The Devil Likes Lemon Cupcakes

The Devil And Montmartre

                                        »When you feel my heat

                                             Look into my eyes

                                       It's where my demons hide

                                              Don't get too close

                                                 It's dark inside

                                       It's where my demons hide.«

                                               Imagine Dragons

Raindrops played their melody on the pavements of Paris, creating that weird metal scent of water meeting hard ground heated by the sun. I quite enjoyed that smell, it reminded me of summer. The trees were bowing, as if to welcome us to the City of Love. Their long branches reached for us like delicate hands of a skeleton, inviting in a loving embrace of oblivion. As we walked further away, the trees did not seem welcoming anymore, rather, they were waving goodbye.

»We are –«

»Don't talk to me.« I suddenly snapped at Lucifer. I was still really mad of what happened with Lena before we left, I was still upset with myself for not protecting my friend, for being so weak, for fleeing with him.

After I got the new information about Miha, I mean Mihael, I had to tell – or at least warn my friend somehow. A fate that I have, is a fate I wish for no other, non the least, a friend. I was guarded by the Devil, she was...in embrace of an Angel. Who was worse, I do not know, but I did know that for them mortals were nothing more than pawns on a chess board, easy to sacrifice for a rightful cause. But how do you tell your friend to watch out, to stay away from the one she's falling in love with...and the reason is – because he's an angel?

Well, Lucifer's answer was simple, - you don't. He said I was forbidden to reveal anything delicate, as he put it, for his cover will be blown. And that would be a direct violation of the rule number two:

You must not tell anyone about me.

I went anyway. Prepared for the wrath of My Dark Prince, prepared to take any punishment upon myself, because at the end of the day it was my fault.

But the Devil would not stop whispering in my ear. You will sound mental. You have no proof. He will not come back, it is pointless. And the more he spoke,the more sense words got. I have decided on keeping quiet, harboring my dark secret in the hell pits where it belonged. Besides, there was still a possibility that all this was just happening inside my head. Fingers crossed.

So I was lastly escorted by Gaja's lovely sentence: »Lucija, carpe that diem!«

And I will. But I don't need to listen to him.

Lucifer decided to take on a human form, since Layla safely slept in my bag, and in his words she was a better alarm for danger than him. So I was marching up the stairs with a cat in my bag and a demon I would not talk to. A silly thought occurred in my mind, a very silly one indeed...He needn't have to walk with my like a human, he might as well stayed demonic, only he chose not to. Maybe that was his way of apologizing.

»Where the hell are we, anyway?« I rolled my eyes, crashing the silence.

Lucifer gazed at me with that half-look. He was still wearing the same jeans as before and a black leather jacket. The jacket made his shoulders even broader, which emphasized how tall he really was. »So, she talks.«

I ground my teeth. »Just answer the question.« That half-look he did, - I absolutely despised it. It made me feel all fluttery and gooey inside, all the feelings I hated lately.

»Montmartre.«

At the top of the stairs was an amazing view of entire Paris. Buildings seemed so thick, so next to each other, as if they were afraid to let go. Clouds were painted in gray and white, painted with a giant, cold brush. I wasn't used to large cities, and Paris, frankly, scared me. To me it looked like a big maze, easy to get lost in. But charming, non the less.

Lucifer and I were standing beneath a tall street lamp, taking in the sweet smell of chocolate that swirled from local pancake shops. »It is named after a bishop that was beheaded here, a long time ago.«

»That's rather morbid.« I squinted up at the sky again.

»Well, the French and chopping off heads, it just goes together.« Lucifer placed his hands in jacket pockets.

»It's like a painting.«

»Hm?«

»The scenery. It's like a painting.«

His lips curved into a smile. That was just one of the little things I noticed about him – he smiled more often when he was human. »It was painted a thousand times. By a thousand artists. In all of the seasons. All of the months. In every weather.«

»Really?«

»Degas, Picasso, Van Gogh...They all painted up here.« He began walking away, mesmerized by what seemed his own memories.

»Van Gogh, was that the guy who cut off his ear and sent it to his mistress?«

A faint cackle left his throat and he squeezed the top of his nose, the way he sometimes does. »No, Vincent was just really high on opium that time. He was shaving and accidentally cut off a small piece of his ear. Opium caused him to get seizures.«

»You knew Van Gogh?« I asked in disbelief.

Lucifer threw another glare back at me. »He did not know me as the 'Devil', only as a fellow friend interested in art.«

We passed a building as pale as that one feather the angel left behind, as lovely and gentle like a virgin's innocence. A building protected by two statues of brave horsemen.

»What was he like?« I asked.

His shoulders moved when he breathed in that heavy, Paris air. »He was...Fou Rou.«

»What?« Lucifer mouthed that word with a lovely french accent, only I did not understand its meaning.

»They called him Crazy man. Women loved him, he loved women, but never the same. He attacked me with a razor once.«

»Excuse me?« My voice sounded more pitchy than usually. We were left standing at the beginning of a long, tree-lined lane. It didn't take me long to notice that we were actually at a cemetery. »What are we doing here?« I forgot my previous question and examined the stone crypts and gray tombstones, statues of old men with beards and playful, yet sad children. One might think that they were meant to be angels, but I knew, I knew those statues could only be memories of grieving mothers.

Lucifer stopped at a plain gravestone, with no angels, no roses, with only an elegant writing adorning above.

Lou Andreas Salome.

»I told you, this is why we got here. To meet a very old friend of mine.« He swiftly replied.

Author's note: I can't thank you enough for all your love on this story, all the votes, all the comments - they make me smile every time I read them! Really, it would be a grim world without you. <3