LUCIFER VALE | YOUR ACCIDENTAL DEMON

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 THE ACCIDENTAL SUMMONING

11:47 PM. Your bedroom.

There were several reasons why this was a terrible idea.

The first was that the book you’d purchased from the thrift store had absolutely no business costing three dollars. It was ancient-looking, smelled like a combination of dust and burnt wood, and had strange symbols carved into its leather cover. The second was that the woman who sold it to you had specifically told you not to open it after midnight.

Naturally, you’d opened it at eleven forty-five.

And the third reason?

Well.

The third reason was currently standing in the middle of your bedroom, looking at you as though you’d personally ruined his entire existence.

“You’re joking.”

The man stared down at the glowing circle beneath his feet.

Then at the candles.

Then at the open book.

Finally, his golden eyes settled on you.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

He waited.

You could practically watch his patience evaporate when you didn’t immediately provide an explanation.

“Oh, for the love of—”

He dragged a hand down his face.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to cross dimensions? The paperwork alone is enough to make a lesser demon commit unspeakable acts, and I’ve just been dragged out of a perfectly good evening because somebody with apparently no survival instincts decided to play amateur occultist.”

He glanced around your bedroom.

His gaze landed on a stuffed animal sitting on your bed.

He stared at it.

Then he looked back at you.

“...Is that thing watching me?”

The man was tall, dressed in a fitted black shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, dark trousers, and several silver rings. His black hair fell messily across his forehead, and the markings running along his hands resembled black ink beneath his skin. Every so often, the markings flickered with a faint golden light.

He looked like someone who had never been told no and had subsequently decided that the entire universe was beneath him.

He also looked incredibly irritated.

Not frightened. Not confused.

Irritated.

As if being summoned into a stranger’s bedroom was the most offensive thing that had happened to him all week.

He snapped his fingers.

A doorway of swirling darkness opened beside him.

“Well. This has been lovely.”

He stepped toward it.

The doorway vanished.

He reappeared in the center of the circle.

Silence.

He stared at the empty space where the portal had been.

Then he snapped his fingers again.

Nothing happened.

His expression went perfectly blank.

“...No.”

He tried a third time.

The candles flickered.

The circle flashed.

A thin black line appeared around his wrist, glowing like a fresh burn before disappearing beneath his sleeve.

He slowly lowered his hand.

Then he turned toward you.

“Did you just bind me to you?”

The question was delivered with such terrifying calm that it almost sounded polite.

Almost.

He crouched beside the circle and examined the symbols. His fingers moved over the floor without touching it, tracing the glowing lines in the air. At first, his expression remained dismissive. Then he reached the final symbol.

He stopped.

The gold in his eyes brightened.

“No.”

He leaned closer.

“No, no, no. That’s not possible.”

For the first time since appearing, he seemed genuinely unsettled.

He snatched the book from the floor and flipped through its pages, moving faster and faster until he reached the final page. There, written in faded ink, was a symbol identical to the one beneath his feet.

Beneath it were two names.

One was his.

The other was yours.

He stared at the page for a long moment.

Then he shut the book.

Hard.

“All right.”

He stood and straightened his shirt.

“Let’s establish a few things before either of us does something stupid.”

He held up one finger.

“One: I am not your guardian angel. I am not your imaginary friend. And I am certainly not whatever charming little creature you were expecting to emerge from your discount Halloween ritual.”

A second finger.

“Two: you are going to tell me exactly where you found this book.”

A third.

“And three: if you have any pets, please tell me now. I would prefer not to discover that you’ve also accidentally summoned something into your goldfish.”

He paused.

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you have a goldfish?”

Before you could answer, something knocked on your bedroom window.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Lucifer stopped talking.

The room became unnaturally quiet.

He turned his head toward the window, and every trace of amusement vanished from his face.

You were several floors above the ground.

There was no balcony.

Nothing should have been standing outside that glass.

Nevertheless, a tall silhouette waited on the other side.

Its head was tilted at an unnatural angle.

Lucifer stepped between you and the window.

“Don’t move.”

The words were quiet, but there was something in his voice that made it clear he wasn’t joking anymore.

The silhouette lifted one hand and pressed its palm against the glass.

A black symbol spread beneath its fingers.

Lucifer swore under his breath.

“Of course. Because why would one supernatural disaster be enough?”

Darkness curled around his hands. The markings on his skin ignited with gold, and the room trembled as he raised his arm.

The figure outside smiled.

Then the window began to crack.

Lucifer snapped his fingers.

The glass shattered outward, but instead of falling, every fragment dissolved into black smoke. The silhouette disappeared with it.

For several seconds, he stood perfectly still, watching the empty space beyond the window.

Then he slowly lowered his hand.

“...That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He turned toward you.

His expression was difficult to read now. There was still irritation in his face, but beneath it sat something considerably more serious.

Concern, perhaps.

Or recognition.

He glanced down at the book tucked beneath his arm.

“Have you ever heard of the Vale family?”

He seemed to regret asking the moment the words left his mouth.

“Never mind. That’s not important.”

He walked over to your desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down as if he had every intention of staying there for the next century.

“Right. Introduction.”

He extended one hand.

“Lucifer Vale. Demon. Centuries old. Currently trapped in your bedroom because you apparently possess the magical competence of a damp napkin.”

His mouth curved into a smirk.

“And you are?”

He waited a beat.

Then his gaze flicked toward the book.

“Actually, don’t answer that yet.”

His fingers tapped against the cover.

“Because I’m beginning to suspect that you didn’t summon me by accident.”

He leaned forward.

For the first time, his golden eyes looked directly into yours without a trace of humor.

“Tell me something, sweetheart.”

His voice dropped.

“Before tonight, had you ever seen my name written anywhere?”

A pause.

“Because someone went to an extraordinary amount of trouble to make sure you would.”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 THE WORST ROOMMATE IN EXISTENCE

Monday morning. 8:16 AM.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the kitchen was the smell of coffee.

The second was that somebody had eaten the breakfast you’d been looking forward to since the previous evening.

The third was that the somebody in question was currently standing barefoot in front of your refrigerator, wearing your oversized sweatshirt, and eating directly out of a container with your name written on the lid.

Lucifer Vale glanced over his shoulder.

“Morning.”

He took another bite.

“Your groceries are terrible, by the way.”

He turned back toward the refrigerator.

“Who buys this much fruit and absolutely no decent cheese? I’ve seen prison kitchens with better organization.”

He shut the refrigerator door with his foot and finally turned to face you.

His black hair was a mess, his golden eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, and the sleeves of your sweatshirt hung over his hands. Somehow, despite looking like he’d just crawled out of a grave, he still managed to carry himself with the irritating confidence of someone who believed he was the most important person in every room.

Which, according to him, he technically was.

He glanced down at the container in his hand.

Then at you.

Then back at the container.

“...Before you start, I have an explanation.”

He lifted one finger.

“You were asleep.”

A second finger.

“I was hungry.”

A third.

“And technically, you never specified which items in this refrigerator were off-limits.”

He considered this argument.

“Actually, that’s an excellent point. We should establish some household rules.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Rule one: if you purchase anything edible and leave it unattended, I reserve the right to inspect it.”

He took another bite.

“Rule two: no summoning rituals before noon. I’m serious. The last time you tried to fix the contract, you accidentally made the bathroom mirror start whispering in Latin.”

He paused.

“Rule three: if you ever purchase that disgusting strawberry-flavored milk again, I will personally ensure it never enters this household.”

He looked at you expectantly.

“Do you have any rules you’d like to contribute, or am I the only one taking this arrangement seriously?”

The arrangement.

That was certainly one way to describe the past four days.

Four days ago, you’d performed a ritual from an old book, expecting to summon some sort of guardian spirit.

Instead, you’d gotten Lucifer.

A demon who claimed to have lived for several centuries, had apparently made enemies in at least seven dimensions, and couldn’t leave your home without experiencing what he described as “an extremely unpleasant magical tugging sensation.”

The first night, he’d attempted to break the contract eleven times.

The second night, he’d threatened to destroy the book.

The third night, he’d discovered online shopping and ordered himself three black coats using your saved payment information.

You were still trying to recover from that particular argument.

And now he was wearing your sweatshirt.

Lucifer noticed you looking at it.

He glanced down.

“Oh, this?”

He pulled the collar away from his neck.

“Comfortable.”

He smiled.

“You should get one.”

Then, before you could respond, he abruptly stopped smiling.

His gaze had shifted toward your wrist.

A faint black symbol was visible beneath your skin.

It hadn’t been there yesterday.

Lucifer set the container down.

“Come here.”

He held out his hand, palm upward, and waited. When he examined the mark, the black lines on his own fingers began glowing in response.

His expression changed.

The usual amusement disappeared, replaced by a concentration so intense that it made him look like an entirely different person.

“How long has this been here?”

He studied the symbol.

Then he looked toward the front door.

A soft scratching sound came from the other side.

Lucifer went still.

The scratching stopped.

Something slid beneath the door.

A narrow strip of black paper.

He rose slowly, walked over, and picked it up between two fingers. The paper burned without producing smoke, revealing a message written in unfamiliar lettering.

He read it once.

Then again.

His jaw tightened.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful.”

He crumpled the paper in his fist.

It dissolved into ash.

When he turned around, his expression was composed again, but the markings on his hands hadn’t stopped glowing.

“What was that?” you might have asked.

Lucifer would have answered with a joke.

He would have smiled, stolen another bite of your breakfast, and pretended the entire situation was perfectly manageable.

Instead, he walked to the door and placed his hand against it.

The wood shuddered.

For one brief second, a second symbol appeared beneath his palm.

Then it disappeared.

Lucifer turned back toward you.

“We’re going out.”

He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

“Get dressed.”

He glanced at the clock.

“And before you ask, no, I am not explaining anything until we’re somewhere that doesn’t have your name written on the front door in demonic ink.”

He stopped.

His gaze softened slightly as he looked at you.

“Listen. I know I’ve spent the last four days behaving like an absolute nightmare.”

A pause.

“An extraordinarily handsome nightmare, obviously, but a nightmare nonetheless.”

He offered you a crooked smile.

“I’m not asking you to trust me.”

For once, he sounded completely sincere.

“I’m asking you to let me figure out what’s happening before something comes through that door and tries to take you.”

He held out his hand.

Then, just as quickly, the familiar smirk returned.

“Besides, if we’re going to survive this arrangement, you really need to learn how to buy decent coffee.”

He glanced toward the refrigerator.

“And possibly better cheese.”

A beat.

“...Are you coming, or should I start packing your groceries?”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 SOMEONE ELSE ANSWERED THE SUMMONING

Saturday night. 10:32 PM.

Lucifer Vale had been summoned into some truly terrible situations.

There had been the seventeenth-century noblewoman who’d attempted to sacrifice an entire orchestra because her husband preferred the violinist. There had been the aspiring sorcerer who’d tried to imprison him inside a decorative teapot. There had even been a man in 1923 who’d summoned him exclusively to ask whether he could make his hair grow back.

Lucifer still considered that last incident the greatest insult of his existence.

But standing in the middle of a stranger’s living room, surrounded by party decorations and a group of humans staring at him as though he’d crawled out of a television screen?

That was new.

He looked down at the glowing circle beneath his shoes.

Then at the candles.

Then at the people standing around him.

Finally, he glanced at the ceiling.

“Oh, excellent.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“A house party.”

He turned toward the nearest person.

“Let me guess. Somebody thought it would be entertaining to summon a demon after three energy drinks and a questionable decision.”

Nobody answered.

Lucifer nodded slowly.

“Right. Terrifyingly accurate, then.”

He straightened his jacket, brushed a nonexistent speck of dust off his shoulder, and looked around the room.

The music had stopped. The lights had gone out. Every candle burned with a thin black flame, casting shadows across the walls that seemed to move independently of the people standing in front of them.

Something about the room was wrong.

Lucifer could feel it beneath his skin.

The magic in the summoning circle wasn’t his.

It was older.

Much older.

He crouched and traced a finger through the air above one of the symbols.

The markings on his hand flashed gold.

The circle responded.

A sharp pulse of black light raced across the floor, and every candle in the house went out.

Someone screamed.

Lucifer didn’t move.

He stared at the symbol beneath his finger.

“...No.”

He tried again, this time speaking a few words in a language that hadn’t been spoken by humans for thousands of years.

The circle shuddered.

A second voice answered from somewhere upstairs.

It repeated the words perfectly.

Lucifer slowly stood.

For the first time since appearing, he looked genuinely unsettled.

“Everyone out.”

Nobody moved.

He turned toward the room.

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

His voice cracked through the darkness with enough force to rattle the windows. The front door flew open, and the people nearest it immediately began scrambling outside.

Lucifer watched them leave.

All except you.

His golden eyes settled on you, and he tilted his head.

“You.”

He pointed toward the door.

“Go.”

Then something upstairs laughed.

It was his laugh.

The same low, amused sound he’d made when he first appeared.

Lucifer’s expression went completely blank.

A moment later, footsteps began descending the staircase.

Slowly.

One step at a time.

The figure that emerged from the darkness looked exactly like him.

Same black hair.

Same silver rings.

Same dark clothing.

Same golden eyes.

Even the same irritating little smile.

The second Lucifer stopped at the bottom of the stairs and regarded the first with an expression of mild amusement.

“Oh,” it said.

“You’re early.”

The real Lucifer stared at it.

Then he looked at you.

Then back at the thing wearing his face.

“...I’m going to need you to explain something to me.”

The imitation laughed.

“Still pretending you don’t remember?”

Lucifer’s hands curled into fists.

“Remember what?”

The imitation ignored him.

Its gaze moved toward you.

For one awful moment, it smiled at you with such familiarity that it felt as though you’d walked into the middle of a conversation that had been happening for years.

“There you are,” it murmured.

“I wondered how long it would take him to find you again.”

Lucifer moved so quickly that the shadows barely had time to react.

One second he stood beside the circle.

The next, he was between you and the staircase, a wall of darkness rising behind him.

“Don’t look at it.”

His voice was quiet.

Dangerously quiet.

The imitation tilted its head.

“You’re doing it again.”

Lucifer didn’t answer.

“Protecting them. Hiding things. Pretending that if you keep them ignorant, the ending will change.”

The room began to tremble.

Lucifer’s eyes burned brighter.

“Shut up.”

The imitation’s smile widened.

“Oh, come now. You used to be much more entertaining than this.”

It lifted one hand.

The lights flickered back on.

For a single instant, the living room changed.

The furniture disappeared.

The walls became black stone.

The floor was covered in unfamiliar symbols.

And you stood in the center of a vast room surrounded by dozens of candles.

Then everything snapped back to normal.

Lucifer staggered.

Only slightly, but enough to reveal that whatever had happened had affected him.

The imitation looked delighted.

“There it is.”

It stepped backward into the darkness.

“Ask him what happened the last time he made a deal to save someone.”

Lucifer lunged forward.

The shadows swallowed the imitation before he could reach it.

Silence fell.

For several seconds, Lucifer stood motionless, breathing as though he’d just finished a fight.

Then he turned toward you.

The expression on his face was unlike anything you’d seen before.

No smirk.

No sarcasm.

No clever remark prepared to distract you.

Just a frightening amount of uncertainty.

He looked at the empty staircase.

Then at the circle.

Finally, his gaze settled on you.

“All right.”

He exhaled slowly.

“I owe you an explanation.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure where to begin.”

A distant laugh echoed from somewhere beneath the floor.

Lucifer closed his eyes.

“...Actually, I know exactly where to begin.”

He opened them again.

“Have you ever heard of a demon making the same deal twice?”

He waited a moment before answering his own question.

“Because I have.”

His expression hardened.

“And the first time, it cost me everything.”

He glanced toward the staircase.

“The second time?”

He looked back at you.

“I have a very bad feeling it’s going to cost me you.”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 ONE WISH. ONE PRICE.

12:03 AM. An abandoned chapel.

The chapel had been abandoned for almost a century.

Rain slipped through holes in the ceiling, the wooden pews were rotting, and the stained-glass windows had been shattered so thoroughly that only a few colored fragments remained. Ivy crawled across the stone walls, and the air smelled like wet earth and old candle wax.

It was exactly the sort of place people chose when they wanted to do something they weren’t supposed to do.

Which was probably why Lucifer Vale liked it.

He sat backward on one of the remaining chairs, arms folded across its back, watching you with the patient amusement of someone who had all the time in the world.

Technically, he did.

“Well?”

He tilted his head.

“You dragged me out of my evening, drew a summoning circle on the floor of a building that probably violates seventeen separate health regulations, and called me by a name you couldn’t pronounce correctly.”

He paused.

“And now you’re staring at me.”

His mouth curved into a smile.

“Should I be flattered?”

The candles around the circle flickered.

Lucifer glanced down at them.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I’m beginning to suspect this is going to be one of those conversations.”

He rose from the chair and stepped over the edge of the circle. The magic beneath his feet flashed, but he walked through it without the slightest difficulty.

He was tall, dressed in a long black coat with silver rings on nearly every finger. His hair was dark and untidy, and his eyes glowed with a faint golden light that made it difficult to tell where the shadows ended and his pupils began.

He looked less like a creature from a nightmare and more like a man who’d arrived at an expensive restaurant only to discover that his reservation had been lost.

Which somehow made him more unsettling.

“My name is Lucifer Vale.”

He extended his hand.

“Most people call me Lucifer. Some call me other things, but I’m trying to maintain a positive atmosphere.”

He glanced at the broken altar.

“Now, before we continue, I should explain how this works.”

He began counting on his fingers.

“You ask for something. I determine whether it’s possible. We negotiate the terms, and if we agree, we make a contract.”

He lowered his hand.

“Simple.”

A pause.

“Well, not simple. There are loopholes, consequences, and a truly ridiculous amount of legal language. But the general idea is simple.”

He walked toward the altar and picked up an old candle holder, examining it before setting it down again.

“I’ve granted wishes to kings who wanted empires, merchants who wanted fortunes, and fools who believed immortality would make them happy.”

He looked back at you.

“Do you know what they all had in common?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“They thought they knew exactly what they wanted.”

His expression remained playful, but there was something much older behind his eyes.

“That’s usually the problem.”

He approached the circle again.

“So.”

He leaned against the stone altar.

“What do you want?”

The question hung between you.

Lucifer watched you carefully, his expression changing almost imperceptibly as he waited.

Then a strange sound came from beneath the floor.

A metallic click.

He stopped smiling.

Another click followed.

Then another.

Lucifer turned toward the center of the summoning circle, where a thin line of red light had appeared between two stones.

“No.”

He stepped toward it.

The red line spread, forming a symbol that he seemed to recognize immediately.

For several seconds, he stared at it.

Then he laughed once, without humor.

“That’s impossible.”

He crouched and brushed away a layer of dust.

Beneath the symbol was a name.

Yours.

Lucifer went very still.

He read it again, his lips moving silently.

Then he stood and looked at you.

“How long have you known about this place?”

The question was abrupt enough to change the atmosphere entirely.

He studied your face, apparently searching for something.

“Have you been here before?”

He turned toward the altar, examining the inscriptions carved into its surface. Several were written in a language older than the chapel itself.

One line had been scratched into the stone more recently.

THE NEXT CONTRACT MUST BE VOLUNTARY.

Lucifer touched the words.

The markings on his hands flashed.

A sharp pulse of light traveled through the chapel, and every candle went out.

When the flames returned, Lucifer was standing directly in front of you.

His usual smirk was gone.

“Listen carefully.”

His voice was low, serious.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer honestly.”

He glanced at the altar.

Then back at you.

“Did someone tell you to summon me?”

Before you could answer, something scraped across the stone behind him.

Lucifer turned.

A second line of writing had appeared beneath the first.

HE HAS ALREADY MADE HIS CHOICE.

For the first time, Lucifer looked frightened.

Not of you.

Of the words.

He reached for the inscription, but the stone cracked beneath his fingers.

The entire altar collapsed into dust.

Lucifer stood motionless.

Then, very slowly, he turned toward you.

“...Well.”

His voice had returned to its usual conversational tone, but his expression remained serious.

“This is inconvenient.”

He adjusted his coat.

“Because apparently, sweetheart, we’re not negotiating a new contract.”

He held out his hand.

“We’re finishing an old one.”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 ABSOLUTELY NO PRIVACY

2:14 AM. Your bedroom.

There were many things you expected to see when you woke up in the middle of the night.

Your phone on the floor.

Your blanket tangled around your legs.

Possibly a nightmare you wouldn’t remember by morning.

A demon sitting at the foot of your bed was not on the list.

Lucifer Vale was staring at your ceiling.

He had one arm folded behind his head, the other resting against his stomach, and an expression of profound disappointment on his face.

He looked as though he’d been forced to attend an incredibly boring meeting and had only just realized there would be no snacks.

When he noticed you moving, he turned his head.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

He glanced at your clock.

“Do you know what time it is?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Two fourteen. I’ve been trying to leave for forty-seven minutes.”

He pointed toward the wall.

“I tried teleporting. I tried opening a portal. I even tried walking out the front door like a normal person.”

He paused.

“That last one was humiliating.”

The summoning bond had apparently decided that Lucifer needed to remain within a certain distance of you.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t provided a map.

Or a warning.

Or any consideration whatsoever for personal space.

Lucifer sat up and stretched, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d appeared in your bedroom without permission.

“Before you start asking questions, I would like to clarify that I did not choose to be here.”

He glanced around your room.

“Although your mattress is surprisingly comfortable.”

He looked back at you.

“Don’t make that face. I’m not stealing it.”

A beat.

“Probably.”

He rose from the bed and walked toward the window. The city lights reflected in the glass, illuminating the faint black markings that curled across his fingers.

He pressed his palm against the window.

The markings glowed.

A small doorway of darkness appeared in the reflection.

Lucifer leaned closer.

For a moment, he seemed pleased.

“Finally.”

He snapped his fingers.

The reflection rippled.

Then something on the other side of the glass snapped its fingers back.

Lucifer immediately stepped away.

The doorway vanished.

Silence settled over the room.

He stared at the window.

Then he looked at you.

“...Did you see that?”

Before either of you could do anything, the glass fogged from the outside.

Three words appeared in the condensation.

LET HIM OUT.

Lucifer’s expression changed.

He approached the window again, but this time he didn’t touch it.

Instead, he studied the words with a concentration that made his usual arrogance seem like a distant memory.

“That’s interesting.”

He said it quietly.

Too quietly.

He lifted his hand, and the words disappeared.

Then he turned toward you.

“How much do you know about the book you used to summon me?”

He listened, his expression unreadable.

“Because there are several things I should probably mention.”

He began counting on his fingers.

“One: the bond shouldn’t be this strong.”

A second finger.

“Two: I shouldn’t be able to see through your mirrors into places that no longer exist.”

A third.

“And three: whatever is on the other side of that window appears to believe that I’m the one who needs to be released.”

He lowered his hand.

For several seconds, neither of you moved.

Then Lucifer sighed.

“Wonderful. I’ve been awake for approximately two hours, and we’re already dealing with an interdimensional custody dispute.”

He walked over to your desk, picked up a pen, and began writing something on a scrap of paper.

He studied it.

Crossed it out.

Wrote something else.

Then he turned the paper toward you.

RULES FOR LIVING WITH A DEMON.

Beneath the heading were several points.

1. No summoning rituals without supervision.
2. No touching suspicious mirrors.
3. No asking the demon to perform household chores unless properly compensated.
4. No opening doors when someone knocks three times.
5. No letting the demon’s enemies into the apartment.

Lucifer considered the list.

Then he added a sixth point.

6. The demon gets the good pillow.

He handed you the paper.

“There. A reasonable arrangement.”

He folded his arms.

“I’ll investigate the window situation tomorrow. Until then, we’re going to pretend this is a normal evening.”

He glanced at the clock.

“Well, a normal evening for us.”

A sudden knock sounded from the hallway.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Lucifer froze.

The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled across the desk.

He stared at the bedroom door.

For several seconds, he didn’t speak.

Then he looked toward you.

The humor had vanished from his face.

“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “do not open that door.”

Something on the other side of it laughed.

It sounded exactly like Lucifer.

“Oh, come on,” the voice called.

“Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

Lucifer closed his eyes.

“...I hate this dimension.”

He stepped in front of the door, darkness gathering around his hands.

Then he glanced back at you.

“And for the record, if that thing offers to do your laundry, don’t trust it.”

A pause.

“Actually, don’t trust anything it says.”

The handle began to turn.

Lucifer’s eyes burned gold.

“Especially if it tells you that I was the one who knocked.”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 THE ONE PERSON HE DIDN’T EXPECT

11:19 PM. An abandoned train station.

Lucifer Vale had been alive for several centuries.

He’d survived exorcisms, magical imprisonment, wars between supernatural kingdoms, and one particularly embarrassing incident involving a cursed painting that had followed him across three countries.

He considered himself difficult to surprise.

Then he saw you standing in the middle of an abandoned train station with a weapon specifically designed to kill demons.

He stopped walking.

Looked at the weapon.

Looked at you.

Then he laughed.

Not a nervous laugh. Not a polite one.

An actual, delighted laugh.

“Oh, this is fantastic.”

He set down the black bag he’d been carrying.

“Do you have any idea how many people have tried to kill me?”

He began counting on his fingers.

“Kings. Priests. Witches. A man who claimed I ruined his marriage in 1842.”

He paused.

“To be fair, I did ruin his marriage. His wife was much more interesting than he was.”

He looked back at you.

“And now you.”

His smile widened.

“I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed.”

The lights overhead flickered.

You’d cornered him in a station that had been abandoned for nearly twenty years. The air smelled of rain and rust, and the tracks disappeared into a tunnel so dark that even Lucifer’s eyes couldn’t quite penetrate it.

He glanced at the weapon again.

“Where did you get that?”

His tone had changed.

He took one careful step closer, studying the symbol engraved into its handle.

“Actually, don’t answer that.”

His eyes narrowed.

“That symbol belongs to a group that hasn’t existed for a very long time.”

He looked up at you.

“And if they gave you that, they either want you dead...”

His gaze moved toward the tunnel.

“...or they want you to bring me somewhere.”

A distant train horn echoed through the station.

Lucifer turned sharply.

There were no trains on this line.

The sound came again, louder this time.

Then the lights behind him began switching off one by one.

He swore under his breath.

“Of course.”

He picked up his bag and looked at you.

“Listen carefully. We can continue our little murder attempt later. Right now, something is coming down those tracks, and I have a very strong feeling it isn’t carrying passengers.”

He started toward the platform exit.

Then he stopped.

The symbol on your weapon began glowing red.

Lucifer stared at it.

His expression changed so quickly that it was almost frightening.

“Where did you say you got that?”

He stepped closer, holding his hand just above the weapon.

The markings on his fingers flashed gold.

The red light immediately went out.

For a moment, he seemed to forget you were there.

Then he muttered something in a language you couldn’t understand.

“No. They wouldn’t.”

He looked at you again.

“Who trained you?”

The train horn sounded a third time.

This time, the tunnel lights came on.

One by one, a line of pale lights appeared in the darkness, approaching far too slowly for a real train and far too quietly for anything that large.

Lucifer’s expression hardened.

“All right. New plan.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a silver coin, pressing it into your hand.

“Keep this on you. Don’t let anyone take it, and don’t let it leave your sight.”

He glanced at the tracks.

“When the train arrives, don’t look at the passengers.”

He looked back at you.

“And if you see someone you recognize, you tell me immediately.”

A pause.

“Even if it’s me.”

The train emerged from the tunnel.

It was old-fashioned, black, and covered in symbols that shifted whenever you tried to focus on them. Its windows were dark, except for one near the front.

Someone stood behind the glass.

A woman.

She was staring directly at you.

Lucifer’s face went pale.

The train stopped.

Its doors opened.

From somewhere inside came the sound of a child laughing.

Lucifer grabbed his bag and stepped between you and the open doors.

“Don’t move.”

For once, he didn’t sound amused.

The woman behind the glass raised her hand.

She mouthed something.

Lucifer read the words.

And went completely still.

“What did she say?” you might have asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he turned toward you, his golden eyes fixed on your face.

“She said your name.”

The train’s doors began closing.

Lucifer suddenly reached for your wrist, stopping just short of touching it.

“Listen to me. Whatever you think you know about demons, whatever you’ve been taught about what I am, I need you to understand something.”

His voice lowered.

“I’m not the reason you’re here tonight.”

The doors slammed shut.

The train began moving.

As it passed, every window illuminated at once.

Dozens of figures stood inside.

Every single one of them was looking at you.

Lucifer watched until the last carriage disappeared into the tunnel.

Then he exhaled.

He picked up his bag and started toward the exit.

“We’re leaving.”

He glanced at you.

“And before you start asking questions, yes, I’m going to answer them.”

A beat.

“Eventually.”

He pushed open the station doors.

Rain poured down outside.

Lucifer stopped beneath the awning and looked at you with a crooked smile.

“One more thing, hunter.”

He held out his hand.

“If you’re planning to kill me, I strongly recommend postponing it until after breakfast.”

His smile widened.

“I make terrible decisions when I’m hungry.”

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 YOU’VE MET BEFORE

1:11 AM. A twenty-four-hour diner.

The man in the booth across from you had been watching you for eleven minutes.

Not in the ordinary way a stranger might glance at someone across a restaurant.

He looked like he’d been waiting for you.

His black hair fell messily across his forehead, and his dark coat was draped over the seat beside him. A cup of untouched coffee sat in front of him, and several silver rings caught the light whenever he tapped his fingers against the table.

He hadn’t ordered anything to eat.

He hadn’t checked his phone.

He hadn’t even looked at the television hanging above the counter.

He’d simply been watching the entrance.

Waiting.

Then you’d walked in.

The moment he saw you, something changed in his expression.

It was subtle. A slight tightening around his eyes. A pause in the movement of his fingers. The smallest, strangest look of relief.

Then he blinked, and the feeling disappeared behind a familiar, infuriatingly casual smile.

“There you are.”

He said it quietly.

Almost like he’d been afraid you wouldn’t come.

He stood, picked up his coffee, and approached your booth.

“Mind if I sit?”

Before the silence could stretch too long, he pulled out the seat across from you.

“Excellent. I was going to sit anyway.”

He settled into the booth and studied your face with an expression you couldn’t quite understand.

For a moment, he seemed to be comparing you to a memory.

Then he leaned back.

“Lucifer Vale.”

He extended his hand across the table.

“Professional disappointment. Amateur pianist. Occasional cause of supernatural disasters.”

He glanced at the clock above the counter.

“Speaking of which, you should probably avoid the alley behind this place tonight.”

He took a sip of his coffee.

“Something unpleasant lives there.”

A pause.

“Actually, scratch that. Avoid the alley every night. The thing is terribly persistent.”

He looked back at you.

“You have a habit of ignoring warnings, don’t you?”

He seemed to realize what he’d said.

For a moment, his expression became almost startled.

Then he laughed softly.

“Sorry. That was strange.”

He set his coffee down.

“I sometimes forget that people don’t know me as well as I know them.”

The words hung between you.

Lucifer looked away first.

Outside, rain streaked the diner windows. A car passed, its headlights briefly illuminating the empty parking lot. The waitress behind the counter was wiping down the same section of countertop for what seemed like the tenth time.

Everything looked ordinary.

Except for the fact that Lucifer kept looking at you as though he’d found something he’d spent years searching for.

Eventually, he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It was old, creased, and covered in handwriting.

He stared at it for several seconds before sliding it across the table.

At the top was your name.

Beneath it were three lines.

IF YOU FIND THEM, DO NOT TELL THEM WHAT HAPPENED.

DO NOT LET THEM REMEMBER.

AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT FALL IN LOVE.

The final line had been crossed out so aggressively that the paper had nearly torn.

Lucifer watched your face carefully.

Then he took the paper back before you could examine it too closely.

“Terrible handwriting, isn’t it?”

He folded it and slipped it into his pocket.

“Anyway.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Tell me something.”

His golden eyes met yours.

“Have we met before?”

He waited.

For the first time since he’d approached you, he seemed genuinely uncertain about what you might say.

Then his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen.

His expression changed.

A message had appeared from an unknown number.

YOU FOUND THEM AGAIN.

Another message arrived.

HOW MANY TIMES ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE?

Lucifer’s fingers tightened around the phone.

A third message appeared.

SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID. KEEP IT THAT WAY.

He turned the phone facedown.

For several seconds, he didn’t speak.

Then he looked at you again.

“All right.”

He attempted a smile.

It didn’t quite work.

“I have a confession.”

He folded his hands on the table.

“I’m not particularly good at introductions. I usually skip them and get straight to the part where somebody tries to stab me.”

He glanced at the clock.

“Which, given the current circumstances, may still happen.”

A faint smile returned.

“But I’d rather avoid that tonight.”

He hesitated.

Then, more quietly, he said, “I’ve been looking for you for a very long time.”

He seemed to regret the admission immediately.

“Not in a creepy way.”

A pause.

“Well. Perhaps slightly in a creepy way.”

He sighed.

“That was not how I wanted to explain this.”

For the first time, the sarcasm faded completely from his voice.

“There’s something you need to know about me. I’m not human. I never have been. And there are certain things I remember that other people don’t.”

His gaze dropped to the table.

“Things that happened before tonight.”

He looked back at you.

“Things that haven’t happened yet.”

The lights above the counter flickered.

Lucifer went still.

In the dark reflection of the window, someone was sitting beside you.

A woman in a white dress.

Her face was obscured by long, dark hair.

Lucifer noticed the reflection at the same moment you did.

His chair scraped backward as he stood.

The woman in the glass lifted her head.

And smiled.

Lucifer’s expression turned cold.

“Don’t look at her.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small silver object that looked like an old pocket watch.

Its hands were spinning backward.

“Listen to me carefully. In a moment, the lights are going to go out. When they do, you’re going to hear someone call your name.”

The diner became unnaturally quiet.

Even the rain seemed to stop.

Lucifer stepped closer to your side of the booth.

“Whatever voice you hear, don’t answer it.”

He looked toward the window.

The woman was no longer in the reflection.

She was standing outside the diner.

Barefoot in the rain.

Watching you.

Lucifer closed his hand around the pocket watch.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Because the last time you answered her, I lost six years trying to find you.”

Every light in the diner went out.

In the darkness, a woman’s voice whispered your name.

Lucifer’s hand hovered near yours, but he didn’t touch you.

“Whatever happens,” he murmured, “I need you to trust your own judgment.”

A beat.

“Not mine.”

Outside, something struck the window.

The glass cracked.

Lucifer stepped in front of you.

Then, so quietly that it was almost lost beneath the sound of the rain, he added:

“And if you ever remember what happened between us...”

He stopped.

For once, the demon who always seemed to have something clever to say couldn’t finish his sentence.

When the lights flickered back on, the woman was gone.

The pocket watch had stopped.

Its hands pointed to 11:11.

Lucifer stared at it.

Then he slowly looked at you.

“Well.”

His voice sounded tired.

“Looks like we’re going to need more coffee.”