Reignite (Extinguish #2) (9 page)

He
eyed her peculiarly for a moment before reaching out and taking her hand,
bringing it up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it that made
Serah's cheeks flush.

"Sarah,"
he said. "You can call me Don."

"My Lord!"

The double doors to the
conference room flung open unexpectedly, Lire rushing in without knocking. Luce
looked up from his cards, eyes narrowed angrily at the interruption. Lire knew
better than to just burst in without permission. Luce had been gone six months,
sure, but that was nothing compared to the six thousand years he spent down
here before that.
How soon they forget
.

Luce was up out of his
seat and right in front of Lire before the demon could utter another word.
Grasping him around the neck, Luce lifted him off the ground, choking him as he
slammed the demon back against the wall beside the door. He flailed, grasping Luce's
hand as he struggled against his hold. "I don't recall telling you to
enter."

"My Lord,"
Lire said again, his voice strained. "There's an angel at the gate."

Luce glared at him for a
moment, straining his senses to try to feel the heavenly presence, but the gate
was much too strong. He could only barely feel anything beyond it. Michael had
outdone himself this time. There was no escaping that magic. "What
angel?"

"A Dominion,"
Lire said.

Ah
.
Luce let go of Lire. The demon dropped to the ground hard as Luce turned around
and walked right back over to his marble throne, sitting down in it. He
brusquely waved his hand, motioning for Lire to leave when the demon climbed to
his feet. "Send them away."

Lire raised his eyebrows
with surprise. "You don't wish to speak to them?"

Luce shook his head. In
the past he got a kick out of his angelic visitors, entertaining himself by
taunting them, teasing them, tempting them… but there was no point anymore. He
could convince a hundred of his brothers and sisters to fall, but it wouldn't
make a difference. It wouldn't change a fucking thing.

Besides, the Dominion
bored him shitless.

Lire scurried out,
leaving Luce alone again. He went right back to playing Solitaire.

Every day, like
clockwork, the Dominion showed up at the gate. And every day, minutes later,
Lire would send him away. It went on for a week—a long, tedious week
where Luce barely moved from his chair. Nothing appealed to him anymore.

It was the seventh day,
and Luce haphazardly flipped cards around on the table when the doors to the
room flung open again. Luce closed his eyes, sighing exasperatedly, as Lire
burst in.

"My Lord," he
shouted. "The angel—"

"I swear, Lire, if
you come to me about that Dominion one more time I will gut you every day for
the rest of your miserable existence."

"Not the
Dominion," Lire said, his voice bordering on frantic.
"It's—"

Before Lire could
finish, Luce felt the tingle flow through him, the powerful Grace, so damn
familiar, so damn appealing, if it weren't for the pungent odor that
accompanied it. "Michael."

Within seconds, the
scent of stagnant water filled the air as Lire choked on his words. Luce opened
his eyes again, looking toward the doorway to find the demon impaled on the end
of Michael's sword. Michael yanked it out, the demon exploding into a blast of
smoke and fire, all trace of him vanishing from the room.

Shaking his head, Luce
turned back to his cards, shuffling the ones in his hand. "That was
pointless. He'll just regenerate by tomorrow in the pit."

"Pointless, maybe,"
Michael said, "but still satisfying."

"Self-indulgence,"
Lucifer said. "Isn't there something in the good book that warns against
that?"

"It's not
self-indulgence when it's for the greater good," Michael said. "He
was evil."

"But he wasn't
hurting you," Luce pointed out. "In fact, he was announcing your
arrival. You should've thanked him. He seems to think you're a big deal,
brother. He probably would've thrown you a parade had you asked."

Michael scoffed. Luce
went back to flipping over cards, wordlessly playing his game. After a moment,
Michael stepped further into the room. "Nice place you have here."

Luce stopped what he was
doing and glanced at Michael, sensing the sarcasm in his voice. So out of
character for the hard-ass Archangel. "Why are you here, Michael? Don't
get me wrong—it's bold. Before today, Serah was the only one with the
guts to step down here, and she only did it because she was desperate for
something. So I can't help but wonder what you want from me."

Michael looked at him,
his expression stoic. "The Dominion has been summoning you for a week, but
you haven't responded."

"Yeah, well, I
haven't been in the mood for company."

"You have a
task," Michael said, ignoring his mocking remark.

"Look, I'm back
where you've wanted me… what more do you expect? Me to throw a fucking
housewarming party to prove I'm settling in?"

"A different
task," Michael clarified. "An important one."

"Important enough
for my little brother to venture into the unhappiest place on Earth to deliver
the message?" Luce leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up as he
regarded Michael curiously. He motioned toward the chair at the other end of
the table. "Have a seat."

Michael didn't sit.
"There is an uprising amongst the angels. Some of your old followers, ones
who were once forgiven for their debauchery, are planning another revolt."

"Debauchery,"
Luce echoed. "That's what we're calling it?"

"What would you
call it?"

"I'd call it
differing opinions… having reservations."

Michael stared at him.
"It doesn't matter what we call it. They are planning to finish what you
started."

"Well, good for
them," Luce said. "Maybe they'll have better luck than I did."

"Do you not see the
implications of this? What can happen if they're successful? The world will be
destroyed, overrun with sin, the humans corrupted beyond saving."

"So?"

"So?" Michael
stepped even closer, his voice edging on anger. "You cursed them to the
fate of mortality, and you say 'so'? You damned angels to fall to Earth, and
then you don't care that the Earth could be destroyed? We watched its creation
together! How can you not care? How can you not care when she's there?"

The mention of Serah,
even without uttering her name, caused every inch of Luce to tense up. His eyes
narrowed as he glared at his brother. "You have a lot of nerve talking to
me about her."

"Me?" Michael
asked incredulously. "What about what
you
did to her?"

"I gave her a
second chance!" Luce said. "When she dies, she'll go back to Heaven,
back where she belongs. You tried to damn her to Hell, the one place she
should've never been. So who's the evil one here, brother? Who's the one who
doesn't care?"

"I was doing my
job."

"And that's all it
has ever been to you," Luce said. "Work, work, work… but I want to
live. I
wanted
to live."

Michael glared at him
for a moment before looking around the room. "Nice life you have
here."

"Fuck you."

"While you sit here
in your self-imposed exile, I'll be off cleaning up your messes yet
again," Michael said. "I knew you were corrupted, miscreant, but I
never realized what a coward you could be."

"Get out,"
Luce growled.

"I don't take
orders from you," Michael said, standing firmly in spot, defiantly staring
at him.

Angrily, Luce slammed
his fist down on the long table, the force making the ground rumble as the
marble gave way, a jagged lightning bolt shaped fracture running right down the
center of it. "Get out!"

His voice echoed through
the room as thunder cracked above them, the scenery shifting as his anger broke
through. Flames incinerated the floor, surrounding the both of them. Lucifer
could feel the intense heat, could smell everything around them singeing, but
he knew Michael sensed neither. Michael felt nothing. He smelled nothing.

As far as Lucifer
concerned, he was nothing.

Hesitantly, Michael took
a step back, nodding. Michael may not fear him, and wouldn't usually stand
down, but Luce had the upper hand down here. All it would take was a snap of
his finger and Michael would be locked in a cage somewhere, living his worst
nightmare.

Luce was tempted. He
wondered what that was.

Probably disappointing God
.

Turning, Michael started
for the exit as the fire wound down, the flames fading back into a floor. He
paused when he reached the door but didn't look back. "Abaddon has been
showing himself to the humans."

"Doesn't surprise
me a bit," Luce muttered. It wasn't a rule, so to speak, but it
was certainly frowned upon to purposely be seen
without a
damn good reason. "Still don't see what it has to do with me."

"He
showed himself to
her
," Michael
said. "Out of all the humans in the world, why do you think that is?"

"You're
lying."

Abaddon wouldn't do
that… not with her. Not knowing
who
she was, not
knowing what he knew about Luce.

"I don't lie,"
Michael said. "You know that."

He did know that. If
Michael said it, Michael thought it was true. He wasn't always right… fuck, he
was often wrong… but he believed it.

Michael walked out
without another word, leaving Luce alone. He turned his attention back to his
cards, shoving against the table and sending them flying through the room,
whipping through the air like a tornado.

Luce remembered a time
long ago when he'd charmed a naïve human into doing his bidding, tainting her
without her knowledge, using her as a pawn in his game.

Seems his old friend was taking a
page from his book.

Lucifer stood at the gate, a mere foot from
the magical charms locking everyone inside. He could feel the energy pulsating
from it, pressing upon his skin, trying to force him further away. Above, the
reapers swarmed, sensing his presence, watching and waiting to see what he
would do.

S
ighing, he pulled the heavenly knife out and eyed it.
I sincerely hope this doesn't backfire
.
He wasn't in the mood to be annihilated today. Sure, he'd regenerate, be no
worse for wear come tomorrow, or the next day if they completely obliterated
him, but it hurt like a son of a bitch being ripped apart, piece-by-piece.

Pulling off his black
shirt, he draped it over his shoulder as he brought the knife up to where his
heart should be. He winced as the blade cut into his skin, blood oozing to the
surface, drops running down his bare chest, coating it with streaks of red.
Light radiated from the wound when he cut deep, the pain nearly unbearable. He
grit his teeth as he carved the elaborate sigil onto his chest.

The
mark of Lucifer.

He hadn't seen
it—hadn't
used
it—in a
long time, not since it had been traded in for the mark of Satan instead. Each
of the Archangels had
their own
. He just hoped enough
of that angel still existed inside of him for it to work. The mark pulsated,
the light dim, but it didn't fade from his skin.