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“News flash. Everyone could kill me, so if I was only mouthy to people who were weaker than me, I’d never talk again. Besides, if you wanted to kill me, you could have done it already. Whatever you need from me, I’d guess you need me alive for it. I doubt you’ll murder me over a little sass. What sort of king of hell keeps that position if he can’t stand up against some snark?”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and the gesture felt like a win. How many could claim to manage to annoy the devil enough to make him act like a teenage girl?
He set his drink down, then picked up a box from a side table against the wall.
He placed it in front of me, and I backed up. “The last time I opened a box from you, I got sucked into hell.”
“And since you are already here, what are you worried about?” He leaned down and flipped open the lid, but instead of that horribly smoke that had escaped the last time, only a dark interior sat. He reached in and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. After jotting something down, he handed it to me.
There were words, but like the sign on that bar, I couldn’t read them at first. It took a minute for them to shift and form something coherent. ‘“Wear more appropriate clothing next time.’”
“So you can read it.”
“Yes, and did you really invite me here to insult my outfit?”
“No. It just seemed a worthwhile message.”
I handed the piece of paper back. “Grant said that language is thought to thought which is why I can understand.”
Lucifer shook his head. “Verbal language is like that, not written. This has happened before?”
“A sign in one of the little towns. I saw the weird scribbles, then they sort of shifted before my eyes and I could read it. What language is that?”
“An old demon tongue, one of the basic written languages used in hell. You shouldn’t be able to read it.” He frowned, then nearly whispered, “I wonder…” He wrote something else, then handed the page back.
Again, the letters were foreign, meaning nothing to me at first. They were written differently from the other language, with more flowing strokes that reminded me of cursive. Finally, they also shifted and when I could read them, I sighed. “‘You are an adult and should dress like one.’ Who knew the devil had such bad jokes?”
Except, when I looked at him, he didn’t look amused. There was a light there, in his dark eyes, one that said he was far too interested in the fact that I could do that.
“What language is this?”
“An exceedingly old one, one before there were men, before demons, the uniting language of the first. There are few who can read it.”
“So why can I?”
“What happened in that field?”
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“You lost your corporeal form. What happened, exactly?”
I wanted to ask how he even knew about that, but his answer wouldn’t be useful. He’d just tell me that he knew everything that happened in his realm. I’d be annoyed and no better off, so I kept the question to myself. “If you know that, you know as much as I do.”
“What happened in the shack? How did you do that? What did it feel like? What were you thinking?” He rattled off the questions as if he had a list already prepared.
“A crazy man tried to cut me up, I have no idea how I did it, it felt uncomfortable and I was thinking that I really didn’t want to die.” Each answer I gave was full of ‘you idiot’ attitude. What did hethinka person who was going to be killed by a machete-wielding maniac would think?
“So it was a reflex? A useful one, at that.” He met my gaze. “So do it now.”
“Do what?”
“Turn incorporeal again.”
“I can’t. Don’t you think I’ve tried since then?”
“I could try to kill you. It worked the last time.”
I held my hands up. “Whoa, now, let’s leave that to plan B.”
