Beloved Evil

EIGHT

Tara turned around towards the voice and realized that it had come from a silhouette she had been certain was nothing but a shadow.

But then the shadow began walking towards her and the face of Lucifer was illuminated, the familiar burn of his eyes once again scorching her skin.

His steps almost didn't make a sound. The only thing Tara could hear was the sound of the wind and the sound of the ice cubes in his glass that bounced against each other as he walked.

Tara immediately relaxed when she noticed that his skin was clear and that his horns hadn't come out to play yet again. He was hauntingly beautiful as he was now, like an old photograph of an ethereal being, stuck in time, unable to grow old and rot as he was supposed to.

He stopped in front of her.

His disapproving eyes ran across her face before going down her body that was covered in the assigned dress and apron. His hand disappeared down his pocket for a moment before he pulled out a handkerchief.

He handed it to her, and she hesitantly took it, scared that one wrong move would set him off.

"For the blood," he said when she didn't move. She quickly began wiping her face, trying to get rid of the red substance.

"Fancy a drink?"

He turned around towards the corner he had come from.

Tara didn't know what to say. Was it a trick question? She was scared that one wrong word would put her right back in the cells. He seemed so casual, it didn't make sense.

"Sure," she decided to say, afraid of declining an offer from the Devil himself. "Thanks."

Lucifer dropped some ice in a glass before pouring some kind of brown liquid into it. He then walked towards the seating area, putting her drink on the table before sitting down in one of the chairs.

"Sit," he commanded.

Tara took a deep breath before slowly walking towards him. She took the glass and sat in a chair in front of him. She decided to take a sip of it, hoping it would calm her nerves.

The liquid burned as it went down her throat, but she welcomed it with open arms. It distracted her from the man in front of her. She didn't dare to look at him, so she just looked at the perfectly square ice cubs swimming around in her glass.

"How are you liking Hell so far?" he asked.

Tara shrugged, trying to look at him but failing miserably. He was too intimidating.

"It's alright," she lied.

Lucifer laughed, clearly spotting her false words.

"Good."

He took a big sip from his drink before clearing his throat.

"Now, that's about all the small talk I can muster."

He sat his glass down on the armrest. It was strange, the way he moved. So gently, yet with such harshness, and with a certain firmness that made it seem like every movement was calculated, like he was supposed so sit the glass exactly there and not an inch to the left or to right.

"Here's the thing," he began. "When my brother brought you to me, I was certain you were lying. But after watching you for a few days, I'm not quite so sure anymore."

Tara immediately looked up, blue eyes meeting red. Had he realized that she was there by mistake? The small sprout of hope inside of her began twitching.

"You see," Lucifer continued, "I have the ability to sense if humans belong here with me," he raised his glass, "or with the boring guy upstairs. So does the people who decides where to send humans when they enter limbo. My ability is stronger but they feel it nonetheless, which mean that they would have to have been wrong when they send you here. And that has never happened before. Ever."