Morning Star (Sins of the Father 3)

“Much better,” he sighed, taking his seat.

I nudged his drink towards him, which he accepted without question. There are few things quite as charming or exhilarating as seeing someone get their very first taste of caramel. The way Raziel’s eyes lit up, how he gasped in delight instantly convinced me that I had to take him on a food and beverage tour of the entire human world. I planned to tell him that, just as soon as he was done pontificating on the wonders of buttery burnt sugar.

“Now,” he said, folding his hands together on the table, smiling at me as if he’d practiced this exact moment so many ti

mes between then and our last meeting. “How have you been? Tell me everything.”

I almost laughed. Raziel’s delivery could have been lifted straight out of a sitcom or a TV drama, a scene of two girlfriends catching up over coffee. I started with Belphegor’s betrayal.

Raziel rolled his eyes. “No surprise there. But how is Florian doing?”

Florian understandably needed some time off, and I was happy to let him rest as much as he wanted. Part of the process included rolling around practically naked in the grass and earth of Paradise, something about the contact between skin and soil – and a lot of sun – allowing his plant power and physiology to regenerate. The more time he spent making dirt angels in the ground, the more alive he looked. The holes that Belphegor pierced into his forehead weren’t even there anymore, closed up when his accelerated alraune healing kicked in. The whole alraune thing had even more to do with nature than I thought.

When I left Paradise, Artemis was getting ready to spray Florian down with a garden hose. Priscilla had dug up a watering can and was clearly enjoying pouring copious amounts of water over Florian’s head, ferrying more and more from the river. I offered to put some fertilizer on him and got a clump of mud thrown at me in answer. Good thing I was already halfway through the exit portal when I said that.

As for Maharani and Royce? Suffice to say that the Lorica gave me a pass for basically saving the day. I mean, come on. Was one of them going to fly up to harass Belphegor with a divine sword? I didn’t think so. Of course, the problem was actually going throughout the city to erase the minds of the normals who had witnessed not just the overgrowth of Sloth’s crimson flowers, and not just the storm of petals he unleashed all over the city, but the massive supernova that emanated from Lucifer’s sword.

Now, I’m not saying I had anything to do with stopping Royce from suggesting that they should just lace the water supply with near-toxic doses of potions of forgetting, but let’s just say I saved the city twice that night.

Royce would have to deal with a PR disaster – what else was new – but it helped that the Lorica expended its significant financial reserves on media coverage convincing the city that the events of the night had just been a promotional stunt. All the normals would remember seeing was a really, really elaborate spring flower festival, followed by a really extravagant if monochromatic fireworks display.

It was when I mentioned chopping Raguel’s head off – by accident, remember? – that Raziel started getting all nervous. He tugged on his collar, stammering slightly. “Raguel’s essence will reform itself in time. I can assure you, though, that he will be neither very happy nor friendly with you the next time you cross paths.”

I rubbed at my wrist, at the backs of my knuckles. “Yeah, well – I haven’t exactly mentioned who the sword belonged to. There’s kind of a reason it was so easy to hack Raguel’s head off.”

Raziel nodded. “Under normal circumstances, someone as martial as Raguel should not have fallen to mundane weaponry. But, er, as you were saying – who does the sword belong to?”

“Don’t freak out.”

Raziel said nothing, his hand shaking as he brought his coffee up to his mouth.

I took a deep breath, shielded my face, then answered. “Lucifer. The Morning Star.”

I was expecting Raziel’s coffee to come spurting out of his mouth and into my face. It ended up going the other way and down the wrong pipes. He gasped, choked, and sputtered, his face turning sheet white. A cup of water, several more paper towels, and one very concerned but very sweet barista later, Raziel had settled down, breathing steadily but shuddering a little each time he exhaled.

“A-and you say that he called you nephew?”

“He did. I honestly don’t know how I got out of that alive.”

Raziel looked up at the ceiling, his eyes imploring and wet. “Unlike Belphegor, you aren’t a threat to him. At least not yet. Still – goodness gracious. I don’t know how you ran into the Morning Star himself and survived.”

“That’s the thing,” I said, leaning across the table. “He even saved me. I don’t know if that means I owe him a debt of gratitude now, but I’m sure I don’t want to find out.”

Raziel shivered and hugged his elbows. “Imagine owing a debt to the Devil himself.”

“Please. Please don’t put it that way.” I twiddled my thumbs as I stared at the dregs of my cooling, congealing mocha. “There was something else. He said something that got me worried. It was about my mother. Lucifer says she’s not dead.”

“You shouldn’t forget, Mason, that we are talking about the Devil here. Not just the Morning Star, not just the Prince of Pride, but the King of Hell. He is the Deceiver. You cannot believe a single word he says. And another thing, I – ”

The sadness must have shown on my face because Raziel stopped short. I hadn’t realized until then how much I’d hoped that Lucifer was telling the truth. Raziel paused for breath, calmed himself, then reached across the table, patting me on the back of the hand.

“Mason, I know that this is important to you. If there’s any truth to what the Morning Star told you, then I will personally help you find her. But don’t keep your hopes up. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

I gave him a tight smile, the little seedling of hope in my chest sprouting again. But there was that other thing Lucifer said, too. That thing about serving and ruling.

“It kind of makes me think, Raz. About my father, I mean, Samyaza. He would have wanted me to find Mom if there was any chance whatsoever of her being alive. But I’ve been giving it some thought, and wouldn’t he want me to find my siblings, too? The other nephilim, I mean. Whether he fathered them or not.”

Raziel rubbed his chin, his lips spreading into a wry grin. “Oh, look at you, thinking like the fledgling monarch you are. I think I like where this is headed – well, as ambiguous and potentially heretical as this conversation is going.”