Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 32

I was foolish, of course, to think for one moment that Lucifer might not be here and my journey to his library might be a wasted one.

In my head, I'd imagined an intricate puzzle of trip wires and alarms to rival that of the Royal Mint, which I'd no doubt triggered as soon as I'd appeared outside the door to the library and maybe that wasn't far off the mark, although possibly on some kind of spiritual, nether-world level as opposed to an actual alarm system. But never-the-less, here Lucifer was, reclined on the sumptuous chaise-lounge by the fireplace with a book open on his lap. He wore a collarless white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the throat to reveal an expanse of smooth pale skin, around which a thin silver chain rested. Slim-fitting back pinstripe trousers were decorated with monochrome braces and he'd finished off the outfit with black lace-up ankle boots, perfecting that doesn't-need-to-try-too-hard indie rock god look that most wannabe indie rock gods would give their entire vinyl collection to achieve.

A peculiar wave of deja-vu sweep over me as I watched him sitting there, almost as if I'd seen him sitting there many times before and I was momentarily rocked by the familiarity of this scene even though this was only my second visit to Lucifer's library. Everything was as it had been before. The fireplace. The never-ending bookshelves. The mirror. I wasn't going to forget about the mirror this time, that was for certain, and it hung there like the proverbial elephant in the room, only this elephant wasn't for admiring. This elephant could tempt and lie. This elephant could devour hearts and crush souls. I could feel it mocking me from here, but chose to ignore its challenge and focus on the man – or beast, however you cared to look at it – himself.

Without waiting for an invitation, and getting none anyway seeing as Lucifer had not yet even acknowledged my presence, I crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite him, casting my gaze over the fireplace, studying the detail of the carved marbled mantelpiece.

"Megan, what a surprise," Lucifer said finally, as he looked up from his book and fixed me with a mock-pout. "You have neglected me terribly of late, you know."

"Oh, I'm sure you've coped perfectly fine without me," I said, raising a brow. "And besides, I wasn't entirely sure you'd want me to come back, considering how unhappy you were the last time I was here."

He stared at me for a moment, unblinking, his eyes darkening as if the pupils were fighting to take control of the irises. Flicking his tawny fringe off his forehead, he dismissed my comment with a wave of his hand.

"Last time was .... regrettable, to say the least."

"Regrettable because I didn't fall for your demon's trickery?"

Lucifer shook his head and tutted in admonishment. "Always so quick to point that finger of blame, aren't we? I was going to say, regrettable that you had to endure such cruelty. I certainly did not condone what happened. Unfortunately, Asbeel doesn't like being rejected. Never has. Personally I think he has abandonment issues. He's never quite recovered from darling daddy casting him out."

The laughter peeled from my lips before I could stop it. "Wait, you're not suggesting that Asbeel, or whatever his name is, is an archangel?"

"Certainly not," Lucifer said, looking genuinely offended. "He's just an angel. Or a Grigori to be more precise. You might be more familiar with the term Watcher angel, at least that's what he was before his rather spectacular tumble from grace. Although it's fair to say he does still like to watch. Quite the voyeur, that one." He sighed wistfully. "But no matter, it has been dealt with and he shan't commit such an affront upon you again."

"You dealt with it? What's the standard disciplinary procedure in Purgatory these days? Verbal warning, written warning and then you're out on your ear?"