Page 73 of All's Hell That Ends Well

With growing trepidation, I remembered the talk Azazel and I had had a while ago about how Lucifer had let his grasp on his power slip more and more, and I was starting to wonder if there was indeed a physical factor to it. He seemed perfectly at full strength whenever we trained, but there was the matter of him sleeping far more than was usual for a demon, especially one that was so ancient…

It bothered me so much that eventually I asked him directly.

Sitting once more on our summoned set of sofas in the middle of the training fields after the end of our session, which had become routine for us, I squinted at him. “Why do you sleep so much?”

He swung his gaze from where he’d stared unseeing at the horizon to me, flecks of ash getting caught on the onyx of his hair. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” I gestured with my tea mug in an encompassing circle. “More often than not, I find you asleep on that couch in your room.” At his raised brow, I added, “Hey, it’s not like I’m pulling an Edward and stare at you while you snooze. I always thought that was stalkerish and creepy, you know? Like, dude, get a hobby that doesn’t overlap with beginning necrophilia.”

Lucifer sighed. “Is there a point to your rambling?”

“Yes, actually.” I raised my index finger. “It’s just that you seem to sleep a lot for a demon your age. And I don’t mean to be ageist or anything, but from what I’ve heard, your kind”—I scrunched up my nose—“I mean, my kind, I guess, well, we don’t need that much sleep, especially the older we get, right? So, I was just wondering what’s up.”

He looked toward the horizon again, the flash of lightning setting his features in stark relief. When he remained silent, I thought he’d decided to ignore my question, and I was about to apologize for being a Nosy Nancy when he quietly said, “I see her when I close my eyes.”

My mouth opened in a silent O. A ping of sympathy clenched my chest.

“It’s the only time I see her,” he went on, gaze still fixed on some faraway point, his voice rough. “In my dreams, she’s there, alive and well. Everything is as it was. I can speak to her, touch her, hear her. Her voice and laughter used to light up my soul, but if it weren’t for the visions of her in my dreams, I might have already forgotten what she sounded like. The paintings I have of her don’t do her justice. They lack her spark, her glow, and they’ll never show the grace with which she moved, the way she’d tilt her head when she focused on a task. A thousand tiny pieces of her that only my memory preserves, that I can only access when I sink into sleep.”

I stared at him, speechless, visceral understanding of his grief constricting my throat, squeezing my heart.

Vividly, I remembered those desperate moments after I’d first come to Hell, when Azazel had still acted like a jerk and hadn’t allowed me to visit Earth yet, and I’d faced the prospect of spending eternity slowly forgetting all those I’d held dear. Because while my phone had been filled with precious photos and videos of my mom and my friends, the battery had run low, and I hadn’t yet known whether I’d be able to charge it so I could keep my memory fresh by looking at the pics and videos.

A thought struck me then, and I sat up straighter, turning it over in my head.

“I need to go,” I muttered and then jumped up from the sofa, Vengeance scampering after me, leaving a likely perplexed Lucifer behind.

For a second, it occurred to me that ditching the Devil without being dismissed first would have dire consequences for anyone else…while I’d somehow achieved a level of casualness with him that meant I’d get away with stuff like this. I shook my head, unable to process that, and hurried on.

In the palace, I flagged down a demon I’d come to know was reliable in delivering messages, and I quickly scribbled a note on a summoned piece of paper and handed it to him. “Straight to His Highness, please.”

“Yes, my lady.” The demon bowed deeply and took off.

Worrying my lip, I made my way to Lucifer’s personal library, the one where I’d once paid the rest of my penance for breaking the vow of silence about Naamah. Thankfully, it had survived Lucifer’s outbursts of rage after Lilith’s death mostly unscathed, with only a few of the shelves having taken damage. The majority of the books and parchments were intact, and I’d taken to spending my free time here in between Azazel’s visits and training with Lucifer.

Hours later, my beloved demon found me curled up in a chair with a book about Sumerian legends in my lap, my feet propped up on Vengeance’s back, who snored blissfully in front of me.

I looked up as Azazel approached, a huge smile taking over my face. Within me, his joy at seeing me reverberated, echoed by my own.

We hadn’t seen each other in days, since before the attack on me and Vengeance’s near execution, due to Azazel’s busy schedule as archdemon. He’d had an important meeting with the other archdemons, and right after that, several pressing matters had kept him in his territory, much to both our chagrin.

We’d communicated via brief letters—taking care not to mention anything that would cause problems should the mail be intercepted by someone—and he’d promised to come by today. The note I’d sent him earlier had been in anticipation of that.

Stepping past Vengeance, he put his hands on the armrests on either side of me, leaned down, and caught my lips in a kiss that burned all the way down to my soul.

“Your Highness,” I whispered with a grin, using the proper way he’d be referred to as an archdemon by anyone other than his direct peers. It was the same title the archangels claimed.

He gave a soft snort, amusement dancing in his stormy eyes. “If you ever address me as such in front of others, I’ll have to spank you later.”

I feigned a gasp. “But—but—the proper respect! The hierarchy!”

“Zoe…” Still caging me in with his hands on the chair’s armrests, he gave me alook.

“No, no, it’s a slippery slope, I’m telling you.” I pointed my finger at him and narrowed my eyes. “They will see me addressing you improperly, and they’ll ask, ‘How come Zoe gets to drop his title? If she gets to drop his title, we’ll all get to drop the title! It’ll beanarchy!’?”

He hung his head, his shoulders shaking with his silent laughter. When he finally met my gaze again, he softly said, “I live for those moments when you creatively quote the movies you love.”

I beamed at him, intensely pleased he’d recognized the spin on a scene fromThe Breakfast Club. “See, that’s why you’re my favorite,” I said magnanimously, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Because on you, my pop culture references aren’t lost.”

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