Fallen Reign (Se7en Sinners Book 4)

  I don’t know how I fall asleep, or even if I really do.

  I’m just glad I don’t dream.

  When I wake up, Lucifer is nowhere to be found. However, there’s a laptop, a stack of national newspapers, a notebook, and a room service menu left on the mirrored coffee table. No note. I’m not surprised he’s not the note leaving kind. He’s already had to answer to Michael. There’s no way in hell he’s going to answer to me.

  I power up the laptop, flick on the TV, and settle into the couch. I’m not sure what I should be looking for, but I type MURDERS IN SEVENS in the search field. I have a feeling the New York bar and the sorority house were not the first or the last of the common theme.

  To my surprise, no hits pertaining to current news, so I Google mass suicides within the last twenty-four hours. The search engine lists half a dozen.

  Shit.

  I go through each story, jotting down details from the crime scenes that stand out to me. Four of six mention occult symbols or odd markings at the crime scene, with journalists speculating whether a new Devil worshiping sect is on the rise. Each die in different, equally gruesome ways. A Mormon family of seven hang themselves in North Carolina. A bowling league team in Alabama put bullets in their skulls. In Georgia, a group of teenagers die in a garage while the engine of a station wagon runs.

  This can’t all be Legion’s doing. He can’t be capable of such horror. Can he? And while I’m grateful that I wasn’t forced to bear witness to those horrors, I have to wonder why I didn’t dream them.

  I’m lost as to how to do an image search of a language that doesn’t exist to humans, but I type in Demoori Sheol and stumble upon a Wiki site about cults, Satan, and, of course, demons.

  According to the site, Demoori Sheol, derived from Enochian, was created after The Fall as a way to conceal demons’ plans from angels. The alphabet is a collection of signs that are indecipherable, and because of its complexity, it is rarely used. However, the oldest, most powerful ones, especially the ones who originally fell from grace, are well versed in it. Demons like Legion, and probably Phenex.

  I’m ready to give up after scouring the site for any information that may aid us in our hunt when I see a picture of a familiar relic: The Redeemer. It’s an illustration, but the red rubies along the hilt and the curved blade are unquestionable. Under the picture, it describes its attributes and a list of creatures it is alleged to be deadly to. Angels, especially archangels, are not on that list, which isn’t surprising. However, one fact stands out to me. The rubies in The Redeemer are believed to be the blood of Christ. It was God’s way of fighting the world’s darkest evils. But knowing that it can also kill angels, I have to wonder if God didn’t want to keep more than just demons in check. Could it be possible that He saw that same darkness in his purest, most perfect creations after what happened with the Destroyers and Creators?

  God had to know that giving that much power to angels could be disastrous. Humans were expected to fail, but an ancient celestial being had eons of time on their hands, meaning that sooner or later, they would grow bored. And as Lucifer said, an idle mind was the devil’s playground.

  After a couple hours of searching the web and reading newspapers, I power down the computer and pick up the room service menu. I’m reluctant to call down and order; would I be inviting trouble right to our doorstep? But obviously Lucifer would not have left the menu if he had even the slightest suspicion that it could be hazardous. Unless he was telling the truth. Unless he really does wish he had killed me when he had the chance, and this is the next best way.

  My head tells me it’s too risky, but my growling belly tells me that death by starvation would be even worse. So I pick up the phone and place an order for shrimp and grits and a pot of coffee. While I wait, I turn up the volume on the news, and find it’s more of the same. Every news outlet is switching back and forth between the bombing in Europe, the imminent war ahead, and the deadly flu epidemic that has now spread to half of the country. A handful of mass suicides barely register on their radars, which is understandable. The Horsemen are the perfect distraction, which only reaffirms what I thought after the arrival of Pestilence. Legion is behind this.

  There’s a knock at the door, and voice calls out, “Room service!” Luckily, I’ve already armed myself just in case I’m getting more than what I ordered. But also, I push my mental abilities out towards the hallway, something I haven’t felt the need to do since we arrived. The showdown in Grant Park took a lot out of me, but it feels good to stretch that invisible hand.

  I slip in with ease and sink into the formidable mind of a human male named Isaac. No detection of rage or deception. He’s more focused on getting to walk past the pretty female maid in the hallway on his way back down to the kitchen. He has feelings of fondness for her, and while he finds her attractive, his thoughts are not overly lustful. Only tinges of insecurity and reluctance as he considers asking her out. Honestly, it’s charming, almost comforting. There’s an endearing simplicity about him that reminds me that humanity, while flawed, is worth saving.

  I tuck my gun and open the door, a small, genuine smile on my face. “Hi, Isaac.”

  His eyes go wide. “Um, good morning, ma’am. How…how did you know my name?”

  Shit. “Erm…uh, it’s on your nametag?” Whew.

  Isaac looks down and a slight blush paints his cheeks. “Oh. Right. Is it ok for me to bring your food in for you?”

  I nod and step to the side. “Of course.”

  He wheels the cart forward to the small sitting area outfitted with two chairs and a table and begins to arrange the domed plates, silverware, and coffee. I feel awkward as hell just standing here watching him. I’m not used to being waited on, even after my time at Irin’s. And in Hell.

  “So…have you lived in New Orleans all your life?” I ask, trying to make small talk.

  “Yes, ma’am. Born and raised,” he answers. He has an accent that I can’t place. Southern, but mixed with a Northern drawl.

  “Beautiful city. This is my first time here.”

  “Oh yeah? You’ve probably hit Bourbon Street already. Watch out for them Hurricanes.”

  “Not really. And…Hurricanes?”

  “It’s a drink. Fruity, but strong. Real strong. Everyone recommends Pat O’Brien’s but Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop is better. You’ll thank me later…or curse me. Those things are dangerous,” he chuckles.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other must see or must drink recommendations?”

  It feels kinda great to make normal chitchat with a normal person for a change. I know we’re literally on the verge of the end of the world, but I don’t want to talk about it twenty-four/seven.

  “Have you been to the WWII museum? That’s cool if you’re into history. Definitely hit Café du Monde for beignets. Oh, and people seem to like the cemetery tours at St. Louis. You been there yet?”

  A little shiver snakes up my spine. “Yeah, I have actually.”

  “Well, if you’re into all the paranormal stuff, the Quarter has lots of Haunted History Tours.”

  If he only knew. “Awesome.”

  “Well, I better get going before they start looking for me…”

  “Oh! Let me just grab some cash and—”

  “Not necessary, ma’am,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “I’ve been taken care of.”

  “Please, call me Eden. And what do you mean you’ve been taken care of?”

  He grins politely. “Your husband already handled everything. He said, “Make sure my wife gets whatever she wants. And even if she doesn’t order it, bring her bread pudding.” We were already expecting your order. And the bread pudding is under the smaller dome.”

  Wife? I want to correct him with a vehement Hell No, but I’m too distracted by the promise of bread pudding, as well as the thoughtfulness behind it.

  “Oh. Well…ok. It was nice talking to you, Isaac,” I say as we make our way to the door.

  “You too, Ms. Eden.” br />
  “And, uh,” I flick my gaze towards the maid down the hallway. She glances over to Isaac and blushes. “You should ask her out. You never know when the world will end. Tomorrow’s not promised.”

  I bid him goodbye once more, and close the door. I’m sure he’s still standing there stunned, wondering where the hell that came from. But I wasn’t lying. Tomorrow isn’t promised. And nice guys like Isaac deserve a little happiness before it all goes to shit.

  I take a few bites of the shrimp and grits, which are delicious, but the bread pudding is calling me. I dig in, not even a little bit sorry about the carbs and calories. What’s the use of worrying about gaining a few pounds? None of that matters when you’re six feet under anyway.

  I finish my meal and am back at the computer, elbow deep in demon lore when the door opens. Startled, I instinctively unsheathe my weapon and train it on my intruder’s forehead. Lucifer smiles.

  “I see you’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the computer and the food…husband.” I‘m tempted to keep the Glock aimed at him, but set it down on the coffee table.

  “Well, what should I have referred to you as? My angel hybrid traveling companion?”

  I shake my head, even though I know he’s right. We’re in a room with a stripper pole. The truth would be more disturbing than letting people believe we’re a kinky married couple on vacation.

  “Where were you?”

  Lucifer gives me one of those devilish crooked smiles. “Why? Miss me?”

  I roll my eyes, but I am glad to see he’s in a more buoyant mood than last night. Maybe Michael’s words have been forgotten…for now.

  “Not at all,” I answer, making sure to add a touch of annoyance to my voice. “I just couldn’t pinpoint why the suite felt so much less crowded when I woke up. Then I realized I wasn’t sharing space with you and your giant ego.”

  He cackles then comes to sit in the seat across from me. “I had some errands to run. Crisis drives people to make all sorts of crazy deals. Plus, I did a little shopping.”

  “Shopping? You think now is the right time to update your wardrobe?”

  “Actually, I was shopping for you. Since apparently you don’t wear anything that you can’t pick out of a thrift shop, I needed to be sure you were properly attired for this evening.”

  I look down at my jeans and sweater. Ok, maybe not the flashiest threads, but we’re not here for a fashion show.

  “So…” I look around to find that there are no shopping bags in sight. “I assume your trip was unsuccessful.”

  Lucifer steeples his fingers in front of his face, his elbows resting on either side of the chair. “Quite the contrary. Someone from Saks will be here a little later with some choices for you to try on, along with hair and makeup.”

  I make a face. “Are you trying to Pretty Woman me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you trying to Pretty Woman me? Get me all spiffed up so you can show me off to make you look good. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve never sold ass for cash. And I’m not eating snails.”

  He laughs heartily, head tilted back to expose his throat. “Damn, you’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you? Well, let me assure you—I need no help looking good.”

  Cocky motherfucker. But he’s right, as much as it pains me to admit.

  “So what can I expect? See-through hooker heels? Sparkly thongs? A bustier I won’t be able to breathe in?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. But it’s not too late to order those items if they’d make you more comfortable.” He wags his brows playfully.

  “Do it, and I’m going to show up tonight in sweats. Or butt ass naked.”

  He licks his lips seductively. “Promise?”

  I shake my head. “You’re the worst.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he replies before climbing to his feet. “You may want to get washed up. They’ll be here in an hour.”

  “An hour,” I frown, looking at the clock. “I thought you said the event was tonight? It’s barely four.”

  “You need a lot of work done. Those extra hours will be put to good use.”

  I flip him off, earning nothing more than a chortle before he heads into his room. I escape to mine to prepare, skipping the tub and going straight to the shower. I’ll miss that bathtub. I’m pretty pissed that I won’t get another chance to enjoy it. But until the showerhead starts spurting blood, I’m staying far away from it. Then I may have to resort to whore’s baths in the sink.

  After procrastinating long enough, I head back into the common area wearing a fluffy terry cloth robe. I pass an impressive spread of cheese, nuts, and fruit on the table, complete with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Lucifer is lounging casually on the couch watching the news. I help myself to a drink from the bar and join him.

  “This doesn’t seem risky to you? We could be opening the door and inviting in demons for all we know. I don’t see why we couldn’t just buy clothes at a store like regular people.”

  He turns the volume down on the news—coverage on the thousands of troops that were just deployed overseas—and replies, “First off, no demons can get through these walls. The moment they even attempted to set foot in the lobby, they would be turned to ash before they could scream. They all know it would be suicide, and they’ve known it since the day I built this place. And second…we’re not regular people.”

  My jaw drops, but I quickly recover. “You built this place?”

  “Yes,” he nods. “Some time ago.”

  “You created a place that’s free of demons.”

  Lucifer shrugs. “Even the Devil seeks peace and quiet. I can’t be ruler of all evil all the time. It’ll age you.”

  “Yeah,” I begin, pretending to inspect his face. “You’re right. Those crow’s feet could use a little attention. You should try Botox.”

  “Ha! You wish. I don’t look a day over two billion years old.”

  We’re both chuckling when there’s a knock at the door, putting a muzzle on the jovial mood. Lucifer stands to answer it while I grasp the knife in the pocket of my robe.

  A petite, flamboyantly dressed man who looks like he could be Prince’s body double stands in the doorway beside a rolling rack full of clothes as ostentatious as his own. Behind him are a heavily tattooed man and a woman with powder pink hair.

  “Hello, monsieur!” Off-brand Prince trills in an overly cheesy French accent. “I am Julian, and this is Jarvis and Sofia. We are here to make your wife gorgeous!”

  “More gorgeous,” Lucifer corrects, causing blood to warm my cheeks. “And please…come in.”

  The trio set up shop while I pour myself another drink. Judging by the clothes on that rack, I’m going to need all the help I can get.

  “Now, madam,” Julian claps. “I’m thinking something sleek with a bit of sparkle.” He circles me like a vulture, inspecting my curves. “You have beautiful skin. You would look good in any color, but I’m thinking black would really make your hair color even more shocking. Jarvis? What do you think, love?”

  The man who looks more biker than stylist steps forward. “Yes, definitely. Once we get her hair out of that ponytail, I’d like to pin it up to show off her shoulders and neck. Sofia, what’s your vision for makeup?”

  I hate this. I feel like I’m a mannequin and they’re discussing how to dress me up for a window display. I flick my gaze up to Lucifer, hoping he can sense my unease. Luckily, he interjects just as Julian starts to discuss nipple pasties.

  “Why don’t I take it from here? Please help yourself to refreshments.”

  The three stylists step back, giving me some much needed space. I shoot Luc a small smile and whisper, “Thank you.” We walk over to the rack of clothes and begin to sift through the fine fabrics.

  “You looked like you wanted to set yourself on fire.”

  “I’m just not…used to this. Lilith and Andras fussed over me a bit, but it was different. Almost fun, even. Or maybe I j
ust liked seeing them have fun.”

  “I know you feel bad for deceiving the Se7en. You love them. But you realize why we couldn’t tell them we needed to change course. It was for their own safety.”

  “I know.” If only he knew that wasn’t the only thing I was keeping from the Se7en. Purposely deviating from the plan was bad enough. Stealing The Redeemer would likely be a death sentence.

  “They’ll understand. Once we get what we came for, they’ll understand.”

  “And what did we come for?”

  “Hopefully we’ll find out tonight.”

  He plucks up a sheer garment and holds it out to me. I can’t tell if it’s a shirt or a scarf.

  “Here. Try this one.”

  I frown, taking the flimsy piece of fabric. “Um, where’s the rest of it?” I get a peek at the little white tag dangling from it, and my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “And holy shit! You realize you could feed a small village for a month with this thing. Are you insane? I can’t wear this. And I damn sure can’t afford it.”

  Lucifer shrugs. “But I can.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should. This…whatever it is…is worth more than everything I’ve ever owned.”

  “And it’s probably constructed much better than anything you’ve ever owned.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t feel good about wearing it when every single one of my old neighbors is now probably homeless.” My voice dips to a whisper. “Or dead.”

  Lucifer huffs out a frustrated breath and turns to me, stepping in close. “Can you, for just one second, not be Miss Doom and Gloom? Yeah, I get it—the world is ending, yadda, yadda, yadda. But can you at least try to be a little less like…you?”

  I roll my eyes. “As opposed to what? Being more like you? Sorry, I don’t get off on rape and torture.”

  “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, dear.” Without missing a beat, he pulls a skirt from the rack and shoves it, along with what I assume is a blouse, towards me. “Try them on.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he puts a finger over his full lips, cutting me off. “The longer you argue with me, the more time we waste. You wanted to be part of the fight? This is part of it. Just with different weapons.”