.
They had met when he was staying with a previous tenant at her apartment, but it was just as friends. He had went away for a while to handle things at home, but he returned because he forgot something – and he prayed that her brother or father didn’t ask what he forgot, because he would be hard-pressed to come up with an answer – and found out about her situation with a ghost. He had helped her rid the apartment of it and they had just connected from there.
Neither her brother nor her father objected to this story. Her brother’s hands tightened around the edge of his fork, eyes darting between the two of them suspiciously.
Natalie slapped her hand down on the table, rattling the bowls and spoons. “I forgot! Where’s Millie and Artie? I thought they were supposed to have dinner with us as well.” It took Lucifer a long moment to figure out who they were, but then he realized it was Max’s wife and son, the former of which Lucifer had never met and the latter of which had often played at Natalie’s apartment. Less so now, because of school or because of Lucifer, he wasn’t sure which.
“Home,” Max said shortly. Natalie frowned, her mood dipping briefly at his tone, but her brother sensed it before Lucifer could react – possibly by jamming the fork into his hand or something akin to that – and continued gently. “I thought it best that we scope things out before bringing Artie into this, you know how easily attached he gets.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she replied, tapping her fingers. “I haven’t seen him for a while, I’ll have to take him out to the park or something before the holidays. Or do you have plans for Halloween? Lucifer and I could take him.”
Lucifer didn’t argue. He was quite looking forward to that holiday and the mischief just waiting for him.
Alex laughed. “Nat, it’s over a month till Halloween.”
“Well, it’s never too early to plan!”
“I don’t think the stores even have costumes out yet,” Lucifer reminded her. “You did look the other day for something to wear this year.”
Natalie sighed loudly. “Yes, you’re right. But still it doesn’t hurt to plan it!”
“I think Millie wanted the family to go,” Max said with an emphasis on family.
Lucifer didn’t miss it. Natalie did – or she fought against it by ignoring it. “We are family,” she pointed out. “And we could all go together. Maybe dinner beforehand then trick-or-treating afterwards?”
Max looked as though he would protest, but Alex jumped into the conversation, his voice quiet. “I think it would be fantastic for all of us to go together, we haven’t spent Halloween together in a while. It’s high time that we did something like that.”
“That’s exactly my thought,” Natalie said, beaming.
Max nodded slowly, realizing he was overruled. Then, because Lucifer didn’t bother hiding his smirk and perhaps because he had sensed all the things that Lucifer hadn’t said about his life before, he asked, “So, do you have any family?”
It was like a bucket of water being dropped over his head, the residual mess falling onto Natalie’s. She caught his eyes, lips pressed together in an unusually dark look, freezing in place as she waited for his reaction. Lucifer felt as though his limbs had become ice and he licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to decide on the best way to describe his lack of a relationship with his family.
How did one say that they hoped their family was dead or dying? The coldness of the words didn’t astonish him, but they stretched the limits of his patience for the evening. “I have,” he said curtly, then reigned in his temper because Max looked a little too smug for his own good. “Not particularly close anymore, I’m afraid.”
“What happened?”
“Max! You can’t just ask people personal questions like that!” Natalie hissed.
“The whole point of this dinner is to get to know each other,” Max replied with a snort. “If he’s hiding something, don’t you think we should find out before we let him any closer?”
“I’ve told Natalie everything,” Lucifer said, raising a brow. It wasn’t a lie, but not the entire truth either. There were some things that Lucifer wouldn’t share with anyone, but it was the truth that Natalie knew of this one secret’s existence and she hadn’t once badgered him to know it. “I believe that she’s the only one who has to know anything. The rest is a mere courtesy.”
“Wow, consider me blessed to meet someone so polite,” Max said sarcastically.
Lucifer’s finger twitched a little, but otherwise he gave no outward signs. He lifted his cup in a mock toast, draining the last of his wine and setting the empty cup down, gazing around the table.
Alex looked peaceful still, eyes moving back and forth between them, a polite smile on his face as he processed exactly nothing that was happening around him. Max’s foot tapped incessantly, his fingers clutched around his drink like it was a frog trying to escape. Natalie had her lip tugged between her teeth, chewing as she thought of what to say. Her eyes lifted to him and she gave a half-shrug, communicating her desire without saying it.
All the better, really, because Lucifer was feeling tired for once. Nothing like meeting the family to kick the last of the wind out of his wings.
“Thank you for the dinner, but we really must be going. Natalie has school in the morning – as I’m sure such knowing relatives would know,” Lucifer said smoothly, climbing to his feet, rather pleased with his parting shot at them both.
“You’re welcome here anytime, Stan,” said Alex, walking around the table to hug Natalie and kiss her on the cheek. Lucifer gathered their coats, giving Natalie time to say goodbye. “Come around again soon, Nat, alright?”
“Sure thing, dad. Bye, Max.”
Max grunted, nodding his goodbyes, and then they departed.
...
“That could have gone worse,” Natalie said optimistically once they reached their apartment. She climbed out of the car barefoot, her heels clutched in one hand and her keys in the other, and she leaned heavily into his side as they started up the path.
“I think it went quite well. I forgot how much of a spitfire your brother is.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. He got it out of his system, it’ll be smooth sailing from here on,” Lucifer said, snatching the keys from her and unlocking the door, rather pleased to feel the bite of the metal beneath his thumb. He didn’t want to ever take the feeling for granted, not after spending so long with nothing to touch or feel.
“Well, I’m glad it’s over with, I didn’t want to tiptoe around things anymore. Although I wonder how they’ll take finding out we live together,” she said thoughtfully. She discarded her shoes in the corner of the room, next to a pile of other dropped shoes, and stretched her arms above her head till there was a small crack. “We didn’t tell them that, they think you just visit all the time.”
“I’m not setting up a fake apartment for them to visit.” He closed the door, kicking off his shoes.
“I wasn’t going to ask you to!” she said, shaking out her hair and heading for the bathroom.
“Just making sure that’s off the list of whatever plan you’re trying to cook up,” he called, shaking his head. He locked the door behind him, sliding the deadbolt into place with a click.
He whistled a little tune as he went into the kitchen to drop off the keys. The lights flickered on with a low hum and he tossed the keys mindlessly onto the counter on his way to the fridge. They hit the edge, clattering to the floor, and he sighed, abandoning his quest for a drink. He crouched beside them, reaching out a hand for the keys – only for his fingers to slide right through them.
if you haven’t read the first book in this series, check it out here! and stayed tuned for the sequel, first chapter out on September 25th!
Her brother’s unanticipated arrival had scared the pants off her and Lucifer alike though it was nothing compared to her brother’s reaction. She didn’t keep him up-to-date on her entire life – her love life especially, there were just some things that a brother didn’t need to know – and she suspected that it was just as much hurt as it was mistrust that led him to stiffly invite them both to dinner the next night. She also suspected that Lucifer would undergo a vast interrogation on her brother’s part if not her father’s part as well.
She suspected that played the largest part in Lucifer’s current actions.
Who knew Satan would be afraid of meeting the parents? She thought to herself, sprinkling food into Libby’s tank, trying to smother her smile and failing.
“We’ll figure it out, it’s not like we have to lie very much about it.” Except the fact that he was much older than her, he didn’t have anything in the way of a history that could be explained, and he was, well, Lucifer. So maybe a lot to lie about, but these were important to hide. She didn’t want to imagine her father’s reaction, short of an irrational fear that he would cart her off to some institution for believing it. He didn’t even believe her about having a ghost in her apartment for the last year, he certainly wouldn’t believe the ghost was Lucifer and that she had helped free him over two months ago because she loved him.
“I admire lying in most cases, but in this one, I’m inclined to believe that the truth would be much better.” There was a little too much delight in his tone for her to believe this was a wholly angelic suggestion. He might not have been Satan for a long while, but the mischief was still engraved in him. She had seen evidence of that enough when he was incorporeal and it had carried over to his current solidified state.
“My dad would take us both to church.” His fingers twitched, but she didn’t comment on it, filing the knowledge away for future reference. “So I’m afraid that’s not really an option. You’ll just have to be Stan, a friend of someone who used to live in this complex.”
“Why Stan?”
“The only other option is Lucy. I’m not opposed to the option, but I figured you would prefer Stan. You’ve heard it enough that you’ll probably respond to it, too, so that will give our story credit.”
