Chapter Text
The Asphodel Meadow was, as usual, filled to the brim with the unblessed dead. What was different than usual was the fact that, instead of spilling past Cerberus and into the Pit proper, the souls were instead simply shambling about, letting out mournful and unintelligible moans as the newest brood of Lillim complained. Normally, once through the walls, these souls would begin to regain some of their individuality and they could then be escorted to whatever their fate was to be. But because of his stupid brother, that wasn't the case.
Behemoth raised his tusked head and scowled down from the gates. All of this was Baphomet's fault, the bastard. He had been content to sit around and do practically nothing for the past... ever - and then all of a sudden, he just goes and tries to commit a coup? Seriously? Behemoth had long suspected that the Lord of the Ninth Hell was planning something - but like most of his colleagues, he'd imagined the Goat's goals to be less extreme. Enslaving their Mother, forcing his Plague Kings to impersonate higher demons, and trying to take the throne? That was way too much for Baphomet to chew. And, the second they became aware of his death, the Lords began to Quarantine.
It was a clean sweep of his layer. Behemoth was to hold the gate leading to Limbo, his twin, Leviathan, was guarding the gate that led into the Eighth layer. Together, they'd marshaled both of their courts, a legion of demons each, and another five made of volunteered mortals. Through unanimous agreement, the precedent set after Mephistopheles' death was to remain in effect, so the demon had been given carte blanch in purifying the Ninth Layer. Unfortunately, that meant that Behemoth was forced to wait out here - making sure no one tried to flee.
After all, they had no idea what kind of rats could try to spew forth from this sinking ship. Stationing Leviathan and Behemoth at the gates ensured that whatever tried to leave would find itself overmatched. Which made sense - he had even been the one to suggest the idea to the other Lords. But that didn't mean that he was particularly fond of the task either - none of the Cambions or Magisters that Baphomet kept had made a move at escaping, though a Cambion who had turned himself in, betraying Baphomet for clemency. Something that could easily have been done without Behemoth sitting here.
Which meant that he had been sitting on this gate for no reason.
He looked over his shoulder, sinew popping off the bone and reattaching with wet pops as his head turned around completely, seeing his brother sitting on the wall opposite of him. Although in reality, he wasn't exactly seeing him - Demons had far more than simply five senses, and the vast expanse (theoretically infinite) between them meant little and less. They could communicate from here as easily as they could next to each other. Levi had coiled himself around one of the grotesques, his aquatic-looking limbs flapping in a show of equal disgust with their tasks.
Behemoth cleared his throat. A human had once described the sound as halfway between the roar of a lion and a bellow of a water buffalo, and loud enough that it would send a sonic shockwave halfway around Earth if he had been above. Since he wasn't, the sound was regarded as what it was; a call for attention.
Four of the seven sets of barbells twitched as Leviathan shifted a massive, bulging eyeball. It was, besides the never-ceasing twitching of his tentacles, the only reaction to stimuli Leviathan had responded to in the last week - which for Hell was quite a long time. The echoing call of whales filled the air, before coalescing into the resonant sound of his twin.
"What doth thee... require?" His slow, melodic voice thrummed around him, shaking some of the dead off their feet. "Has there been... any guests of... interest?" The blowhole on his back opened, ejecting a stream of blood with a hiss, the now-revealed eye within now fixed on Behemoth.
"None," he bit back. "And that is why I am so overwroght. What are we doing here?"
"Guarding... the Ninth layer..." his twin replied. Leviathan sounded remarkably bored - granted, his voice always sounded that way, but this was worse than usual. "Preventing the escape of... traitors ."
"If there even are traitors," Behemoth growled out the words.
He'd always hated politics, the backstabbing, and the untrustworthiness. That was why he and his brother had always been bound together so tightly - in a Universe full of those willing to kill for their own advantage, having another who would die for you without hesitation was a gift worth having. It was how they had both gained their seats - cutting through the schemes and trickery with the sheer might of their combined power. And it was that combined might - and eons of careful selection - had ensured that all their subordinates had the same sort of attitude when it came to war. Only battle mattered to their courts, and since no one in either of their courts could defeat the two of them together, they could safely ignore all internal politics.
But every time one of his siblings pulled some shit, he and Leviathan had to clean it up.
"There... are. There should-" Leviathan started to speak but was cut off by a rude noise from Behemoth. A nearby corpse had its skin blasted off in the ensuing blast.
"And how in Lucifer's name do you know that?" He snorted. "Have you been told what was going on? I haven't. We just started watching for rats. We've watched - there are no rats. Don't you think it's time to actually do something?"
"Not without... our King."
"Our King said he was never coming back," Behemoth said flatly. "It's up to the Lords."
"Mother... says different," Leviathan replied, giving a negligent twist of a flipper, his body coiling around a pillar as he shifted over to look at him, a serpent-like tentacle coming to stroke the barbels that hung off his lip. "She says He-"
"' Mother says '" Behmoth repeated in a caricature of his brother's voice, allowing his tail to flick back in disgust. "You sound like a mortal human. Mother says Lucifer is coming back - Mother has also done nothing but tell lies and schemed since Eden."
"Yet... she sits... prostrate to an empty throne." That was fair, at least. Since returning back to Hell in a flurry of raven's feathers, Lilith had bent her head in submission to Lucifer's throne. While she hadn't brought news of Baphomet's death (they all felt it) she had brought news of Lucifer's direct involvement. But besides that? Nothing. It was weird - especially for their mom.
"Point," he conceded. "But my meaning stands - what are we doing?"
"Following... protocol for a dead Lord." He overstretched the Os in 'following,' ending it with another blast of red blood. "His realm is to be... quarantined til a replacement Lord is named."
"Named by Lucifer - who told us he was never coming back," he repeated that point. It was something all the Demons had been dreading - the inevitable moment when they actually needed their king.
The Nine Lords could, if they delegated responsibilities intelligently, handle the majority of Hell's functioning. Nearly all of it, in fact. He and Levi handled the military and the enforcement of rules (being apolitical as they were), Paimon counted and managed the souls, Beez came up with tortures, and it went on. They were all very good at their jobs. But there were a few very special situations in which Hell required not only an Angel but an Archangel too. And until Lucifer got back, none of it could happen. And since Lucifer was never coming back... Well, Baphomet was probably glad he was dead. Now he didn't have to deal with Hell's wrath.
"So what, are we supposed to sit here like overpowered Gargoyles for the rest of eternity? Is that what you're proposing?" The low whale-like snarl that echoed around him was enough to answer, though seeing the tentacles sprouting eyes that immediately turned into narrowed glares probably counted as one as well. "Or, and this is a possibility... we talk to Maze and ask her."
The low whale moans shifted into the high-pitched laughter of a porpoise. His brother's immense body flopped sideways on the wall separating the Ninth from the Eighth, rolling and writhing like a blubbery ferret.
"Oh shut up!" Behemoth snarled. "You miss 'er just as much as the rest of us."
"I do not... miss having my tentacles... amputated," Levithan said, allowing a small hint of levity to enter his tone. "But her lack... has been noticed."
"So, let's go and-"
"Not nessecary," came a new voice, and Behemoth felt four of his eyes rolling on impulse. "I'm going up any second now."
Sitting in a high-backed leather office chair and wearing a starchy white suit was their younger brother, dressed in his pale human form. Always a little drama queen, said chair was currently hovering above the Ninth layer and halfway between the two arguing demons. Neither had noticed his appearance, of course, but that was partially why Paimon was so valuable. He had a knack for doing things subtly.
"You... are not," Leviathan said emphatically, blowing more blood from his blowhole in displeasure. "We... have orders. "
"And I have a little date - already planned and approved years ago," Paimon waved his hand and an American legal contract popped into existence. He started reading from it. "'Upon the release of my works through my beneficiary, I, Paimon, Lord of the Second Layer, am given permission to walk the realm of Mortals for but one night.'" He smiled, the one hint to others watching that he was not human. His teeth were serrated and layered, like those of a shark. And they shone just as bright white. "That, my dear brothers, is tonight."
Behemoth made another rude noise - a cross between the trumpeting of a bull elephant and the honking of a goose. Leviathan's tentacles simply writhed further.
"So if you have any messages you'd like me to bring upstairs..." he said with a sly glance between the two, "Just let me know. Now, did I hear something about our dear Mazikeen?"
"You may..." Levi said cautiously.
"Wonderful! Because I have a job for you too, and it's one that requires the highest level of scrutiny," he kept that little smile on, but something was burning now behind those sage-green eyes. "Something that is more important, even, than quarantining."
"And that is?" Behemoth asked, his interest piqued. Any excuse to get off this damn rock...
"Something that needs to be shared privately. Would you two gentlemen kindly come with me?"
It was to all of Hell's misfortune that the two ancient Demon Lords agreed to that request. Because although no rats had escaped Baphomet's layer yet, that in no way meant that there were no rats at all. No, it meant that the one Rat was clever, that its intelligence beat its fear of being hunted within. So the Rat waited.
And the Rat had waited for a long time too. For the entire time he was in Hell, the Rat had been cowering in the shadows, hiding from Demon and Damned alike. For this Rat had an ego, had his pride still intact and not yet ground into submission. He could've been wise, like his fellow dead peers. He could have simply been content in Hell, faced whatever it was he was likely to meet down there, and continued as his predecessors had before him. One of those predecessors in particular was waiting for him.
But this Rat was, though very intelligent, not wise. When the two guards that had trapped him in the Ninth Layer had finally vanished, this Rat took his chance. With a small spell of cloaking and a half-dead expression on his face, the Rat found it a simple thing to hide from Cerberus. The great Hellhound was to watch souls coming in - and none could for the moment in any case - not out. That was the job of the Layer's lord, after all.
And so, with barely any effort of all, the late Father Faustus Blackwood found himself the only sentient Soul in Limbo. And only a few steps away from home.
Lucifer was not one to be stopped easily, so the jarring pull of Sabrina's dead halt was surprising. Surely she wasn't so hung up on Reese she was going to do something about it. He turned on his heel, but took a wide step with his other foot, claiming that much more space around him. If there was some legitimate reason for her to stop, having more room would always help.
His turn positioned him to Sabrina's left now, his arm shifting to one over her shoulders as he appraised Sabrina's roadblock. It was another girl who, although she couldn't be an inch taller without heels, currently towered over his daughter with an imperious hazel-eyed stare. "Care to introduce me to your friend, Princess?"
"This- uh, this," Sabrina stuttered, an uncommon action for her, before gulping suddenly. Then, she composed herself - or tried, her body language was screaming uncomfortably. "This is my cousin, Montgomery."
The new girl looked up at him with a look of disgust before moving back down to Sabrina. "Really? He's almost three times your age."
Sabrina's cheeks flared red, "It's not-"
"Why didn't you say you were in town?" she asked, ignoring Lucifer and focussing back on Sabrina. Very rude - especially when she pulled the Princess away as if he wasn't even there. "How'd you get out of Greendale without anyone noticing? And why aren't you hiding with us? Is that why you enchanted that mortal?"
"Mortal?" Lucifer said, affronted.
"I didn't enchant him!" Sabrina's face was starting the brighten crimson, and Lucifer felt his lips curl in amusement. "And it wasn't like no one noticed. My aunts and Ambrose know." Lucifer was a little offended that she didn't offer more of an explanation beyond 'no he isn't a slave' but didn't have time to formulate a response.
"Yes, but those Judas fucks don't know. I mean, if all the shit I've heard is true." The young woman shrugged, her body language showing exactly how much she really cared. "What's up with that anyway? Everyone I know in Greendale is mum except for those zealots proselytizing and 'sharing the news.'"
"And that news is?" he asked sweetly, reminding Montgomery that he was there. Lucifer honestly thought she had just purely written him. Her reaction of shock, then scorn, confirmed that.
Still, she answered. "That you tried to murder the entire Greendale Coven, martyred Father Blackwood, and the Antipope, all to further your goals of a Spellman Restoration." Lucifer and Sabrina shared a look of silent alarm, but they had to snap back when she continued, "Then it was that Father Blackwood discovered Baphomet sectet and was murdered by you, for your attempt to usurp Hell as the Archdemom's concubine." She gave Lucifer an appraising look, "He isn't an archdemon, is he?"
"No not at all," Lucifer smiled, holding out his hand and flashing his eyes red. "Lucifer Morningstar - a pleasure to meet you."
She froze halfway through the handshake
"No fucking way," Montgomery said instantly, and Lucifer struggled to not let his eyes roll back into his skull. He forgot that was how witches reacted - he almost preferred the average mortal's unbelief over this. "You're serious? Gods, of course, you're serious - your side of the family was always weird." That last part was directed at Sabrina. "When were you going to tell me you know the Dark Lord?"
"Not dark!"
"I- is this really the place we should be having this conversation?" Sabrina said in a hushed voice. Which was fair - Montgomery had drawn quite a bit of attention, and while Lucifer normally adored that sort of thing, he could show some discretion when he needed to.
"Probably not but do you think I'm going to let this drop?" Montgomery grabbed them both by the hand and dragged them a corner away from the other people on the red carpet. "I mean, seriously Sabrina. Father Orpheus' brain basically broke when the Dark Lord threw a goat corpse at us - and what, you sold yourself to be his concubine? " She rolled her eyes, clearly deciding that she was just going to run with that idea regardless of what Sabrina said. "I just assumed you would have more respect for yourself - but you gotta tell me what’s going on.”
Lucifer had had enough, “Alright, first off: I am not dark. My name means Lightbringer, and I’m the literal Archangel of Light - I invented Darkness’ antithesis. So Thats enough Dark Lords. Secondly,” he glanced to Sabrina to gauge her expression. Exasperated above everything - that was good. “Sabrina is not my concubine, she’s my daughter. And finally, she didn’t poison or kill anyone - at least recently. I killed Blackwood.”
The blonde Witch seemed taken aback. “Wh-what?”
“Which part was unclear?” Lucifer asked sweetly, leaning down to look her in the eyes. “I’ll gladly explain any points of confusion.”
Sabrina shouldered past him, wrapping her arm around her cousin as she led the shaken young woman away. “It’s a lot, I know, but just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean anything has to change. I’m still a Spellman.”
That roused Montgomery. “Nothing change? Fuck that, ‘Brina. I’ve been worshipping your dad for centuries, and you think I can just carry on?”
“Umm… kind of?” Sabrina looked to Lucifer for support. “It’s not like you have to worship me or anything - Heaven, my dad doesn’t even want you to worship him. Everyone in Greendale took it pretty well.”
“Sabrina, what rock are you living under?”
“Lux is hardly a rock,” he groused.
“ No one is taking anything well,” Montgomery said numbly, “Sabrina, it’s chaos right now.”
“What?”
“Only reason people haven’t started flinging spells at each other is because there hasn’t been enough time for tensions to rise,” she said, regaining some of her steadiness, some of her poise. “Every single priest and father on the Planet has a different interpretation of that divine vision, who got it, who didn’t and why. And without the Antipope… the Judas Society felt fine trying to assassinate the entire Greendale coven.”
“What?!” Sabrina repeated, this time with much more volume and a higher register. People were watching now.
“No one died - Prudence told me. But they still tried it,” she looked up at Lucifer now, flaring into his eyes. “So I suppose you’re to blame for martyring the Saint Faustus Blackwood?”
“Killed certainly, but martyred?” He asked, taken aback. “Who sanctified him?”
Montgomery rolled her eyes. “The Judas Society, obviously, I told you a minute ago. Sabrina murdered him to cover up Baphomet’s fraud, they claim, and that she was planning on ruling Hell as his concubine.” She sighed, glancing up at Lucifer. “Clearly, that’s not the case. Thank the gods, it’d be a pain if the misogynists were right.”
Before either could respond, the theatre’s intercom crackled to life. “Attention - the inaugural screening of Hereditary will be beginning shortly.”
Montgomery sighed, “That’s my cue if I want to get my seat. ‘Brina, you got a phone?” Sabrina nodded, holding up said device. Montgomery snatched it out of her hands, typing in her number rapidly, “Look, I’ll text you later, ‘kay?” Before Sabrina could give her response “‘Kay,” the blonde Witch handed the phone back and sped off.
"Oh," Sabrina said, "yeah, um... good to see you too?" And with a little wave over her shoulder, she was gone. Sabrina turned to look over at him as Lucifer dropped the spell around them. "Come on!"
"What?" He asked, affronted.
"You couldn't have started that a bit more chill?" She asked, clear frustration in her eyes. "I mean - you didn't have to do the red eyes!"
"I did if I wanted her to recognize me," he complained. Seriously, did she know nothing about dramatic reveals? He had to work on her flourish a bit more. "The last time she saw me, I was wearing a loin cloth, with horns, wings and fire in my eyes, I don't-"
"Horns? I didn't see any horns."
"Cause it was part of the illusion I cast," he rolled his eyes. Seriously, it was basic gravitas. "I look remarkably different in an Armani."
"Ugh," she all but snorted. "Well, you better hope she doesn't go around and tell every witch this side of the Mississippi who and where I am."
"Not like it would be a problem if she did," Lucifer shrugged. “I'm with you, and if I'm not your Auntie Maze will be. And I can assure you, she is not going to allow any harm to come to you while she can still help it. And besides, she asked for someone to help out."
She wrinkled her little nose as they walked into the theatre, "Really? A guard demon?"
"It's no worse than Salem or Maze!" He was glad Mazikeen was out of earshot for that one - she would hate being compared to a goblin. "And I agree with Maze - you need to look regal, and you only get that from having courtiers and hangers on." And, of course, to protect her, but Sabrina was a prideful little thing who would've taken umbrage at the implication that she needed protecting.
His daughter was powerful, incredibly so, but she was still new to all of this. Sabrina might have grown up casting spells, but that was a world apart from the types of things he had done and she now could. Magic was a tool with which to alter creation, a method which he had used to allow others to control their own fates. Its powers were vast, almost unlimited, and certainly impossible for a single being to know all the implications - even Lucifer himself, who was literally magic in all of its infinite complexities. But magic paled in comparison to the forces of raw creation.
Spells could not make something out of nothing. Even when an object appeared to be summoned straight from the void, it was the very deliberate combination of pre-existing air molecules with the spell acting as a sort of micro-fusion machine to turn the O2 and Nitrogen into something more usable, with excess mass and energy coming from wherever the caster was getting power from - usually Hell. But when Lucifer made a star?
Snap .
Out of nothing, came Light.
When Sabrina learned how to use her true celestial powers, there was scarce a force in Heaven or Hell that could stop her. But in the interim? She was merely an exceptional mage with wonderful potential. Potential that could very easily be snuffed out. And that- that was not something he would even consider contemplating.
"I swear to grandpa, if this guard is anything like Batibat-"
"Who?"
"The sleep demon? Remember?" Lucifer snapped his fingers - he did remember! Of course, he'd forgotten the name (Because really? Batibat? Who did she piss off to get that name?) but he recalled the sleep demon story, and the breed itself. Nasty bunch.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to assign a psychological torturer to watch over you," Lucifer quipped as he led her to their designated seats. "That's my job - this is a psychological horror movie I took you to."
"Then where is my popcorn?"
The Spellman House was having a slow morning. With Sabrina (sadly) out of the House, Hilda opening at Cerberus', and Zelda being at the Church from dusk til noon, there was very little noise in the early hours. No one running around getting dressed, no one having to rush out the door, and no cigarettes in the living room making the rest of the house reek until Ambrose remembered to cast an air freshening charm.
As far as mornings could've gone, Ambrose mused while drinking his tea and reading the newspaper, it could've been a lot worse. Especially with how… tense everything had been since the last Black Mass.
His former compatriots in the Judas Society had poisoned the wine and would’ve succeeded in tricking the entire congregation into the Witch version of Jonestown if it wasn’t for Lucifer. His appearance, and the chaos it had inspired, ensured that no one partook in any of the poisoned items. When the dust cleared, and Aunt Zelda finally noticed, the entire Society had fled. Not, of course, before they had a chance to paste their manifesto on the door. Then when Zelda came forward with news of the poisoning, the Society had turned it around and accused Sabrina.
So far, no one had been hurt, but the Spellmans had been threatened quite a lot. So Ambrose was enjoying his peaceful morning.
And, for the sheer brazenness of his thoughts, the Universe decided to punish him. There was a repeated, sharp knock on the door. Ambrose's head snapped in that direction, his fingers twitching out rapid spells to double-check the house's perimeter. With his former associates in the Judas Society (it was a horribly Gnostic name, wasn't it?), there was a very real chance they could've been disarmed without anyone noticing.
If that were the case, knocking on the door would be kind of a poor decision.
Slowly edging towards the door, Ambrose carefully looked out a side window, to spot not any danger at all. No, instead it was the silly Mortal boy Sabrina had spent half the year fawning over and the other half being shunned by. Or at least, that was his interpretation of events. Still, Harvey wouldn't have come all this way out here without a good reason. And it did also explain why none of his wards had gone off - they were tuned for the magical, not the mundane.
With a sigh, he unlocked and cracked the door open.
Harvey stuck his hand out quickly, forcing the door back with both a strength and viciousness that surprised him. "Did you know?" he snarled, his hand holding the door open. And for half a heartbeat, Ambrose was reminded of the Kinkle Family history. The Warlock took a step back hesitantly, clearing enough space for Harvey to fully enter and slam the door behind him, though not before Ambrose could spot his truck in the parking lot and the school bag left on the porch.
"Did I... know what, precisely? You'll need to be a bit more specific," he said, backpedaling and stalling. He had a pretty good guess for what this was all about, but he didn't want to overplay his hand. Better to let him make-
"Did you know that Sabrina's dad was the literal Devil?" Harvey asked as they finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen. Ambrose could see his newspaper and tea, a mournful feeling for his tranquility filling him for the briefest of seconds.
" Well, it might have come up?" Ambrose hazarded.
That was apparently, not the answer Harvey wanted. "And you just let her leave with him? To LA? By herself?" He sounded genuinely angry now - a mix of masculine protectiveness and misogynistic paternalism. This Harvey made it sound like he should've been informed - as if his knowing would make a difference. "Are you all insane?"
Ambrose motioned Harvey towards a seat. "Let's... let's talk about this for a minute, alright mate?" The teenager, thankfully, moved without needing to place a compulsion spell on him. Ambrose sat across from him, took another sip of his tea, then pushed it and his newspaper aside. "How did you come across this information?"
"It was trending," he grumbled. He must have seen Ambrose's expression, because he shifted towards something more explanatory, "It was popular on social media. A bunch of people - I guess we're not really people to you, so 'Mortals' - were all talking about it. They were interviewed on the Red Carpet!"
The Kinkle boy held up his glass phone (And what a ridiculous product? What if you dropped it?) and showed an image. The now-familiar human form of the Devil and his cousin, both dressed to the nines and laughing at a joke told by someone unseen. The wording underneath and on top, mini.miss.morningstar made his stomach sink all the more.
And with that, Ambrose felt a small tingle up his spine. He was standing immediately, focussing on a spell. "One of my proximity sensors were tripped," he told the mortal. "Stay down, someone is going to be teleporting in, and it could get ugly."
"I can help," Harvey stood up too, but a telekinetic push sent him back down.
"Stay out of it," he put a note of command this time and turned to meet their visitor. The teleportation anchor placed on the Spellman house guaranteed the apparition of someone unwanted in a very specific spot. One perfectly in his sightline. He was mentally preparing a list of combat spells that wouldn't damage his home when, of all people, Nicholas Scratch appeared.
"You?" Harvey shouted, standing back up.
"Leave, Kinkle," Nicholas moved into the kitchen, standing expectantly by the Mortal. "I need to talk to Ambrose. About something important, and private. You need to-"
"It's about Sabrina's dad being the Devil, isn't it?" Harvey asked with a derisive snort. "He already knew."
"I thought I told you to stay out of this?" Ambrose said, turning towards Harvey, who had resumed his seat and looked like he was getting comfortable. Then back to Scratch, and the mix of emotions on his face. "It was, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was," he said through clenched teeth.
"I knew it!"
"How'd you find out about it?" Ambrose asked, dreading the answer. Bad enough that Sabrina's father had become public knowledge in the Mortal world, but in the magical community too? That could make things very, very difficult. For all of them.
"Your cousin Montgomery told Prudence, and Prudence told me," the younger warlock said dryly, choosing to stare down Ambrose over Harvey. "When were you going to tell us?"
“Who else knows?”
“Me and Prudence, no one else. She’s not vindictive enough to make that public,” He paused, shaking his head, “And I guess you all knew the whole time, right? So again, when were you gonna tell us?”
"Yes, when were you?" Harvey asked. "Because to me? It sounds like you all wanted to keep this secret."
"Can you blame Sabrina?" he asked, affronted on his cousin's behalf. He would need to have a chat with Montgomery, when circumstances allowed, about how family secrets should be treated. "She learned that her divine figure - and also the figure she falsely thought, and most of her community thought, was a literal child-raping cannibal - was her Father, with all the implications that entails."
"So you let her leave with him to Los Angelos?" Nick asked pointedly. It felt suddenly like the two young men were on a team against Ambrose - he did not like it. "That seems incredibly short sighted."
"You saw what he did," Ambrose spoke flatly. "I'm flattered that you think we could've stopped him."
"Sabrina could have," Harvey said.
"Sabrina wanted to leave," Ambrose countered. "Because of you, I might add." Well, partially him. Mostly the apocalypse stuff, but he wanted this Harvey boy to feel a little bit shitty for how he treated Sabrina. "And her Father was strong enough to protect her, and will make her stronger."
Nick's face drew tightly at that, but he nodded. "Fine," he said. "She always did have-"
"Really?" Harvey said, looking up at Nick. "Just fine? That's it?"
"It's Sabrina," the young warlock shrugged. "No one has ever been able to stop her from doing what she wanted to do."
"That's exactly what I said!" Ambrose said with a smile, sitting back down and taking another sip of his tea. The smile dropped as soon as he put the teacup down. "But this is an issue."
"How so?" Harvey asked.
"Because if you two found out..." he said slowly, dread starting to fill in his stomach. Get home soon, Aunties, he thought. "Then that means other people could too."
"The Judas Society."
"Precisely," Ambrose's mouth narrowed into a slit. "And that threat they put out a few days ago against 'All who disrespect the Heir's of Cain' might very well find its target. Because an Antichrist existing, and being a woman? That's blasphemy to them."
"And Blasphemy is punsihed by death," Nick finished. " Shit."
"Precisely again. Damn it!" he cursed under his breath. "How could Montgomery be so stupid ?"
"It's hardly her fault," Nick said placatingly. "The Church of Judas was a joke outside of Greendale - the Judas Society is seen as a group of backwards hicks by the majority of mages. If she even knew about them, she probably had no idea the kind of danger they could be."
"But surely telling people that she was Devil's daughter, immediately after he overturned the church..." Ambrose held up his hands. "I mean, Satan, people are angry. They need something - someone to blame. And the girl who made such a big stink when she refused to sign the Book of the Beast suddenly being the next best thing to a God? That's the best target they could ask for."
"Fuck," Harvey mumbled. "I didn't understand half of that, but-"
"Shut up!"
The movie was good. Sabrina had seen better, but as far as demon possession movies went, it was definitely up there. it would never beat the original Exorcist , of course, but she could add it to the top of her list. She was telling that to Lucifer, as well as explaining some of the more technical shot compositions as they were leaving the theatre. "It's like no one had any choice in their lives, you know? It was all preordained by Ellen before Peter and Charlie were ever even born," she snorted. "Like they're all dolls being moved around. It's a little on the nose."
"Well, it isn't like they didn't have any choice," her father countered as they left the doors to the surprisingly chilly summer night. Chilly for her outfit and for LA, in any case. It was only seventy-two - twenty-two , she corrected herself silently with a grin - and the tall buildings made artificial wind tunnels that cut right through her. “The mother’s brother killed himself, yelling about how Ellen was trying to do something to his soul, and then she thought ‘Yes, I’ll leave my own child in her company?’”
“She really didn’t seem like the type of person I’d let hold a baby,” Sabrina agreed happily. “But Ellen had it all set up ahead of time, like she was trying to breed the perfect male host before ‘settling’ for Charlie.” She wrinkled her nose, “Why is the gender preference always boys?”
“Not always. Half the demons in Hell only learned about Gender within the last five hundred or so years,” Lucifer shrugged. “A lot of them are genderless, technically, they just prefer masculine terms.”
“So… are Demons He/Them?”
“Or She/Them. Now come along, Princess, I want to go home,” Lucifer said, tugging her arm and pulling her towards the sidewalk (and the spot where Patrick agreed to pick them up to avoid traffic). Lucifer wasn’t finished, though. “Paimon only prefers men because women weren’t allowed in finance until recentlly.”
“Heaven, there’s a demon who works in finance?” Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Well, as it happens, some of Paimon’s most beloved souls he captures belong to executives, bankers and salesmen.” They’d gotten past the crowd by the door, but once they were past the congregation, other photographers near the edges took a moment to get a few more pictures. Lucifer wrapped his arm around her shoulder, flashed the photographers a smile, and then continued speaking. “He’s like… my accountant? I suppose you could phrase it like that…”
“Don’t phrase it like anything - you know you can just like, tell me his job?” Seriously, she almost was Queen of Hell, it was strange that she knew so little about it.
Her father pursed his lips. “When someone dies, their soul doesn’t just ‘show up’ where they need to go. First, the Reaper has to cut their Thread in the Weave, and after that , the Azrael has to take them where they need to go-“
“The Reaper?”
“Nasty bugger. One of the ‘consequentials,’ as Michael always called them. Things that weren’t made intentionally but rather to fill a void. The Reaper is one of them, a side effect of Azrael.”
Sabrina chewed on that for a moment. “So God… didn’t make it”
“Yes? No?” Lucifer frowned, “It’s unclear.”
“That isn’t very helpful.”
“It really isn’t,” he agreed. “But when you start reaching into existential concepts like Death things get a little wishy washy. There should be an angel for it. Hell, we thought Azrael was. But Azrael’s simply the Archangel of Mortal Death, a psychopomp. The Reaper is more of like… the concept of things ending .”
“Could… could someone summon them?” She asked, thinking of the Red Death.
“One of their aspects, perhaps, but I would not want to be in the room when it happens,” Lucifer chuckled lightly. “Somethings even I can’t get up from… where was I with Paimon?”
“He’s an accountant.”
“Right! So, we know who is and is not supposed to be in Hell. If they have a contract - that’s easy, if they don’t…” Lucifer shrugged, “Your own guilt, or the simple weight of your sins will drag you down so clearly we can literally see the impressions of where their cell door is going to be. Paimon’s job is to ensure that the number of cells we have is always equal to the number of prisoners. And if they aren’t, it’s his job to figure out why.”
“So he’s like an IRS agent checking records?”
“What’s the IRS?”
“You don’t know about the IRS?”
“Why would? You children have too many acronyms,” he flourished his hand, gesturing to the red Ashton Martin and the grinning Patrick. “In you go.”
Rolling her eyes, she hopped into the back seat. And then she felt a tingle of magical energy - someone had a spell active nearby. She sat up, head darting around quickly. Where was it coming from? Who was it coming from? Lucifer, oblivious, got in behind her.
Then she figured out the answer. Out of the shotgun seat, came Colonel Sanders.
Lucifer gasped happily, “Speak of the demon!”
“Hello sir,” he said in the most exaggerated, Georgian plains accent ever. “I do so ever apologize for stepping in on you so unannounced.” He paused, finally noticing Sabrina. “Why hello dear, I don’t think I’ve met your acquaintance.” He extended his hand to her, exposing the series of silver and gold rings he had decorating his fingers.
She gave him an unimpressed look before looking at her father. “Friend of yours?” she asked, already knowing the answer. He was clearly a Demon - and not trying to hide it either. Sabrina could practically smell the brimstone wafting off of him.
“An old one - I should’ve known you’d be up tonight, you bastard!” Lucifer said, taking the hand he had extended to Sabrina. “Sabrina, meet Paimon, my accountant. Paimon, meet Sabrina - Lady of Pandemonium and Infernus Sanguine Rex.”
The eyes behind his little spectacles widened, but that was the only hint that he was surprised. “Your Majesty… why that… that explains quite a bit, in truth.” His mustache twitched slightly as he recomposed himself, bowing his head in submission.
Sabrina remembered the script from the last time. “Tu tenetur ad voluntatem Mean.”
“An absolute pleasure, my dear,” Paimon smiled again. “Why, I had an entire little thing planned, but it seems to be inconsequential at this point. A daughter, sire? That is… well, quite a surprise.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” Lucifer preened, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “She’s spectacular.”
“She quite is, your Grace. Why, I never-“
“Are you here for a reason?” She asked, interrupting them. Sabrina loved a good compliment as much as anyone, but people fawning over her always made Sabrina feel like she was some sort of pet. She looked at her father, “Didn’t you say that you normally don’t allow Demons on Earth?”
He rolled his eyes. “As a general rule, but not an iron clad one. If it is in the fulfillment of their duties, technically any demon can leave. It’s just-“
“Torturers seldom need to take walks on the beach,” Paimon finished for Lucifer. “But I always considered myself to be more sophisticated than my kin. And in any case, we are allowed to answer summonings.”
“The movie,” she nodded.
“Correct - sharp as a tack, your daughter. I shouldn’t be surprised, with you as her sire, your Majesty. Quite clever-“
“Save the compliments and give us an explanation,” Sabrina said harshly - much to Lucifer’s great enjoyment.
“Look at how regal she is!”
“Born to rule, your grace. Empires should tremble with her steps.”
“ Dad ,” she said sharply.
“Oh alright, what is it, old man?” Lucifer asked, lounging back further in the Aston Martin.
“Well, your grace, we may be bordering in a civil war in the Hells.”
Lucifer’s amusement died instantly, leaning forward with an intense look on his face. “ What?”
“Not amongst the Lords, of course,” Paimon added quickly, attempting to appease him. “Just with some of the riff raff, hardly any Lillim amongst them, but things could truly blow out of proportion.”
Lucifer’s lip twisted. “ Explain.”
“With you gone, your Grace, rulership has fallen to your loyal subordinates. We have done all that we could - the best we could, in fact - it’s just…” he screwed up his face, his goatee, and mustache scrunched enough to hide the slit of his mouth. “Well, there’s no new souls coming in and the younger demons have been listening too much to Mother.”
“Of course Lilith is to blame,” Sabrina sighed.
“Mother has been penitently waiting for you, your Grace, but she hasn’t been doing it silently,” Paimon pressed his lips together firmly. “She’s rather angrily shouting about how you have abandoned us. No one would pay her any mind, if they had some new toys to torture. But no one can get in right now.”
Lucifer scoffed. “I forgot that was Baphomet’s job…”
“What was Baphomet’s job?”
“He was like the mail man,” Lucifer said without any enthusiasm.
“Baphomet’s sacred duty was to make sure each new soul went to the right Layer,” Paimon elaborated. “Different sins require different punishments for different purposes. And without a Lord of the Ninth…”
“Cerberus can’t even let them through the bloody door,” Lucifer sighed. “Fucking… shit! ”
“What?” Sabrina asked, “Just name a new Lord and we’re all set, right?”
“It’s not that simple,” his fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice filled with… exasperation.
“Hell is a very orderly place, my dear,” Paimon said in a slow, slightly patronizing tone of voice. “And your father has never been the best at… staying on top of his work, shall we say?”
“What he means is that I’m behind on my bloody paperwork, and I have to do it in order” Lucifer all but groaned. “How many formal requests for the King of Hell are there?”
“Well, I haven’t exactly read them-“
“Yes you have.”
“I have,” the Demon admitted. “Four million six hundred seventy three thousand and five, at my last count.”
“Fuck!”
"Thank you for seeing me, Father," Dan said in a voice still quavering a bit with stress. "I- I'm really freaking out."
"Of course my son," Father Jaime Sanchez said in a kindly voice. He'd been the Priest who'd baptized Dan as a baby and he'd spent his entire life coming to listen to the Father speak. Granted, he didn't come at regular intervals his entire life, but as a self-identifying Catholic, Father Sanchez was his Priest. It was why he'd recommended the church to Ella when she first moved to LA. "What is it that troubles you?"
Dan swallowed, "Y-yeah, alright so- do you believe in the Devil?"
The priest leaned back in his chair, raising a hand to rub his white-bearded jaw. They weren't in the confessional or one of the pews - the Father had been kind enough to bring Dan into his office when he barged in at five in the morning, and the more relaxed nature of the room helped his nerves. A bit.
"That question has quite a lot of different answers, Daniel," Father Sanchez finally said. "Do I believe that there is a Devil for each of us? I do, just as I believe there is an Angel for each of us - but it is up to you, my son, to decide which one has dominion over your soul. Do you feel as though the Devil is in your life?"
"He is - like, actually is," Dan said, bringing his hand up to his face. God, it sounded so stupid out loud. His coworker, a father, was the Devil - and yet he had seen his wings twice now, and had the mild concussion to prove it too. But, it was too late to back down now. "The Devil - like, Lucifer, Satan, the Devil - is in LA. As an actual person."
"I see," Father Sanchez nodded slowly, understanding. As if he did understand and didn't think Dan was crazy. "Tell me about him."
"What?"
"The Devil, Lucifer, tell me about him," the Priest repeated with a hint of a smile. "I have always wondered what an Angel would be like - even one who had been punished by our Heavenly Father. What is he like?"
Dan pursed his lips. "He's rude - condescending and arrogant. But he can be charming, tricking half the precinct into thinking he's their best friend and the rest into idolizing him. Lavacious - a sexual body count in the three digits..." He tried to think of more. "He's surprisingly honest - hates liars, and people not being punished. And he's a surprisingly good detective, even if he spends a lot of time at Chloe's."
"Do you believe him to be a negative influence on your daughter?"
He snorted, "No, the bad influence is my wife's roommate and Lucifer's attack demon." Dan paused, before adding, "She's also a demon - an actual one, claims to be Hell's best torturer."
"Hmm..." Father Sanchez hummed, steepling his fingers on his lap. "Do you think 'Lucifer' is a good person?"
"He's the devil," he replied flatly.
The Priest chuckled, "Does God not teach that goodness can be found in each of us?"
"Each of us humans, " Dan emphasized, "Jesus didn't die for the Devil's sins, I can promise you that much!"
"Can you? Would you care to show me the passage that mentions that?" the old man leaned forward, pushing his black leather Bible across his desk. Dan did not respond to the bait. "In any case, the Devil is harmless to us."
Dan pulled back in shock, "Wait - what? Harmless? He could steal our souls! Kickstart the Apocalpyse - he even has an Antichrist with him!" Dan cringed at that part - he hadn't wanted to bring Sabrina into this. She seemed like a good kid - a little troubling that she could summon fire to her hand and she was pre-destined to end the word, but still.
"The only one who has control over your soul, Daniel, is you," Father Sanchez replied politely. "If you accept Jesus Christ into your heart, and live a life of good deeds and virtue - or, try the best that any of us mortals can - then your soul shall ascend. The Devil may tempt us into wicked deeds, but it is always us mortals who choose to do those wicked deeds in the first place."
"So... what? I should just ignore him?" Dan asked, exasperated.
"Ignore his temptations. If he is a good detective, I see no reason not to make use of his services," The priest opened a drawer in his desk, fishing around inside before pulling out an old, yellow-paged book - Learning Can be Easy! English to Hebrew Dictionary 1957 edition . Father Sanchez flipped through the book before landing on the word 'Ha-Satan,' written in both Latin and Hebrew script. "Our rabbinic friends described the Devil as Ha-Satan, a member of God's court. While most later translations preferred by the Church used the term 'Adversary,' with all the negative connotations that God's Adversary can have, the original meaning would be closer to the Accuser or the Prosecuter."
Dan blinked. "What?"
"The Devil is part of God's plans, my son," Father Sanchez said simply. "He serves our Father still, or why else would he punish the wicked? No, there is nothing to fear from the Devil save for what lurks in our own hearts. He hath no power over the Trinity."
The priest's words, his resolute belief in them, shook Dan to his core. Yeah, the Devil was real, but that meant that Dan knew that God was real too. And if God was real, then Evil could never triumph over Good - the Lord wouldn't allow it. Though thinking about God...
"Also, God has a wife and I accidentally slept with her."
"Ah," Father Sanchez sighed, "On that front, I don't believe I can quite help you."
The elevator door chimed politely, signifying it was there, and Dan couldn't help but feel his stomach drop just that bit more. But he had to do it... it was the right thing to do. And so, he stepped onto the platform and clicked the floor to Lux's main living floor.
Dan had some time to reflect on his talk with Father Sanchez. It'd lasted the better part of three hours, and it wasn't until Dan's stomach loudly insisted to be fed did he finally made his way out the door, feeling both more crazy and yet also much lighter in spirit and determined in action. He knew what he had to do now, and he was gonna do it. Even if he felt the pit in his stomach deepening as the numbers slowly increased.
After an eternity (or at least long enough for him to doubt himself, regain his confidence, and then repeat the cycle three more times) the door chimed open again. "Hey, Lucifer, Sabrina," Dan said as he came out of the elevator hands up, "I wanna talk."
As he turned towards the living room, Dan realized that the Morningstars weren't alone. With them was a lanky, older man who must've been six and a half feet tall dressed in all white. White loafers, white slacks, white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a white waist-coat vest. He turned to look at Dan, and it was like his face was ripped directly from a bucket of KFC.
"Why hello there, lil mortal. You seem to have caught us at an inopportune time," the Colonel said in a thick, southern drawl as he gestured at the floor around them. Black chalk and red paint covered the floor in a lattice of triangles, stars, and seven-sided shapes (He never knew what they were called past 'hexagon') all intersecting to create a massive mosaic on the floor. Sabrina was sat in the middle of it with a paintbrush, drawing in the gaps made between lines while Lucifer was gathering candles.
"What are you all doing?" Dan asked, dumbfounded.
"None of your business," Sabrina replied, not looking up. "Paimon, he shot my dad the other day. Get rid of him - gently, please."
"As you command, my Lady," the man bowed, actually bowed, to the sixteen-year-old before turning towards Daniel and cracking his knuckles one by one. Each time he did, his skin grew a shade more red, his eyes a bit darker, and Dan unconsciously felt himself stepping back.
"Wait! Wait! I'm here to apologize!" Dan said, throwing his hands further up so the Demon (it had to be a Demon, right?) wouldn't attack him. "Lucifer, Lucifer, I'm sorry for shooting you! I was just scared, okay? I was really freaked out and-"
Lucifer, whose arms were cradling an enormous heaping of black candles, waved his apology away. At the same time, he dropped the candles - yet instead of simply falling, they began to move, landing at specific points in... probably a pattern?
"I don't care about that, Detective Douche," Lucifer said, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed. "I am immortal. But you pointed a gun at my daughter, and that-"
"Is totally unacceptable," Dan finished, nodding. "I get that Lucifer, I do and I'm sorry. I know sorry doesn't mean much - it wouldn't mean much to me if the situations were reversed - but I am. I really am, I was just - dude, I was so scared!"
"Yeah, how'd you think I felt with a gun pointed at me?" Sabrina said acidly from the floor, finally turning a baleful glare on Dan. "And you just apologized to my dad about almost shooting me, instead of apologizing to, oh, I don't know, the person you almost shot ?"
"Such a little drama queen - I was the one who actually got shot, thank you very much," Lucifer rolled his eyes, though he had a fond grin on his face as he did it. And Dan was reminded again just how fucking stupid he'd been - that was Lucifer's kid. He loved her like all parents loved their kids, and Dan had almost taken that - would have, if he'd had a bullet in the chamber. Lucifer turned serious and back on Dan, "But seriously, you do need to apologize to Sabrina too."
"Yeah, I-" Dan brought a hand up to his face and gave it a quick rub. It was a self-soothing technique, one of the body language signals he and his coworkers were trained to recognize whenever a suspect was feeling anxious or uneasy. It fit - and it all ran through his head like technical knowledge, automatically. Great, I'm blacking out from stress and the Hindbrain is trying to take over, he thought sardonically. At least the Demon had stopped. "Sabrina, I'm sorry. I really, truly-"
"I forgive you," she said, turning back to painting.
"What?" He asked, blinking.
"I've died already, and my dad can just grab me out of Hell if I die," she said from the floor, completely unconcerned. "Or he could just take me to Greendale and drop me in the Cain Pit for the night. It's not that big of a deal."
"Oh - yeah, okay," Dan nodded, "That- that makes sense, I guess."
"Well, it makes sense when she simplifies it like that, " Lucifer said in exasperation, "There's a bit more of an involved process than just 'grabbing her' but... somewhat? Witches always find loopholes to avoid Azrael, and her being a Nephilim means that, once she grows her wings, she can just flight out on her own."
"I'm going to grow wings?" Sabrina asked, shocked.
"I thought that was obvious," Lucifer responded, not turning to look at her. "In the meantime, I would either need to fly her, or we would need a portal." He gestured to the chalk, "While I can do it, I don't want to have to carry her, a cat, and Paimon into Hell."
"You're going to Hell?" Dan asked, absolutely gobsmacked. "Like, now?"
"In an hour or two, that lovely young bartender is going to bring up Mimosas at eleven," Paimon replied from the spot where he was leaning against the wall like a white shadow. His skin had reverted back to normal shade, thankfully.
"But yeah," Sabrina said. "There might be a war."
"A war? In hell?"
"Oh, don't get all worked up about it," Lucifer soothed, coming over and putting an arm over Dan's shoulder and leading him towards the bar. "Honestly, it should only take us five minutes in Earth time - three hundred years is more than enough time to finish all my paperwork and appoint a new lord of the Ninth Layer." Lucifer opened a bottle of scotch and poured a serving into two hurricane glasses.
"I'm not even going to pretend to understand that," Dan drank his scotch in a single gulp.
"You don't need to, we just might- Patrick!" The elevator door chimed, and the bartender emerged with six flutes of the brunch alcohol. Lucifer got out from behind his bar, walked over, and took the tray with a polite thank you. "Well, looks like you get to see something rather special!" Lucifer said once Patrick had left, "Sabrina?"
"On it!" She snapped her fingers and started chanting. The black candles all lit in an instant, ghastly green flames licking at their wicks in an unnatural conflagration. He didn't understand the words she was saying - or even what language it could possibly be - but he could feel the... the power in them. That and some of the gaps in the mosaic were beginning to change color. Some bright red or orange, but most of them a deep, ominous black.
Lucifer chugged one of his drinks, setting the empty glass on the bar as he carried the tray to Paimon. The demon also drank one of his instantly, before Lucifer waved his hands and sent the last two over to Sabrina.
"Those better be nonalcoholic - she's a minor, Lucifer," Dan said almost out of impulse.
"Her liver can literally process Hellfire," Lucifer responded, taking a more reasonable sip out of his second glass. "Now, if you will excuse us. Paimon?"
"Quite ready, Your Majesty," the demon drawled, leaning into a full standing position. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daniel Espinoza, and for your sake, I hope that this is our last meeting." Then, he stepped onto one of the glowing spots on the floor and vanished.
"He said that because if you meet again, you're in Hell," Lucifer told Dan as if it wasn't obvious. The detective got a pat on the back, "But I'm sure you'll be fine. Sabrina?"
"Ready," she replied, finishing her first glass and taking a sip of her second. Was there some sort of class he missed where everyone learned that routine?
"Well, see you around, Detective Douche," Lucifer said, as he and Sabrina both stepped into the portal, and vanished. The mosaic continued to glow for a few more minutes, and Dan watched, transfixed, as the floor slowly faded into its normal slate flooring. That was... wow.
Dan was still feeling a bit uncomfortable when he walked into the Precinct, but Mary was polite enough not to comment on it when he came in. Instead, she just told him to go find Leuitent Pierce.
Shit, I forgot to ask off, Dan cursed himself. Between learning that the Devil was real and also his coworker, Dan had done a lot of thinking - but he hadn't exactly thought to tell his work he wouldn't be coming in. He was already on thin ice with Pierce, and his being late after skipping work for a day was not a great way to build trust with his supervisor.
He entered the office, Pierce standing immediately. "Detective Espinoza, take a seat," the muscle-bound man said, glancing towards a chair in front of his desk. Dan felt obliged and did as he was told. "Now that you're back, and I'm not going to bother asking where you were because I truly do not give a damn, we-"
He paused, sniffing the air. "Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?"
Pierce got out from his desk, sniffing almost audibly as he approached Dan. "You reek," Pierce told him, "Of sulfur. Clean out a chicken coop?"
"Uh, yeah, kinda," of course, he smelled like sulfur - that was what Brimstone was supposed to be after all. And he'd been right next to a portal to Hell - he could've entered a portal to hell. "I can take a shower if you-"
"No, we don't have the time," Pierce said, all back to business as he opened a locker in the back of the room, grabbing its contents and throwing it at Dan. "Put on this jacket, you're about to get kidnapped."