Death Becomes Us

Chapter Six (Pt. 3)

I glance around to where the mountain of muscle nods, finding the indicated booth sitting in an opposite corner of shadow. A broad shouldered man with chiseled features and stark blond hair slicked back against his head lounges in the booth, his arms propped casually on either side. His eyes smolder in my direction and sculpted lips twitch up in an enticing smirk. Everything about him draws me to him and it is an effort to turn away.

Beez is gone, performing a cocktail act further down the bar, setting fire to a spray of alcohol over his captivated audience. I stare at the drink Beez had delivered; a deep red liquor that froths orange around the edges and smells faintly of apple. Six cubes of ice dance between the surface and bottom, but when I touch the glass it is warm. Marcus shivers beside me and moves to leave, stopping only when I don't follow.

"James, you know who that is, don't you?" Marcus asks quickly.

"I know who he is." He isn't exactly being subtle about it.

Pushing away from the bar, I get up and walk towards him, his smolder deepening as I make eye contact. Marcus jumps up and grabs my arm, holding me back. Even then I refuse to look away from the waiting man, desire and madness pooling in my stomach.

"Then why do you want to go over there?" Marcus hisses.

Why? I think the answer is obvious. For years I have watched mankind fall to his will, turning to war, manslaughter, and countless other horrors. He is the bane of my existence, but one I have never been able to face personally. For a while now I figured that Death was not worth his time, but now it seems that has changed. So the answer to the question of why? Because, when else would I get the chance to have a chat with Satan?

Marcus's grip tightens when I step forward again, the angel leaning against my pull.

"Rule number two," he gasps, "Protect your soul from corruption. What you're doing right now, James, it's completely going against that."

"Calm down, Marcus," I say. "I haven't chosen to follow him. We're just going to talk."

"Yeah and talking leads to action. Don't do this."

I shake him off and he falls into his seat, "Don't you have an appointment to get to?"

"James--"

Lucifer is spinning ice around in his own glass when I approach, bobbing his head to the heavy thumping of music that is more prominent near the booth. I slip in across from him and he nods in acknowledgement, but makes no move to speak. His pull is stronger now, but it is not hard to resist when I think of all the things he has done to life.

The song ends and Lucifer drains his glass, turning it upside down onto the table. His remaining ice roll around like dice before evaporating into cloudy vapors confined in their glass prison. He crosses his arms over his chest and his tanned skin briefly turns translucent, revealing the fire in his veins. Lucifer's gaze travels with curiosity up and down my body; his lips twitch with unrestrained appreciation.

"Well, well," he says, his voice carrying the accent of countless nations. "Look who found himself a soul."

"Lucifer," I say.

He grimaces. "Actually I much prefer to be called Donovan. I'm sure you understand, don't you James?"

After a moment I grudgingly relent and nod once. Out of the corner of my eye a blue light appears and I hear the spidery cracking of time and space rending. I don't have to look to know when Marcus falls through the fracture, his departure spreading a deep hollowness in my chest. Lucifer, on the other hand, turns to watch Death's temporary master leave, waiting until the gateway snaps shut.