But no memories resurface. No unturned stones flip over in my mind to spur some sort of intuitive direction to go next.
Only power comes from revisiting a home I can’t remember, and it’s as frustrating as it was the last time I was down here.
Still phantom, I walk across the floor, noticing the Gemini Twins lounging. Men and women are hanging all over them, their tongues disappearing into various mouths.
Cain and Lilith are talking in the corner, which is different than I expected, since Cain and Hera are supposed to be teammates. How much has changed since those journals I’ve read?
Manella was always my backer and sibling friend, something I know from Lamar and the journals. Yet I don’t see him anywhere, nor do I see Lamar.
The Devil is also missing from attendance.
That’s certainly got a lot of my attention right now.
Just as I start walking out of the room, feeling almost dizzy with all the uncertainty surrounding me, hating the fact we were summoned for the sake of Lucifer’s games, Gage steps into my path.
Without looking at me, he whispers, “Stay calm. I’ll take your mind off things if you need me to.”
Oh, the temptation to pretend something isn’t gnawing at me is almost tangible. But something’s wrong.
“I’ll take you up on that later,” I say as I pass through him, feeling those blessed tingles that alleviate some of the dread inside me.
He curses and tries to follow me, but I zap myself to a location that feels familiar, and then I turn whole so I can navigate the hallways.
Glancing around and ensuring I’m alone, I move through those hallways until I come across the paintings. My eyes scan the walls until I see my Cleopatra painting hanging there—the old me surrounded by my four men from that time.
My eyes flit to the painting next to mine, and it’s the twins. One has on a British ‘red coat’ uniform, and one has on a Scottish kilt. Both are smeared with copious amounts of blood and smiling like unrepentant sadists.
First war of Scottish Independence.
No famous names.
Just a lot of bloody warfare for the twins as they worked behind the scenes to stir the feuds.
Confused, I look around, wondering why they’re always each other’s opposition in the paintings they’re in.
My eyes instead land on an image of Lilith with dark hair, smiling wickedly as she clutches a bloody axe, despite the fact she’s wearing a prim and proper dress.
Lizzie Borden
Casualties – minor
Historical impact – just shy of legendary
I give an exaggerated roll of my eyes after reading that last line.
I’m beginning to the think they caption these images themselves, because you can hear the vanity and self-importance rolling off the vapid overtones.
Just as I find another image of me in a regal gown and read the plaque that indicates I was a very memorable queen once again—who conveniently never married—a chill slithers down my spine.
I don’t even have to look over to know the Devil has just located me in his Hall of Sick Fame that I demanded to be a part of. I’m not sure why I thought I could be let out in public.
“Your mortal lives didn’t always impact the world,” Lucifer says conversationally, as though we’re fast friends now that I’ve bested him in a sword match.
Winner or not, he still found a way to get me right back down here and possibly threaten my existence topside.
There’s the Devil’s manipulation that I had expected from the very beginning. I never stood a chance. However, now I’m starting to wonder if he’s right.
Without looking at him, I glance at the next image of me. My lips twitch when I see the Duchess I’ve read about. We certainly had no historical impact in that life because we were too busy being sexual deviants.
“It’s a hard balance to maintain, and it’s been ours to handle for a great amount of time, since the world always has just a touch more evil in it than purity,” he goes on.
I move on to the next picture, pretending to be comfortable with his presence. I pause when I see the Viking image, all of us being ridiculously crude—and lewd—for the pose.
My fingers trace the image of all four of them, wishing I knew them as well now as I did back then. Back when I had all the faith in the world I’d find them in any life.
“The world forgets religion, culture, and various other things that seem prosaic or outdated to them. Morals get twisted for the sake of personal gain. With progression and innovation comes dismissive attitudes of a greater authority,” he goes on. “You have to inspire someone to get on their knees, repent, and strive to be the best person they can be. Because evil exists in all mankind,” Lucifer drones on.
He stays at the end of the hallway, giving me enough space to accommodate me with a false sense of security. He really is good at making it sound like hell is doing the world a great sense of duty…
“So my children make appearances in the world, create a bloody scandal or a war that ignites fear. Fear assures prayer. As mortals, you have no mystical dark influence, even without balance. You use your minds instead of your powers, and you create a butterfly effect that results in repenting lips, sincere tears in prayer, and force a man—or woman—to face their mortality. You weren’t designed to be the heroes. You’re the true antiheroes. You were always meant to be the villains who create a path for those pure, righteous heroes to emerge and do feats that only prayer and faith could have brought about—creating that balance.”
My eyes land on an American Revolutionary War painting that involves the twins once again, always on opposing sides of a fight.
“The twins always end up fighting each other. They get a thrill from it, so they purposely set themselves up for it so they can laugh about it later when they return home,” Lucifer explains. “Usually they kill each other while they’re mortal.”
“Lovely children you have,” I state dryly. “You must be so proud.”
“Indeed,” he says seriously, apparently not catching onto the wry sarcasm…or simply overlooking it.
He moves a step closer, and I tense, even though he remains plenty far enough away. He pauses in front of a picture and feigns interest in it. I watch all of it from my peripheral.
“We watch the humans. We see their past, present and their future. We know what happens when we don’t step in. We know what happens if we do alter one moment in history. And we do it with war, with fear, and with bloodshed. It’s our part of the balance needed to keep the human world from imploding,” he goes on. “I certainly want to torture their souls for all eternity, but I don’t want the world to come to an end. There needs to be a balance.”
“How kind and noble of you,” I quip, smiling like the smartass I am.
My eyes flit over a tattered flag on the ground in the painting that is streaked with blood and lives lost for the sake of preserving a balance.
“If people genuinely wanted a utopia, they could create it. They, instead, give way to their baser urges and primal instincts—play too far over on the dark side, disrupting their personal balance and the ability to produce selfless, pure acts. The clothes are more sophisticated, and their words are more refined, but evil still rests at the heart of every man. It’s not our duty to save them. We simply demand a balance so their existence is ensured.”
Now he’s just giving me a sales pitch.
Finally, I turn to face him, and he turns as I do, his lips twitching when he sees the bored expression on my face.
“I get it. We’re evil. Sometimes we do evil things. You don’t have to sell it to me.”
He remains mildly amused, if his expressions indicate his mood. “Either you’ve remembered something, or you foolishly trust me even without your memories,” he says when our eyes lock.
“I guess I’m a fool for being alone in the Devil’s house and leaving my boys to fend for themselves in a roomful of unpredictable siblings, but something about this place draws forth a familiar trust I shouldn’t feel. However…something is wrong. I just don’t know what.”
He nods slowly, like he’s considering that.
“Your siblings are no threat. I’d tell you to trust me, but even I know how ridiculous it sounds to have the Devil ask for one’s trust,” he tells me, wry amusement in his tone.
This moment feels terribly familiar, as though we’ve held this conversation before. And I can see in his eyes that he’s waiting on recognition to spark.
There’s almost a sadness in his gaze when I don’t revisit whatever memory he just tried to provoke.
“Tell me, daughter dearest, why is it you stand before me with very little humor and no amusing commentary this day?” he asks candidly.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I’ve heard that serious situations call for my own personal seriousness. I’m here for answers, and I’m not leaving without them this time.”
“And what do your boys think of this?” the Devil muses.
“They think you’re responsible, but they’re hiding it from me because they don’t trust me not to act irrationally. I’m a logical person, according to everything I’ve read, so why am I acting rash? My memories are gone, but my mind is trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what, and pardon me if I’m serious for a moment because I’m sick of the games I find myself playing for the sake of your amusement.”
He scrubs his jaw for a moment as though he’s frustrated, as a small throb pulses in my temple.
“You are missing four important pieces of yourself because you chose to save them. They seem to be saved, but you can’t retrieve the pieces without your memory of how to do so. How unfortunate you never shared that information with me.”
“I guess that means I didn’t trust you with that information,” I state with a smirk, as though I’ve forced him to slip.
It’s not the missing pieces that’s causing this sense of unknown trickling of dread. There’s a breath of urgency on my back, as though I feel something coming but don’t know which direction to prepare for it.
“Of course not. I would have retrieved your missing pieces immediately. To hell with them. You have no idea how foolish that was,” he says, his jaw ticking momentarily as he seems to struggle to keep his temper in check.
“It tethers them to me whether they want it to or not, doesn’t it?” I ask so fast that it feels like I’ve simply been awaiting an opening.
It’s a weird thing—surprising the Devil, that is. Every time I or the guys cause surprise to flit across his features, however brief, it’s a little unnerving.
Nothing should surprise a man of evil who has watched the world for so long.
“Oh, my pathetic little youngest, you’d be horrified if you heard yourself right now,” Lucifer says while visibly working to restrain a smile. “Dear daughter, are you struggling with your conscience? You know you don’t have one, right?”