The Devil wandered the industrial district in the late afternoon sun. It didn't feel right for a Hunt, it wasn't thematic at all. Not that he missed those things. He'd lost his taste for hurrying sinners to their fate and warning humans of disasters to come ever since he'd started pitying the poor bastards instead.
Too ignorant to even see their prison; Lucifer was almost jealous. He'd never choose ignorance over knowledge, which was why he'd had to offer Eve the choice, but at least the mortals thought they were free.
Seeking out the wicked to punish in life just seemed too cruel when he knew what waited Below, even if they hurt innocents Above in the mean time. Father had made them that way and he refused to feel responsible for something that wasn't his fault.
This one would be an exception. It was personal, after all, although he still thought his hacker had taken all the fun out of it. Getting co-ordinates rather ensured it was no Hunt at all. He'd brought his Hounds anyway - they needed the walk.
Lucifer eyed the warehouse in front of him.
Hardly proper habitation for a child, but it was probably a step up from the mud huts he could remember all too well. It certainly smelled less.
He ventured in, frowning as he strode past line after line of shipping containers, not sensing anything.
Amenadiel had Fallen, or been Cast Out. Lucifer grimaced at the thought, old memories, but dealing with his erstwhile brother would have to wait for later.
With his power gone, Amenadiel's protections should have fallen too. No mortal should be able to hide from him or his Hounds without divine interference so where…
He counted the numbers painted on the ends as he walked up and down the aisles, ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
A bark.
He flicked his attention to his Hellhounds – one of his better creations if he did say so himself. They were all on-point, tails wagging, lips drawn back and fangs bared.
This was the one then.
But where? Why couldn't he sense anything? He should be able to sense the souls of nearby humans if nothing else…
Lucifer paused, and thought over all he knew. He was missing something. There was something on the tip of his tongue, hovering just out of reach.
A memory. The Child, eyes burning, hands bound, bruised, thirteen. His own thoughts: twelve then fourteen.
Amenadiel.
Well, his brother hadn't gotten his position by accident.
He turned around and retraced his steps. He found the space where the thirteenth container should have been and, when he gave the space a good solid glare for its obstinacy, found his target at last, shimmering into his conscious mind.
"He's calling you out Boss," Brent reported dutifully. Lucifer had deigned to wear an earpiece, even though it ruined the aesthetic of his suit, for practicalities sake.
He smiled. Well, he did like to make an entrance.
"I've got two words for that sinner and they are behind you."
With that, he turned to his faithful hounds.
"Before! Beside! Behind!" He pointed. "Fetch."
They went. Good dogs. The metal walls didn't last long before their teeth.
He took a breath. Chloe was not going to like this. He was going to have to be harsh and cruel; it was necessary. He understood the minds of man. If he didn't make a statement they'd target Beatrice again, especially now that they knew her connection to him. She'd become too valuable not to target.
He had to make them think that whatever they wanted, whatever they thought they could get from him, it wasn't worth the risk. That had to be the first thought in their little mortal minds when they looked at her - sheer, mindless terror.
That meant the old hellfire and brimstone, blood, screaming, begging, horror and despair.
He was fine with that. He knew the rules of the game.
Chloe didn't.
Even if he avoided the tag The Devil Himself TM, she would call him monster, and it would be true.
Well so what. She was one mortal. Why should he care? Let her know. Let her run away and beg dear old Dad for protection. They all did. He didn't care. He wouldn't change for anyone.
He was here because they'd made a deal, and he was a Devil of his word. That was all. That was all it could ever be, now.
Let it end.
#
A loud electronic screech screamed through the speakers and Chloe tensed from head to toe as the camera juddered, the view changing abruptly. The camera had obviously been knocked aside, showing a new angle.
Instead of a downward view on Trixie alone, it now showed the full length of the room, some sort of industrial office, with Trixie in the foreground. Behind her there was a jumbled array of electronics and computers, behind those were the guards, and behind them was an awful lot of thick, black smoke with white hot sparks flying like shooting stars across the sky.
Trixie's pale face suddenly lit up like the sun, her eyes ablaze with life and Chloe already knew what she would say before her lips mouthed the word: Lucifer.
Oh, thank God, she thought. Shortly followed by: I hope he brought an army.
No, only one man was revealed when the smoke cleared slightly, revealing a hole in one wall, the edges glowing a cherry red. One man and three dogs. Big dogs. She blinked. Had they grown? Or you know… changed species? She'd thought they were the same golden retrievers she'd met – but now they looked…bigger. Also, black, and rather wolfish.
Lucifer stepped casually over the still-glowing metal, adjusting his cufflinks, and completely ruining Chloe's trail of thought.
"Don't you know better than to speak of the Devil?" he asked the silent room, his voice strangely gentle as he reached into his suit jacket to draw out a cigarette of all things even as the guards all raised their guns in silent unison.
Lucifer looked at them, and scoffed.
"I will forget the name and face of every one of you who puts down their weapon and departs, right now."
He took a drag from the cigarette, the tiny red glow bathing his face in red light and long shadows.
"A mercy I will not offer twice," he added, blowing out a small puff of smoke.
Chloe shivered, and then she got angry.
Was he alone? Why hadn't he told her that he'd found Trixie? She could have been there with an entire fucking SWAT team by now. This was so stupid. He had ruined everything.
A scream from the speakers. "What the fuck are you lot waiting for! Shoot him! Christ what am I paying you for? Open fire!"
Chloe instantly forgot her anger, terrified she'd now have to watch her friend murdered on screen the same day she lost her daughter.
Lucifer glanced across the room, utterly fearless, the idiot.
"I've heard quite enough from you already. Hush now, the adults are talking." He made a pinching motion with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, and The Collector was probably outraged into silence because he didn't say anything that Chloe could hear.
It was not as surprising as it should be, when one of the guards took Lucifer's offer.
One of the figures by the wall slowly slipped the strap of his gun from his shoulder and set it carefully on the ground. Without a word, he walked past his fellows and towards the hole in the wall, which Lucifer had somehow melted.
The dogs parted to let him pass, without a single gesture from Lucifer to command them, and then they sat back down, clearly guarding the breach.
"Traitor," one of the other guards muttered – perfectly audible over the speaker.
"Wisdom," Lucifer replied scornfully. "He's the only one who wondered how I lit the cigarette." He smiled as he took another pointed drag, and the red glow somehow became menacing.
Chloe didn't bother questioning her memory. She knew there hadn't been a lighter.
"I will see you at Lux tonight," Lucifer told the fleeing mercenary's without turning his head to look at him, "or I will see you dead."
The mercenary stopped, turned and freaking bowed to Lucifer's back before climbing out and vanishing from sight of the camera.
"Sir," Agent Michaels whispered urgently, "the face trace!"
Chloe flicked her eyes over to one of the other screens on the big display and had to swallow.
It wasn't a mercenary's face who'd been matched. Nor the Collector's.
It was Lucifer's.