Chapter Text
Lucifer stood at the top of the stairs leading down the dance floor, drink in one hand, unlit cigarette in the other, and surveyed his kingdom.
Hell had been bigger but so much darker, and where screams of agony had torn through the place, Lux pulsed with hedonistic abandon. When he came to Earth, this tiny corner of Los Angeles was all he wanted. No Heaven, no Hell, just desire, pleasure to fill the emptiness he didn’t realize was inside him.
It was different now. Los Angeles had gotten bigger, and at the same time smaller, since he met the detective and ventured out of the world he had built for himself. He still loved Lux, loved presiding over his world of pleasure and desire, but he had so much more now. So many more things he loved. So many more people.
One person, in particular.
He smiled thinking of Chloe, who, somehow that he couldn’t quite comprehend, loved him. Loved him, not what he could do for her or give her—though he would do or give anything for her. Had chosen him, again and again, even when he couldn’t see it. She made him feel vulnerable and invincible at the same time. He didn’t know how that could be possible, but it was—real and true and undeniable. Nearly dying yet again had driven that home; wanting her close even though he knew she made him vulnerable. Somehow she made him strong, too.
Miraculous, perhaps, but he didn’t like to give his father that much credit. He was happy, and that was his. His and Chloe’s. Dad could bloody well stay out of it.
His gaze wandered over the packed dance floor and booths below, people coming together, laughing, smiling, dancing or kissing and drifting apart again, or hurrying away to someplace more private, in twos or threes or fours. Occasionally someone’s gaze would find him, longing, and Lucifer felt a pang—not his own longing so much as theirs. He’d been having fewer parties upstairs, and had invited no one into his bed in months—even before he and the detective were together. He’d tried to get back to normal after Candy, but the sex and the partying, while fun, left him cold, searching. A woman caught his eye now, hopeful, and he gave an apologetic shrug and a firm shake of his head. Disappointed, she vanished into the crowd.
Tossing back the last of his drink, he made his way back to the bar for a refill and stayed there, listening to the flirting couples, the earnest, slurred conversations. A man down the bar made him frown at the way he was standing, predatory and possessive as he talked to the woman beside him. As Lucifer watched him, the man slipped something out of his sleeve and dumped it in his companion’s drink as he took it from the bartender to pass to her. He did it with a smooth, practiced motion. The bartender, who would have been watching for that kind of thing, didn’t notice.
Lucifer went cold. There weren’t many rules at Lux, but consent was ironclad. No one should be afraid in his club, and no one should have their free will taken away. He was at their end of the bar in seconds, stumbling into the woman and spilling her drink down her dress before she could take a sip. She yelped as the cold liquid hit her, jumping back.
“Oh, goodness, how clumsy of me!” Lucifer grabbed a handful of napkins and handed them to her. “I’m so sorry, darling, are you all right? I must have tripped.” He made a show of looking around for the offending foot or piece of furniture.
“Oh, I . . .” The woman laughed, flushing, her irritation fading quickly when Lucifer smiled at her. “It’s all right.” She laughed again, blotting at her dress. “It should come out.” She didn’t notice him surreptitiously grab her companion’s arm and squeeze to keep him from edging away, or hear his strangled cry.
“Of course.” Lucifer beckoned to the bartender. “Why don’t you go clean up in the staff bathroom? It’ll be more private. Corinne can show you where it is.” He drew a card from his pocket, offering it to her with another apologetic smile. “And do send me the cleaning bill, darling. I’m terribly embarrassed.”
She blushed again as she took it, stammering her thanks as she followed Corinne to the back. As soon as she was out of sight, Lucifer turned on the man, who was prying fruitlessly at Lucifer’s hand, clamped tight around his arm. An entirely different kind of smile spread across Lucifer’s face as he looked down at him.
“Now.” His eyes flashed red. “What am I going to do with you?”
The man whimpered, and a wet stain spread down his pants.
***
Lucifer wasn’t much in the mood for the crowded club after he’d dealt with the would-be rapist. He retreated to the penthouse after a word with the bartenders and bouncers to keep a sharp eye out and took his whiskey out to the balcony.
It was a hazy night, the city lights reflecting off smog and cloud cover to turn the sky a dull yellow-gray. He dropped his head back, looking for the stars, but not even the brightest broke through.
He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them, faintly. Musica Universalis, the old philosophers had called it. Music of the spheres. Inaudible to mortals but apprehensible in the mathematical order of the universe.
Not that Lucifer had any inclination toward mathematical precision. He’d created the stars with an ear for their music, created melodies and patterns that were pleasing to him, that moved and danced and could never really be stripped down to numbers and equations. One of the worst parts of Hell had been being cut off from them. Their light, their music.
Impulsively, he tossed back the last of his whiskey, unfurled his wings, and launched himself off the balcony to soar above the haze that hung over Los Angeles. Up here, the light and the music came through more clearly and he bathed in it, riding the updrafts, letting the cold, thin air wash away his lingering rage at the man who’d tried to take advantage of the sanctuary he’d created at Lux.
He flew higher, his wings catching celestial currents as well as earthly ones, until the lights of Los Angeles merged into a blurry splotch on the curve of the Earth below. He didn’t attempt to broach the border to the Silver City but drifted in between, listening in the dark. He’d been using his wings more, recently, tentative at first, as though to use them would be giving in, but it hadn’t taken him long to remember the joy of them. It had been Chloe’s suggestion, and Linda had encouraged it, that he claim them as his instead of trying to pretend they didn’t exist. He still didn’t think of himself as an angel anymore, but his wings, well—they didn’t make him an angel, and they gave him what he craved, what he’d always claimed as his: Freedom.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, Chloe had said, after he’d told her everything. We can do what we want. And maybe they could. Maybe he could. He looked deeper into the dark, toward the border with Heaven, toward his father. Maybe you don’t matter, he thought, defiant.
The only answer he received was silence—not that he’d expected anything different. He rolled onto his back and drifted lazily, gazing at the densely packed wash of stars that formed the swirl of the galaxy, letting their music wash over him.
But something was wrong, he realized as he listened. There was a faint discord, notes and rhythms that tripped up the music like a clumsy dancer stomping through a waltz. Fingers of shadow plucked through the divine light and sound.
Lucifer spiraled deeper into the sky, listening, watching. The shadow seemed to follow, dimming the light around him. Curious, wary, Lucifer watched it draw closer, until it brushed by him and a burning cold seized and held him, plunging him into darkness.
He gasped, struggling. Cold fingers burrowed into his mind. Lucifer tried to slam down his mental defenses but it was too late. The intelligence—whatever it was—dug deep.
It whispered to him. Lucccciifffffeeerrrr. A long hiss. Lighttttttbringerrrrrr.
The sibilant whisper, more felt than heard, spiked terror into him. Lucifer fought, wild, and suddenly he was back in the soothing light of the stars. The shadow and the discord were gone, but he couldn’t be sure if he had expelled it or if it had let him go. He hung there for a moment, trembling, then folded his wings tight against his body and dove.
He landed on the penthouse balcony in a shivering heap, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for air. The night was warm but he was freezing, his joints stiff with bone-deep—soul-deep—cold. He stumbled to the outdoor fireplace and fumbled to turn it on, huddling close to the flames with his wings wrapped tight around him.
The cold didn’t start to melt away until the sun crept above the horizon.
***
Chloe was surprised to see Lucifer already at the downtown hotel dispatch had summoned them to when she pulled up. She’d had to delay to drop Trixie off at school, but it was still early. He stood leaning against the Corvette and looking at his phone, looking uncharacteristically rumpled.
She raised an eyebrow at him as she approached. “Good night?”
He glanced up at her, tucking his phone into his pocket as he pushed away from the car. “Awful.” He reached for her coffee and gulped half of it down.
Chloe raised her other eyebrow as he handed it back, annoyance fading to concern. Standing close to him now, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.” He reached for her coffee again and Chloe handed it over. He flashed a quick smile, part thanks, part response to her worried frown. “Bad dreams. I’ll tell you later.”
The smile didn’t reassure her, but she nodded slowly. “Okay.” She reached for his hand and squeezed as they headed inside, and found his fingers cold. He squeezed back, flashing her another smile, but pulled his hand away, clasping it around the warm coffee cup. Chloe bit her lip, trying to put her worry aside. His hands were never cold.
She gave herself a shake as they reached the taped-off hotel room on the 10th floor, and Lucifer somehow smoothed away the haggardness that had seemed so prominent a few minutes ago. She focused on the scene. The hotel room was clean, middle-of-the-road, looking lived-in enough to suggest their victim had been staying there for a few days, at least. He lay on the floor near the bed, facing away from them. Blood soaked into the carpet around him.
“What’ve we got?” she asked Ella as they approached.
“Dead guy.” Ella straightened, letting her camera rest on the strap around her neck. “Single wound, right through the heart. Whatever it was ripped him up pretty good.” Her mouth twisted in pity. “Poor guy.”
“Weapon?” Chloe asked.
Ella shrugged. “Sharp and jagged,” she said, gesturing as Chloe stepped around the body to see the ragged hole in the man’s chest. “But that’s not the interesting part.” She squatted, beckoning to Chloe to follow, and indicated his face, half buried in the carpet. “Look.”
Chloe ducked her head so she could see better, and couldn’t stop her sharp intake of breath. Where the man’s eyes should have been were two blackened, disintegrating coals. She could see the bones of his skull around the edges of his eye sockets, black and shiny. The skin around his eyes bubbled with blisters, stained with soot, but an inch or so beyond the skin was untouched.
“A message?” Ella wondered aloud. “He saw something he shouldn’t have?”
“Maybe,” Chloe murmured. She looked up at Lucifer, still standing a few feet away with a disconcerted frown on his face as he stared at the corpse. “What do you think?”
He glanced from the body to her, walking slowly around it to stand behind Chloe and Ella. “I know this man,” he said at last.
Chloe got to her feet. “You do?”
“I ejected him from Lux last night,” he said, eyes still on the man’s ruined face. “I caught him trying to drug a woman’s drink.”
Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to patience. She rubbed her temples. He’s doing his best, she reminded herself, before she said, “Lucifer.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
He blinked. “I—” He closed his mouth with a click, looking like a chastised schoolboy. “Well—um.”
Chloe sighed. “If he tried that once, you can bet it wasn’t the first time. You can’t just handle things like that yourself.” Though no doubt he had before, dozens of times.
They all looked down at the dead man.
“He can’t do it again now,” Ella observed darkly. Chloe glanced at her, surprised at the hardness in her voice.
“No,” she agreed.
“Bastard got what he deserved, if you ask me,” Ella bent to take another photograph and frowned, sniffing. “Do you smell urine?” she asked, sitting back on her heels.
Now that Ella had pointed out, Chloe noticed it. “Yeah,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Looks like he pissed himself,” Ella said, indicating the edges of a dried stain on his pants.
“I made him do that,” Lucifer volunteered. He glanced at Chloe, saw her scowl, and raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t kill him! I simply put the—well, the fear of me into him and sent him on his way.”
Ella grinned, bouncing to her feet, and high-fived him. “Nice!”
“It was rather easy,” Lucifer said, preening. “Men like him are usually cowards.”
Chloe rolled her eyes, though privately she agreed that the man had gotten what was coming to him.
“Well, at least we have a possible motive.” She glanced at Lucifer. “Could you identify the woman he tried to drug?”
He frowned. “Detective, surely you don’t think she killed him? She didn’t even know what he had done.”
“No,” Chloe said. “But it’s a place to start. Once we get an ID on him we’ll see if he has a record. I imagine quite a few women have good reasons to want him dead.”
“Very well. I told the staff to make sure she got home safe. They may have gotten her information, or at least have the name attached to her tab.” He turned toward the door, then hesitated and turned back. He reached down and squeezed Ella’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Miss Lopez. There’s a special place in Hell for men like him.”
Ella sat back on her heels and gave him a wistful smile. “Sometimes I wish you really were the Devil, and then I could know for sure.”
Lucifer opened his mouth to protest, but Ella laughed and went back to her work, waving him away. “I know, I know. You really are.”
Chloe couldn’t help chuckling as he tried to process Ella’s dismissal. He shook himself and looked down at her when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and gave his arm a squeeze. “Detective . . .” He trailed off. “About last night . . .”
“I know. Just—call the cops the next time, okay?”
“Of course.”
“Come on, let’s go see if we can track this woman down.” She wrinkled her nose at him, teasing. “And maybe get you a shower and a change of clothes while we’re at Lux.”
To her great relief, he gave her a cheeky smile. “Oh, are you going to join me?”
She waited until Ella was out of earshot before she answered. “If you ask nicely.”
He grinned, a real smile that made his eyes gleam with mischief. “Pretty please?”
***
Chloe talked to the bartenders while Lucifer went upstairs to shower, pouting at her refusal to join him. Sure enough, there was a message for Lucifer with the woman’s name—Margot Vincent—an address in Echo Park, and a note about cab fare.
She pocketed the note and puttered around the penthouse while she waited for Lucifer. She made herself another cup of coffee and took it outside on the balcony, noticing as she went that his bed didn’t look slept in at all. She frowned. Hadn’t he said he’d had bad dreams?
Something caught her eye when she went outside, a gleam at the base of the balcony railing. She bent look more closely and found a feather, brilliant white in the bright morning air. She picked it up, troubled.
“What happened last night?” she asked when Lucifer came outside, impeccably coiffed and dressed. He saw the feather and paused in the act of fixing his cufflinks in place.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” He joined her at the railing.
“You said bad dreams.”
“I can’t be sure it wasn’t.” He took the feather from her. “I . . . encountered something.” What he described made Chloe shiver: a material darkness moving through space, a darkness that seemed sentient, that had grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go.
Mostly, it frightened her that he was frightened.
“What do you think it means?” Chloe asked when he had finished.
“I don’t know.” He tilted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes, basking in it. “Maybe it was just a bad dream,” he repeated, sounding unconvinced.
“Maybe.” Chloe watched him absently twirling the feather between his fingers while he let the sunlight warm him. She hesitated. “But I’m glad—I’m glad you were flying.”
He opened his eyes and hitched one shoulder up in a shrug. A smile pulled at his mouth, somewhere between pleased and uncomfortable. “You and the doctor seemed to think it would be a good idea.”
“And?” Chloe asked. “I mean, last night notwithstanding, how has it been?”
“Actually—good.” He smiled. “Last night notwithstanding. I’d forgotten how good it is.” He looked back up again, eyes open this time, squinting into the pale blue.
Chloe smiled back and reached for his hand. It was warm again. “I’m glad.”
***
Margot Vincent opened her door to their knock with an uncertain frown. “Mr. Morningstar?” She glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Is, um, I mean--” she stammered.
“Ms. Vincent.” Lucifer smiled at her and she seemed to relax, the way that people so often did around him. “So sorry to bother you. How are you doing this morning?”
“Oh, um, fine. Is this about last night? It really wasn’t a big deal, there wasn’t even a stain—”
“Ms. Vincent?” Chloe cut in gently. She reached for her badge. “I’m Detective Decker with the LAPD. Can we come in?”
“LAPD?” she repeated faintly, looking back and forth between them again.
“It is about last night,” Lucifer said, catching her eye and smiling again, gently. “We have a few questions about the man you were with.”
“Oh.” She stepped aside and let them into the tiny studio apartment. “I’m not sure how much I can help. I just met him last night.” She perched on the edge of the unmade bed, gesturing for them to take the two chairs by the cluttered kitchen table. “What happened?”
“Can you tell me about last night? How did you meet him?” Chloe asked, ignoring the question for the moment.
She shrugged. “I took a break from dancing with my friends and went to the bar for a drink. He came over and started talking to me. He said he was in town for a few days on business.”
“What did he say his name was?”
“Brett.” Margot shrugged again. “Honestly, I didn’t really like him. I was just going to have the one drink to be polite. He was really . . . intense. Aggressive.” She hesitated. “Did he do something?”
“He tried,” Lucifer muttered. Chloe gave him a dark look, then nudged him. He cleared his throat. “Right.” He turned back to Margot, who had been watching their exchange curiously. “Miss Vincent, I spilled your drink because I saw him slip something into it.”
She paled. “You—oh. Wow. Did he—? I mean, to someone else?”
“Not last night,” Lucifer said.
“He was found dead early this morning in his hotel room,” Chloe said.
Margot went even paler. “Oh, God.”
“I don’t think he had anything to do with it,” Lucifer said. Chloe kicked him.
“Did you see him again after that?” Chloe asked.
Margot shook her head. “No, I . . . The bartender took me to the staff bathroom to clean up, and she gave me cab fare.” She glanced at Lucifer, who nodded encouragingly. “I went home not long after that, around 1. I was out with my neighbor. We shared the cab home.”
Chloe took out her pen and notepad. “It’s just routine, but I’m going to need verify that. Can you give me her name and number?”
“Of course.” She was stammering again as they got to their feet to leave, walking them out. “I guess, um, thank you, for stopping him,” she said to Lucifer.
He waved her thanks away. “It’s quite all right. I don’t condone that sort of thing at Lux.” He gave her a brilliant smile. “I hope you’ll come back sometime.”
“I . . .” She smiled back, tentative, clearly dazzled.
Chloe rolled her eyes and gave his arm a tug. “Come on.” She nodded at Margot. “Thank you for your help. We’ll let you know if we have any other questions.”
“What?” Lucifer asked, letting himself be pulled along. “I can’t let that scoundrel leave her with a poor impression of Lux!”
“Or of you?” Chloe teased.
Lucifer scowled. “No one commits rape under my roof.” He got in the car, slamming the passenger door hard. “Lux is a den of sin, not violation.”
Chloe touched his shoulder, trying to ground him. “No,” she agreed. “It’s not.”
***
They spent the next few days running down leads to one dead end after another. Brett Kelly came to LA frequently to manage his real estate business, and had a long list of complaints against him, though a cadre of expensive lawyers had kept anything more than a restraining order from sticking. He had a reputation in his professional life for trying to cheat clients and partners on deals.
All in all, no one seemed sorry to see him dead, but anyone with a motive had an alibi that checked out, and by the end of the week Ella still hadn’t been able to identify either of the weapons—what had stabbed him or burned out his eyes. Chloe was frustrated enough to call it quits and join Lucifer at Lux as soon as 5pm hit on Friday, though she’d been working late all week, trying to find some sort of lead on Kelly’s murder that would stick. Lucifer saw her stomping toward the bar and had a shot of whiskey waiting for her when she got there. She knocked it back, held it out for him to refill, and downed the second as quickly.
He raised his eyebrows. “Rough day at the office?”
She scowled at him. “You’d know if you were there.”
“You said I was getting in the way,” he pointed out, refilling both their glasses and setting the bottle back behind the bar. Not that he hadn’t had things to do—a set to practice with a musician he’d agreed to do a favor for (she won’t be another Delilah, he told himself, he’d look out for her, as best he could); auditions to hold for dancers; squaring things with a new tailor who’d tried to hoodwink him with subpar fabrics. None of it was terribly important. Mostly, he was occupying himself until he could be useful to the detective again.
She grimaced. “Sorry,” she muttered. She perched on a stool and leaned her elbow on the bar, sipping from her glass more slowly, now. “Lots of people hate this guy, but it doesn’t seem like anyone killed him. And I can’t find anything to suggest that he saw or knew something he shouldn’t.”
“Just your average, everyday sleaze.”
“Pretty much.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Lucifer slipped an arm around her shoulders.
“You look exhausted, darling. Perhaps a night off is in order, hm?”
“Mmmm.” She leaned against him, some of the tension leaving her. It still felt astonishing to him, the way she let go with him--as astonishing as the first time she’d reached out to him for comfort, after they caught her father’s murderer. That embrace had unraveled him, and every one like it since. Her warmth, her trust—he didn’t think anyone had ever embraced him like that, without expectation or demand.
“Night off sounds good,” she said. “I want pizza.”
“Done.” He kissed her temple, breathing in the hint of coconut and citrus from her shampoo. “Where shall I order from?”
Before she could answer, a hesitant voice interrupted from behind him. “M-Mr. Morningstar?”
Lucifer stiffened, turned, and scowled at the interloper, a young man with dirty blond hair, hunched in a baggy hoodie. When the man—boy, really, he looked barely old enough to get into the club—only gaped up at him, Lucifer prompted, “Yes, what is it? You can see I’m busy.” He looked him up and down. “How did you get in here, anyway? The only person the bouncers should be letting in dressed like that is my brother.”
Chloe snorted, turning away to hide her laughter in her glass. The young man flinched, but drew himself up. “I’m—I’m here to ask for a favor,” he said. “You—you do that, right?”
“Sometimes.” Curious now, Lucifer leaned back on his elbows. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chloe cock her head, listening with her back still turned. “Well? What do you want?”
The boy cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “It’s, um, my ex. I want you to make him—make him love me again.”
“Do you?” Lucifer sipped his drink, amused. “I’m afraid that sort of thing is out of my hands.”
“But—” The young man looked crestfallen.
Lucifer sighed, pitying the young man despite his annoyance. “Tell you what, I’ll give you some advice. For free.” He waited for the boy to look up at him through his dirty hair. “Get a shower. Get a job. Pull yourself together. If you want him back, you need to do the work. And if he still doesn’t want you once you have, then move on.” Good deed done for the day, he turned back to Chloe. “Shall we?” he asked offering her his arm.
“Wait!” The young man grabbed his sleeve. Lucifer wheeled around, pulling away sharply. The boy shrank away from his gaze, but he kept his feet planted. “That’s it?” he asked.
“That’s it.”
“But—what if I ask you for something else?”
“What if you do?”
“If you can’t make him love me again, then—” He licked his lips. “I want you to kill him.”
Lucifer went very still. Beside him, Chloe did as well. They exchanged a sidelong look. Lucifer turned fully to face the boy and brought the full force of his gaze on him. “Is that really what you want?” he asked softly.
The young man’s face went slack, and his eyes filled with tears. “If I can’t have him—yes.”
Lucifer stared at him for another moment, then shook his head. “My dear boy. I won’t commit murder any more than I’ll infringe on someone’s free will. Also”—he stepped aside and gestured to Chloe—“This is Detective Chloe Decker with the LAPD. She’s had a difficult week, and I believe you’ve just annoyed her on her night off.” He gave him a pitying, tight-lipped smile. “You really should have taken my advice.
The boy looked back and forth between him, and his tears overflowed. He barely seemed to notice when Chloe handcuffed him.
The next morning, officers found the young man dead in his cell, a bloody wound in his chest and his eyes burned to ash in his skull.