WEIGHT OF THE WORLD ↠ Mazikeen [2]

04 | RAISE HELL

                     SO, LUCIFER HAD A VENGEFUL TWIN BROTHER. Finding that out was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dunked over Izzy's head, like she had been slapped in the face with the disgusting truth that Michael – yes, that Michael – was impersonating his brother in the hopes of imploding his life. Izzy had really believed he was Lucifer, she had hugged him, she had watched Benjamin kiss him and she had advocated for him when others had questioned if something was wrong. She felt stupid and betrayed, and above all, she was hurt to realize that Lucifer was still stuck in Hell, and she didn't know if he'd ever resurface on Earth.

                     She had wanted to walk over to him and slap him across the face for lying and pretending. She had itched to give him a piece of her mind – prove that she wasn't just some sweet little thing he could toy with, but Mazikeen had insisted she not do that. It was almost surprising to hear from the soul torturess, but it wasn't surprising to hear that she was worried for Izzy and what would happen. According to Maze, the best course of action was to leave the precinct immediately so they could concoct a confrontation together, away from people and innocent bystanders. Who knew what Michael was capable of?

                     So, Izzy was rushing into the parking garage with her hands fumbling with her keys, her bag heavy over her shoulder, and her boots shuffling quickly against the pavement. She wasn't going to waste another second in Michael's presence, or she was going to be sick – that was the excuse she had told Moretti, anyway. She felt suddenly ill and she didn't want to risk infecting anyone else, and with more understanding than she had expected of a new authority figure in their little precinct, she had urged Izzy to leave at once.

                     Sadly, her exit hadn't gone unnoticed.

                     "Where's the fire?" a familiar British accent spoke from behind Izzy, and her blood ran cold in her veins. She was just about to reach the car, her keys between her fingers so she could defend herself if necessary, and she made sure Michael knew that when she turned around to face him. "Are you quite alright, Miss Holt?" he laughed softly, false care on his face as he frowned at the sight of her, nostrils flared, keys in hand, other hand balled in a defensive fist.

                     "You can drop the act, Michael", she spat at him, inching closer to her car only for Michael to take a step toward her as well, closing whatever distance she was trying to put between them.

                     He stared at her for a while in faux confusion, pretending not to know what she was talking about, but when her defiance didn't falter and she continued to stare him down, he broke into a skin-crawling laugh. "I see Mazikeen sang her song to you, even though I specifically warned her not to", the man sighed, the accent fading away into what sounded like a regular old American accent – it was unsettling, to say the least.