Chapter Text
The invitation arrived in a plain black envelope, slipped beneath her apartment door overnight. There was no return address, only her name written in gold script. Inside was a black card and more gold script inviting her to a masquerade party at the estate of Benedict Marlowe that Saturday night. Marlowe had been a suspect in an ongoing murder case involving mysterious deaths of business rivals, but there had never been enough evidence to pin him. High-priced lawyers, a seemingly bottomless bank account, and powerful connections made the man nearly untouchable.
The new Homicide Lieutenant all but ordered Chloe to RSVP for the party in the hopes of finally getting something on him. Chloe has her doubts, and her suspicions, but in the interest of catching a killer, she went shopping for the party.
Now as the valet opens the door of the sleek black Audi R8 discovered in impound, she wonders what the hell she’s even doing here. Why was she invited? How did Benedict Marlowe know where she lives? What is this party even for?
She hasn’t even stepped through the front doors of the Hollywood Hills mansion, and she already feels out of place. High society parties are not her jam. Even during her acting days, she hated this sort of thing when her mother would drag her to another one.
This is more Lucifer’s thing.
The thought hits her with a jolt of pain and guilt. She hasn’t seen her partner in weeks—doesn’t even know if they are still partners. Not after the mess with Father Kinley and the vial, and Chloe’s uncertainty about whether she could overcome her fears and accept the celestial world. Accept Lucifer. She’d wanted to, but it was all still so much to deal with. And Lucifer had taken her “I don’t know” as an absolute that she could not.
She’d hoped time and space might help them both, but there’s been no word from him. And she’s been too ashamed and ridden with guilt to try. She misses him, though, everything about him. Especially tonight. He would be in his element here, smooth-talking every person in this party until they had what they needed. Not just with his mojo, but the easy, natural charm he exudes everywhere he goes.
But she screwed it all up, so now she’s on her own.
Well, at least she looks good tonight.
The dress she picked out is a midnight blue floor-length gown with a V-neck neckline and long lacy sleeves and silver stars embroidered into it. Her mask matches her dress, covering the top half of her face, with small feathers on each side that almost look like wings. Ella did her hair—half of it is in a french braid, the other half hangs down her back in tight ringlets. When Dan dropped by to pick up Trixie, shortly before Chloe left for the party, his jaw nearly fell off.
“Enjoy your evening, madam,” the valet says politely, wearing a simple gold mask with his black suit. He hands her a valet ticket that she stashes in her purse with her gun and handcuffs. With a tight smile, she makes her away towards the house, pretending to exude confidence she doesn’t feel.
Inside, the party is in full swing. A small orchestra is playing classical music in one corner while guests mingle, eat, and drink. Some of their masks are simple and plain, while others are ornate—Chloe saw one that looked to be encrusted in jewels. A passing waiter with another plain gold mask hands her a flute of champagne that she doesn’t drink as she makes her way through the party.
She isn’t even sure what it is she’s looking for. Having seen a photo of Marlowe, she knows what he looks like, but he doesn’t seem to be here. Or if he is, he’s behind one of these masks. For the time being, she watches and waits, occasionally speaking to someone if she’s approached. A few men flirt with her, and she lets herself flirt back. In the back of her mind, she’s remembering the Top Meet mixer, when Lucifer tried to teach her how to Lucifer. Lucinda was a nightmare, and Chloe had been nervous going in; with both Dan and her partner in her ear critiquing and laughing, it only got worse.
“No, no! Not like a demented witch on crack!”
Chloe bites her lip against a smile. As she turns away, planning to check out the buffet table, she bumps into somebody. A tall, broad-shouldered somebody so toned it’s like walking into a brick wall. He’s wearing an all black three-piece tailored suit that fits him like a glove, as if it was made for him. His mask is also black with gold embroidery around the edges and subtle curled points at the top corners—almost like horns.
“Oh, I am terribly sorry, my dear. I wasn’t watching where I was go—”
Their gazes meet, and if the smooth, low British accent hadn’t given him away, his dark brown eyes would have. She would know him anywhere.
“Lucifer?”
He stiffens, his expression going from polite and apologetic to inscrutable in a blink. “Detective,” he murmurs evenly. “Fancy seeing you here.” There’s no warmth in his voice for her the way there would have been a couple months ago. No delighted smile or light in his eyes.
She isn’t just a stranger to him; she’s a stranger he wants nothing to do with. Her chest tightens painfully as guilt floods her veins again. “I, um, was invited,” she says lamely, needing to say something.
“Well, it would seem our host is collecting liars tonight, isn’t he?”
The punch to the gut is unexpected. Chloe has to grip her champagne flute a little tighter to avoid dropping it and blink back the tears burning in her eyes. It’s no less than she deserves after what she did, but she hadn’t expected him to be so blunt about it. Then again, this is Lucifer. Blunt is practically his middle name.
She takes a deep sip from her champagne flute.
For a flash of a second, she thinks there might be a glint of remorse in his eyes, but with the mask in place, it’s impossible to tell. “Enjoy the party, Detective,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on her a few moments longer. He finishes off what’s left of his champagne in one swallow and starts to move away.
“Lucifer, wait,” she calls softly. He pauses, but doesn’t turn back to her. She knows he’s listening, though. “I, um, I wanted to say—”
Before she can finish, the lights in the mansion flicker, and then go out completely, plunging the mansion into complete darkness. The music stops, and conversations fade into silence as confusion ripples through the crowd. Chloe reaches for her phone to use the flashlight—
From the other side of the room, a woman screams. Not from fear or confusion, but a blood-curdling cry. A second later, glass shatters and something that sounds like a body hits the floor. Candles flicker to life from nowhere, bathing the room in an eerie golden light. Gasps fill the air and people crowd around something—someone—Chloe can’t see.
“What on Earth?” Lucifer mutters, looking around. He cranes his neck, trying to see the cause of the commotion.
“Can you see anything?” Chloe asks.
He shakes his head, frowning. His gaze slowly scans the room, searching. He takes a breath to speak, but a new voice cuts him off. A low, distorted voice that seems to echo through invisible speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests,” it says. Chloe can’t tell if it’s mocking or not. “I do thank you for attending, and hope you enjoy what I have planned for you. I chose the guest list quite carefully, you see. Trust is such a fickle beast, isn’t it? Fragile. Brittle. So easily broken. Lies, betrayals, whispers in the dark... They poison the soul just as surely as toxins in the veins. And speaking of poison, someone else is about to die.”
As if on cue, a strangled gasp sounds from across the room, opposite of where the first victim fell. This time, Chloe can see the man, his eyes wide and shocked as he crumples to the ground. Those around him quickly back away as if he’s tainted. The man is choking, his body convulsing—and then he goes still.
Others gasp and shout. Panic spreads like wildfire. Chloe reaches for her gun out of habit, but what good would that do against a foe she can’t see? If the clues so far are any indication, the victims were poisoned. Beside her, Lucifer’s jaw clenches and his fists flex at his sides. As if on instinct, he steps closer to Chloe.
The invisible voice laughs, a low chuckle that seems to slither throughout the room, between the guests. “Ah, the fear,” it says as if savoring a good meal. “The desperation. Delicious.” There’s a brief pause, and then, “The game has begun, my friends, and another amongst you has been poisoned.”
Fearful murmurs and whispers move through the crowd. A few people try to make a break for it, pushing others out of the way to get to the doors. Loud clicks echo throughout the mansion, one after another, a series of thuds that sound like condemnation. The doors and windows have locked.
Lucifer growls under his breath and heads for the nearest door. Chloe follows closely. He shoves someone out of the way and places a palm over the lock. A tiny spark of light, of power, almost like static electricity, jumps from his hand to the lock, and he doesn’t hesitate to pull on the door. Nothing happens. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and determination flashes across his expression as he yanks harder, putting all his considerable strength behind it.
Nothing. The door doesn’t even creak.
Fear shivers down Chloe’s spine. If not even the Devil can get out of here, how will any of the rest of them?
“This isn’t possible,” Lucifer says, glaring at the doors. She can just hear the uneasy note in his voice.
Their host speaks again. “But I am not entirely without mercy,” he says smoothly. “There is an antidote.”
Every person in the room goes still, holding their collective breath, as they listen in terror.
“The rules of our game really are quite simple. Each of you has your sins—your betrayals and your secrets. If you wish to survive the night, you must confess those sins. Not just any ordinary confession, however—a true one. Something you’ve never spoken aloud to another living soul. The more deeply it cuts—the more painful the confession—the better.”
Every word the voice speaks drips with dark, twisted amusement. “And if your confession isn’t enough? Well. Let’s just say the poison doesn’t stop with two.”
Lucifer freezes. Beneath his mask, his dark eyes dart towards Chloe, though she can’t read his expression. Her pulse quickens. She already knows what he’s thinking about. The secrets she kept from him. The betrayal of their partnership. Hurting him so deeply he can barely look at her now.
Is this why she was invited to this party? Their host somehow knows what she’s done, what everyone here has done, and now they’re being punished?
Silence falls across the room. The only sounds to be heard are the uneven breathing of frightened guests, or the occasional rustling of fabric as someone shifts. Distorted shadows thrown by the candlelight against gold-trimmed walls seem to creep over the crowd.
Chloe’s fingers curl into fists at her sides. Come on, Decker. There has to be a way out of this. No matter what the people at this party may have done, they certainly don’t deserve to die. Lucifer doesn’t deserve to die.
He stands beside her now, the usual arrogant air he exudes replaced with something far more rigid. More dangerous. Tension and fury radiate from him in waves. He cocks his head to the side, eyes sweeping the room again. She knows he’s searching for the source of the voice. When he speaks, it’s in that tone Chloe knows so well—that smooth one that belies the wrath and power behind it.
“Well, this is disappointingly boring, isn’t it?” he purrs, his voice low. “I mean, here I was hoping for something far more...original than a childish game of secrets.”
A chuckle crackles through those invisible speakers. “Oh, Lucifer Morningstar. The Devil himself. You never did like to play by the rules, did you? For all your pride, not even you can escape this place. Can you?”
Lucifer’s finger’s twitch at his sides, as if he’s aching to wrap them around someone’s neck. Realization strikes Chloe like a punch to the gut. He can’t unlock the doors. Or even break them down the way he normally would. Which means, their host designed this trap specifically with the Devil in mind.
This isn’t for the rest of them. This is for Lucifer.
Another strangled gasp draws Chloe’s attention while she’s running through possible ways to escape. Another man standing nearby staggers, clutching his throat, clawing at it as if he’s trying to get whatever is killing him out. The mask covering his face falls away, revealing wide, panicked eyes. His knees buckle and he collapses onto the polished floor.
The third victim.
Gasps erupt around the room. Someone screams. Instinctively, Chloe moves, dropping to her knees beside the man. Her fingers search for a pulse at his neck. Nothing. The poison works fast. Too fast to save its victims. Lucifer reaches down, gently wrapping his hand around her elbow to tug her back to her feet. She resists, pulling her arm free.
“There’s nothing you can do, Detective,” he murmurs near her ear. Her stomach churns, knowing he’s right, but it’s against everything she stands for to not try and help. All she can do now is help the others here. Help Lucifer.
“The time for hesitation has passed,” the voice announces, sounding almost gleeful. “Confess your sins, or the next one falls.”
A woman in an emerald green gown is the first to break. “I—I stole money from my father’s company,” she blurts shakily. “I’ve been embezzling from my family for years, and now he’s nearly bankrupt.”
Silence for a moment as they all await the judgment of her fate. The voice hums in approval. “Mmm. A fine appetizer. You may live.”
The woman nearly collapses against her date in relief.
A man in a sharp navy suit and elaborate mask like a lion’s face steps forward next. “I cheated on my wife. With her sister.”
Lucifer scoffs under his breath. “How pathetically cliché,” he says with a disappointed headshake. Chloe shoots him a look. “What? It is.”
Murmurs break out around the man. Beside him, a woman gasps, glaring—presumably his wife. Lucifer snorts. “Oh, well, that’s more like it.”
“Lucifer,” Chloe admonishes under her breath. “So not the time.”
He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but subsides.
Another chuckle through the speakers. “Tantalizing. Next?”
One by one, people begin speaking, confessing through trembling lips—affairs, lies, thefts, a hit-and-run that left someone dead. Betrayals and crimes, both petty and severe. Some sob as they speak, others whisper as if that makes what they’re admitting to not real.
Chloe remains silent, her pulse hammering in her throat. Lucifer knows what she did, but he doesn’t know all of it. He doesn’t know what makes her betrayal even worse. Slowly, she turns to him. He hasn’t spoken. Hasn’t moved in long minutes. He’s already watching her. Of course he is. He always seems to be watching her.
The mysterious voice purrs through the room. “And what about you, Detective Decker?”
Her voice hitches at being singled out.
“You have a sin worth confessing, don’t you?”
There isn’t any spotlight on her, but she feels every eye in the room turn in her direction. All she sees is Lucifer. Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change, remaining unreadable, but she can feel his stare. The anger she could take. It’s the hurt behind his eyes that leaves her feeling like she might crumble to pieces.
She swallows around the lump in her throat. The words are on the tip of her tongue—the confession that she worked with Kinley because she was afraid. Because she didn’t trust the one person she should have trusted all along. The man she loves. At the time, her mind was so twisted with confusion that she believed the priest’s words about saving the world, saving Lucifer. Now that the fog has lifted, she knows better. She can think more clearly. But it’s all too little, too late.
The voice laughs. “Ah, that silence. The hesitation. That is what I love most about all of this.” The candle flames flicker impatiently. “Tick-tock, Detective. If you don’t confess...someone else will die.”
The room feels like it’s closing in on her. The golden glow from candelabras that had appeared from nowhere cast those eerie shadows that seem to dance over the crowd. Like they’re enjoying this as much as their host is, fueled by the confessions and eager for another. Chloe hardly notices any of it. Her heart thunders, her throat is dry, and she forces herself to hold Lucifer’s gaze.
His expression beneath his mask remains inscrutable. But those eyes that never could hide what he was really feeling burn into her with a raw, vulnerable expression. As if he’s just waiting for her to break his heart even further.
She could confess the real reason she ran from him. The real reason she was afraid. That it wasn’t because he’s the Devil, but because she couldn’t deal with what that meant. For herself. For her feelings for him.
Could he ever forgive her for what she’s done to their partnership? To him?
Would she even deserve it?
Lucifer exhales slowly, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He tilts his head to the side, his voice low, almost apologetic, and just for her. “Well? Out with it, Detective. Surely you won’t allow another innocent person to die.” She hears what he’s really saying: “You won’t allow another death just to spare the Devil’s feelings, would you?”
Her heart twists. That’s the thing, though. She would do just about anything to not hurt him again. To avoid seeing that heartbroken look in his eyes again, like she had before he turned away from her in the penthouse. Now that she’s thinking clearly, has her priorities straight in her head, she’d do anything to protect him.
But he’s right. Whatever the cost, however much it hurts them both, she has to do this. She tries to take a deep breath, but the words feel too heavy in her chest. Nevertheless, she forces them out. “I—I betrayed somebody I...care about,” she says, speaking only to Lucifer. “Somebody who has always been there for me, who has shown me nothing but kindness and loyalty. I let fear of the unknown control me, and I did something I can never take back.”
A painfully long, slow silence follows. Lucifer doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. But she can see in his eyes that he knows she was holding something back. And so does their host.
The voice hums, as if considering. “Mmm. Painful but vague. Not quite enough, I’m afraid.”
Chloe’s breath catches. “No—”
Yet another strangled gasp. Yet another body hits the floor.
She whips around in time to see the young woman crumple. The young man, her date, possibly, catches her, and her mask slips away. Her lips are already turning blue.
The breath in Chloe’s catches. No. No, no, no...
That horrible silence falls again. The guests are trembling, some of them openly sobbing now, while others seem to glare accusingly at Chloe. Her fault. That woman’s death was her fault.
The voice sighs, as if it’s disappointed in her. “You held back, Detective. And now, the blood of another’s life is on your hands.”
She feels sick. If this wasn’t bad enough, Lucifer turns away from her, as if he can no longer look in her direction. But the voice is far from finished. “Well, I think it’s only fair that our dear Devil confesses next,” it says in a purr. “After all, he has more sins than anyone here, doesn’t he?”
Lucifer’s hands are clenched into fists. For the first time all night, she sees a flicker of something aside from apathy or anger in his eyes. Something close to fear. But not for himself; his gaze darts to her. Chloe realizes with a sinking feeling that whatever it is he’s about to say, it will be about her. About them.
The room holds its breath. Every masked guest, every terrified figure in the candlelit room, turns to Lucifer. The voice, who seems to know more about all of them than they know about themselves, has now singled out the Devil. He doesn’t look furious anymore; he looks...unsettled. Chloe can’t even imagine what might be in his past, the things he might have had to do over his life—the things he’s willingly done. But if whatever is currently on his mind has put that look in his eyes...she isn’t sure she wants to know.
He doesn’t look afraid. Never afraid. It’s more of a wariness. She can see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens, as if he’s bracing himself for a blow. She’s doing the same.
“I must confess...” he says quietly, his voice smooth. But she knows him well enough by now to hear just the faintest tremble in his words. His eyes scan the room again, letting his words hang in the air, like he’s savoring the moment. Part of her expects him to make a joke of it. To say something like, “I confess that I once bought an off-the-rack suit.” Until his gaze lingers briefly on the bodies lying too still on the polished floor. That’s when she knows he’s taking this completely seriously.
But then he looks at her. His expression softens just a touch, and she suspects she would be the only one who noticed. “...that I should have allowed you to send me back.”
Chloe’s heart drops to the floor. What...?
Their host chuckles. “Oh, now that is interesting.”
Lucifer ignores the voice, taking a step closer. His words are for her and for her only, despite the audience hanging onto his every syllable. “I should have simply gone. I should have let you believe that you were right, Detective. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have to struggle with whether or not I am a monster.”
Chloe feels as if the ground has been ripped away from her, that she’s falling through a bottomless pit of grief and guilt. He thinks she still believes that? That wasn’t just Lucifer lashing out from being hurt; he meant every word, she can see it in his eyes.
But then, she never told him the truth. That she saw the real him once she was given the chance to really think. She didn’t tell him how she feels about him. Or how much she misses him, and wants him to come back to their partnership. To her.
“Lucifer, I—” The words are caught in her throat again, and this time, she can’t even force them past that damn lump.
Lucifer isn’t finished. “Or maybe,” he murmurs softly, almost musing to himself, “I never should have believed that you would see me as anything else.”
Her heart shatters. She shakes her head, because this isn’t right. None of it is. The party. Their sadistic host. Lucifer’s confession. And there isn’t a damn thing she can do about any of it. She has never felt more helpless or out of control, and she isn’t sure how to fix it.
The voice hums in delight, apparently pleased with Lucifer’s addition. “Exquisite. Truly exquisite! But let’s raise the stakes again, shall we?”
A mechanical whir echoes through the room. Around them, the candles flicker as if a breeze is blowing past. Then, the sound of something heavy sliding into place—another lock? At the far end of the room, a new set of doors that nobody seemed to have noticed appears and opens, revealing a hallway shrouded in complete darkness.
“There is an antidote waiting just through that archway,” the host says in a teasing voice. Mocking them. “But only one of you may go to retrieve it.”
Lucifer huffs sharply. His mask still hides half his face, but the anger in his expression is unmistakable. “And let me guess,” he growls. “There’s a catch.”
“Of course there is!” the voice chuckles delightedly. “Whoever enters through that doorway...may not return to the party.”
Dread fills Chloe’s stomach, because some part of her already knows how this is going to end. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, my dear.” The voice is smiling, she can hear it. “A sacrifice must be made. Someone must leave—permanently—for the others to survive.” It pauses for a moment. “For the greater good.”
Alarms sound in her head. That’s what Kinley used to say to her about Lucifer returning to Hell. That it would be ‘for the greater good’. But he’s back in Rome. Isn’t he? This can’t be him.
No. But it could be his next play.
Or maybe it’s their host trying to get into her head. The worst part is, she can’t tell anymore.
An unnatural silence falls over the room as the guests exchange uneasy looks, as if wondering which of them it will be. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Nobody volunteers.
Chloe’s heart pounds even harder against her ribs. Then Lucifer turns to her with his inscrutable mask in place. She knows that look, all too well. She’s seen it so many times on cases, right before he does something insane. Something Luciferish. And she knows what he’s about to do now.
“No,” she whispers, begging him to not do this as she steps towards him. “Don’t. Lucifer, please don’t.”
Lucifer’s lips form into the beginnings of a smirk. Or it would be if it didn’t look so...empty. So sad. “Come now, Detective,” he murmurs softly, leaning closer. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“No!” she says, raising her voice, panic rushing through her veins. “No, it isn’t what I wanted! Of course it isn’t!”
He pauses briefly, just long enough to look her over, as if he’s memorizing everything about her. He lifts his hand, tenderly brushing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. And then, before she can make a single move to stop him, he walks away and steps through the doorway. Into the darkness.