Page 141 of Wicked Believer
“But I thought she—”
“Charlotte.” Jax levels me a serious look. “I don’t think Lilith is God’s wife like you think she is.”
I lift a brow.
Jax swallows. “I ... think she’s Hisex.”
My stomach bottoms out, sudden realization flooding through me. “I have to go. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have to tell Lucifer that he—”
“Charlotte.” She catches my hand and uses it to hold me in place. “There’s something else I need to tell you too.”
I pause, her grip on my wrist going slack. “Okay?”
“The day we first met in Times Square, when I gave you your first reading, do you remember that?”
I nod. “Of course I do.”
She looks down toward the table, like whatever it is, she’s ashamed to tell me. “There was a ... fourth card that I didn’t want to show you. One that came after the Devil inside your spread. I held it back at the time because I didn’t want to scare you, and you already seemed like you were coming out of your own skin, considering all you’d been through, but I ...”
“Jax, what are you trying to tell me?” My heart races.
She lets out a slow breath. “I’m trying to tell you that the other card that came after Lucifer’s, it ...” She grips my hand tightly. “It was Death.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Lucifer
“You’ve been overdoing it.”
I let out a sharp hiss as Azrael probes my side, the cool feeling of his touch like ice over the heat of my skin.
“I am notoverdoing anything,” I grouse as Azrael works to remove one of my many stitches. “I’m simplyremindingmyself of how fragile humans can be.”
He grumbles something incomprehensible before Kalimor enters. “It’s been three days, my lord.”
“Good. Let’s get this over with.” I’m sprawled across an armchair within the Library of Lost Souls, the ancient archives inside my hellish palace.
I’ve been popping downstairs, with a bit of Azrael’s assistance, more than usual in hope of healing more quickly, and I do not relish the feeling of powerlessness I now experience whenever I’m topside.
Bookshelves tower over me, their dark wood stretching up and into the endless ceiling. In the rafters, some of the more restricted shelves seem to float, their iron bars suspended by an unseen force. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment mixed with a faint trace of blood,and the books themselves are alive, their leather covers calling out for an audience with me. They seep a faint, bleak glow as they whisper the damned’s secrets.
The betrayal of a friend. A lover’s sin.
The downfall of humanity.
Azrael removes one of the torn stitches from my side, causing me to curse as I stare up at the ceiling. Some of the more interesting specimens are locked away behind iron gates, their knowledge too dangerous, too vast, even for me. Those who venture here unaware of how to navigate its halls might find themselves lost in an endless maze, hearing the fevered, whispered echoes of the records of my most tortured souls from every shelf.
Tempting all those who dare to listen.
My library is the embodiment of my divine authority here. My twisted beauty. The eternal torment of those bound by my domain.
I look down, and the young nun stares back at me.
“Where . . . where am I?”
I sigh, my mounting frustration getting the better of me. “One would think that much would be obvious.”
Azrael casts me a flat, agitated look.
