Chapter Text
Lucifer didn’t know how this could have happened.
Actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how this happened. Lucifer had been minding his own business, changing the Detective’s desktop screensaver to something a bit more exciting (He had received some wonderful ‘Tribe Night’ photos from Ms. Lopez, and was having fun editing them into a slideshow. He was sure the Detective would appreciate the shots from when she had obviously achieved the necessary level of inebriation to start, ahem, ‘ripping her clothes off.’) when the Detective herself rudely interrupted him.
She slammed her hands down onto the desk and gripped so hard her knuckles turned white. Her top was crooked. Her hair was in completely disarray. In other words, gorgeous. “Lucifer,” she said, deadly serious. “I need a favor.”
“A favor?” he asked, wary. Things had been going okay between him and the Detective in the aftermath of his hellish revelation… and the aftermath of the repercussions that revelation had wreaked on their lives. But still, Lucifer thought. This was a bit much.
“No, not that kind of favor,” Chloe said, irritated. “I need you to take Trixie caroling.”
“Caroling,” Lucifer spoke slowly, enunciating as if the word was foreign.
“Yes, caroling. You know, singing? Oh Come All Ye Faithful? Deck the Halls? Silent Night?”
“You’ve had a child, Detective. You must realize that that night was anything but silent. And think of all the animals that were there–”
“Lucifer, shut up! I don’t have time for this.”
Lucifer shut up, mollified.
“Look, Dan had an allergic reaction to those Christmas cookies in the break room. I need to get him to the hospital NOW. And Trixie needs to be picked up from school in half an hour. Please, will you do this for me? Please Lucifer, I need you.”
Instantly, Lucifer rose from his chair, abandoning the amazing work he was doing on Microsoft Paint. “Of course, Detective. How do I perform this ‘caroling’? Where do I take the Spawn?” To which the Detective gave him a very quick rundown of the particulars.
So that’s how Lucifer found himself walking down the street amongst a group of doting parents behind 30-something 7 to 12-year-olds, each of them dressed to the nines in their finest holiday gear.
Truly, Hell on Earth.
Of course, the single and not-so-single ladies (and several of the men) in the parental crowd had already sidled up to Lucifer and attempted to engage him in conversation. He rebuffed their advances for the most part, but one woman was especially persistent. She wore a sky blue coat with white puffy cuffs and a matching hat, even though this was Los Angeles and temperatures never dropped below 50 Fahrenheit at this time of the day. Lucifer noted with particular distaste that she wore a studded crucifix necklace that dwarfed Ms. Lopez’s in size by at least an order of magnitude.
“It’s just so wonderful, you know?” she exclaimed, either ignoring or unaware of Lucifer’s lack of enthusiasm. “The little ones practice for weeks. And it brings such joy to the households that sign up. Mostly the elderly, you see – people who might be feeling lonely at this time of year.” She sighed and cast an adoring glance at the children in front of them. “And don’t they just look lovely? That’s my Georgia over there – oh, that’s Georgia spelt J-Y-O-R-J-A. She fretted for hours over what to wear.”
Lucifer assumed that Georgia (or Jyorja?!) was the petite girl marching along with the other children as far away from her mother as physically possible. She wore a miniature duplicate of the sky blue coat. He winced.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Angela by the way.”
Of course she was.
She offered her hand to him as though she expected him to kiss it. Lucifer took it reluctantly and gave her a grin that was all teeth. “Lucifer. Morningstar.”
“Uh… oh.” She weakly extricated her hand from his grip. She tried to muster up something resembling her previous smile. “And uh… which one is yours?”
“Beatrice Espinoza. But she’s not mine. She’s the Detective’s. And the Douche’s, I suppose. But the Detective had to take the Douche to the hospital after he had a rather embarrassing reaction to some peanut-laden holiday treats. So I’m just here in lieu of.”
Angela stared at him. “I, uh… I see. Oh, Georgia!” she suddenly cried to her daughter. Georgia looked like she wanted to sink into the Earth. “Don’t do that with your gloves. You’ll ruin them. Terribly sorry,” she said to Lucifer, before rushing off. Lucifer wasn’t exactly sad to see her go.
Soon enough, they arrived at the first house on the carolers’ schedule. It was a modest townhouse with a brick front. The children assembled around the front steps and the eager parents gathered behind. Mr. Parsons, evidently the choirmaster, who was a weaselly man with a stressed expression, pushed himself to the front of the crowd and knocked on the front door.
An older couple answered the knock. The woman was short and reminded Lucifer very much of the Detective, if the Detective’s hair was silver instead of blonde. The man was at least a foot taller than his wife and wore a ridiculous Christmas jumper: a sexy Mrs. Claus (or as sexy as she could be in knitted form) surrounded by the words ‘Darling, you’re my ho, ho, ho.’ Lucifer approved.
They exchanged pleasantries with Mr. Parsons and then Mr. Parsons stepped back and turned around to begin the concert. He lifted his hands and a hush fell over the group. “Remember, kids. Smile!” he stage whispered to the children, and then he brought his hands down. And the children sang.
It was quite possibly the worst thing Lucifer had ever heard.
Evidently, an attempt was being made at Gloria, In Excelsis Deo but it was practically unrecognizable. Mostly because only about half of the children knew the words. The rest were either mumbling along or showcasing their independence by striking off on completely different tunes. Jingle Bells could be heard. And Good King Wenceslas. A couple children had latched a little too enthusiastically onto the ‘glorias,’ bringing them into deeper and deeper octaves until they ran out of breath, before starting again. Clearly, no attempt had been made at separating the children into altos, sopranos, tenors, and basses, even though puberty had obviously set in with many of them and their voices had changed.
Lucifer was happy to hear under the cacophony that the Spawn was doing reasonably well. Nothing to write home about, but her voice was strident and she knew what she was doing. It was terribly unfortunate that the girl next to her was… screaming. She was just screaming.
It needn’t be mentioned that almost none of the children were in tune.
Lucifer lasted less than a minute before he was barging to the front, yelling “Stop! Stop this horrendous din!” He reached the top step and pushed Mr. Parsons unceremoniously out of the way. He faced the children with a murderous glare, hands on his hips. The whole crowd grew silent. “You call that singing?” he asked rhetorically. “I mean, I hate my half-brother’s birthday as much as the next person, but if you’re going to sing you might as well put some effort into it.”
“You,” Lucifer said, pointing to a small boy near the front. “I know you know the words. Why aren’t you singing louder?” Without waiting for an answer, he started herding the boy with his arms. “Never mind. If I don’t hear you next time I’ll be very cross. Now stand over here with the other boys. And you, over here. You, come forward.” And he shuffled the children around one by one. Mr. Parsons watched rather helplessly.
“Now, if you don’t know the words just hum along. I know you all know the tune. And there’s a special place in Hell for people who drag out the ‘glorias.’ You know who you are.” Finally, Lucifer pointed an accusatory finger at screaming girl. “You can either shut up or learn to control your volume.” Screaming girl nodded, meekly.
“Now, let’s try that again, shall we?” And Lucifer raised his hands to conduct.
The result wasn’t perfect by any means. But it was coherent, at least, and recognizable. The verses were all quite muddled, but everyone could join in on the ‘glorias,’ and they were quite wonderful. Lucifer conducted until the last in excelsis deo, and finished with a flourish.
There was rapturous applause.
Lucifer was used to being the center of attention, but he found himself a little embarrassed by the clear adoration on the faces of the children, parents, the elderly couple, and even Mr. Parsons. He cleared his throat. “Well, I, uh… That’s more like it.” He moved to step back into the crowd but was stopped by a hand on his chest.
Mr. Parsons whisper-screamed in his ear. “Are you kidding me? I’ve never heard them sound that good, and I’ve been working with them for weeks. Do Hark the Herald next, and then We Three Kings. Then we’ll move to the next house.” And he pushed Lucifer back into position.
Bewildered, Lucifer rocked back on his feet and raised his hands again. His eyes moved from Mr. Parsons, to the couple behind him, to the parents, and finally to the children. His gaze rested on Beatrice, whose eyes were wide. She looked so much like the Detective. “Right, well, I’m sure you know how this goes now.”
And they sang.
Lucifer took the choir through their entire repertoire. It was nauseating to hear so much praise for his half-brother and Father, but at least the music was decent. He moved his arms to guide the children through the verses, emphasizing some parts over others. He even found himself mouthing along to some of the catchier tunes. He finished to thunderous applause.
“You should sing, Lucifer! You’re really good at it!”
Lucifer looked down to see young Beatrice staring up at him. “Oh, I, er… couldn’t possibly…” he stammered.
“Wait a minute. You’re that night club owner, aren’t you? With the piano bar? You should totally sing!” piped up a voice from the parents.
Soon more and more voices were clamoring for Lucifer to sing. Lucifer raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. Fine. What should I sing?” he asked.
A small voice rose over the sudden hailstorm of suggestions. It was a very young boy, no older than 7. He spoke with a lisp. “Something pwetty. Wiv’ angels and holly-loo-yahs.”
Angels and hallelujahs? It had been a very, very long time since Lucifer had last sang with the seraphim. But being a member of the heavenly choir was just as much a part of Lucifer’s being as being the bringer of light or the punisher of evil deeds. The Words and Hymns were still written within his soul. But which to sing? Too many outright praised his Father or His works. But there was one… It praised the universe in general, and Lucifer had played a not too insignificant part in its creation, so he could take some pride in it.
Lucifer waited until the crowd quieted down and then he sang. He started soft, weaving his way tentatively through the multi-tonal Enochian syllables. Then his voice grew stronger as the lyrics grew darker and more guttural. There is fire in creation, after all, wherever there is light. He raised his face to his stars above, only a few of which were visible through the perpetual LA smog. He closed his eyes as the music washed over him. He sang about dust and darkness, of the inevitable creep of gravity and explosion. Of matter, dark and light, forming and destroying itself. Of the miracle of life and the ever-changing possibilities it represented. Lucifer had to concentrate to keep his wings tucked into their pocket of unreality. He could feel them long to shine in concert with the music of the spheres.
When he finished he opened his eyes.
There was dead silence.
Everyone was staring at Lucifer, mouths open. Several of the parents were crying. One woman had apparently fainted into her husband’s arms. Lucifer could see Angela clutching her crucifix, her other hand holding her daughter’s shoulder in a white-knuckled grip.
It was the children who reacted first. They started clapping. Then they were cheering and jumping up and down with glee. And then Beatrice ran up to Lucifer and gave him a big hug around his waist. Lucifer couldn’t find it in his heart to rebuff her. Especially when she said, “That was awesome. You’re so good at caroling, Lucifer!”
From behind him, Lucifer heard the elderly woman say to her husband, “They should get this guy every year.” To which her husband chuckled.
Lucifer felt something flutter within him. He felt lighter… Lighter than he had in a very long time. He turned to Mr. Parsons, Beatrice still clinging to his shirt. Mr. Parsons was still staring at him, frozen. The choirmaster’s eyes were the size of small dinner plates and a little drool was caught in the corner of his open mouth.
Lucifer grinned. “Right, then. Next house?”