Page 89 of Wicked Believer
An unhoused woman, whose face appears weathered from too much time spent outdoors, lies overtop what I can only assume is her partner, a man who, from the looks of it, seems to have resorted tomindlessly chewing the threads of his own fraying clothing, some of the fabric’s gristle caught in his unmoving teeth.
I wrinkle my nose.
These are my Father’s creations. His precious children.
If He was going to kick them out of Eden, theleastHe could do would be to ensure they were fed, housed, and clothed properly.
I scowl, taking a spare moment to drop the thick wad of bills that currently resides in my wallet onto the floor beside them.
My thoughts turn to when Charlotte nearly found herself in a similar situation. If not for the unexpected kindness of her Seer friend.
The turn of fate that eventually led her to a job at my company.
My distaste softens.
“Who knew you were such a humanitarian?” The unfamiliar voice comes from behind me, but the cadence and rhythm are the same as they’ve always been.
I have an ear for that sort of thing.
I scowl. “I’ve been challenging my Father’s choices since before I ever willed you into existence, Abaddon.” I turn to find him sitting with his back toward me inside the open subway car, clearly having just glanced over his shoulder at me.
When I join him a moment later in the narrow, confined space, I lean against the silver handrailing across from him, placing my hands inside my pockets. “You call thisneutralterritory?” I sneer. “You’re better than this.”
Abaddon sighs, midway through a bite of poutine he must have hoarded from whatever insignificant festival it was he was terrorizing in Canada, before he drops his plastic fork into the red-checkered paper basket. “I thought if I stayed aboveground, it’d take longer for you and your hounds to find me.”
I shrug. “You forget that these days Earth is practically mine.”
He sighs once again, his current form making him look like the fat, aging father of a Canadian lumberjack. He likelywasbefore Abaddonpossessed him in a pathetic attempt to lead my legions out of Hell. Rebel against me.
“What are you going to do?” he says, his eyes darting from me to the sudden canine snarl that comes from just outside the subway car.
My hellhounds returned to me.
I lean down, patting one of the invisible snarling beasts on its head as some of its spittle pools on the floor where it comes to heel beside me. The demonic black of Abaddon’s eyes now blocks out the whites, so that the irises can no longer be seen.
“My lord?” he says, like he intends to plead.
Though nothing he could say would ever satisfy me.
“Consider this your lucky day, Addie.” I drop down onto one of the subway’s plastic benches across from him, leaning my elbows onto my knees. “I’m going to give you somenewinstructions, so listen carefully.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Charlotte
When Lust and I blink back into existence only a few milliseconds later, we’re standing in the middle of an art gallery, the show floor noticeably empty. My hand falls from his arm, and I step forward. “Where are we?”
“Transmitter. It’s a midsize gallery in Brooklyn.”
I spin in a slow circle, taking in the stark, open show floor. The all-white walls. The wooden panels. The recessed lighting. The mounted ceiling spotlights directed toward the paintings.
“Your idea of fun is an art gallery?” My forehead pinches in confusion.
Azmodeus tilts his head like I’m being ridiculous. “Yours isn’t?”
I can’t help but gape at him. “I guess from you I just expected something more—”
“Vacuous?” He quirks a brow.
