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Dagon frowns. “Then why are you going back to Hell?”
“To get Sophia back!” I bark. I clench a fist and impale my human skin slightly with the ends of my talons, barely visible beneath my human disguise. I turn my back on my people, centering myself, wrestling my rage for control.
“Releasing Sophia from Hell is not a question of whether, but of how,” I inform them. “Returning to the head of Cephalus’s army will never be the right answer. Going to Hell isn’t even a question.” I whirl around, planting my hands on the table, looking each of my six in the eye one after the other. “So the only question left is how to make each of those things happen.”
Ishtar shifts uncomfortably in her seat and drums her fingers on the stack of files in front of her.
“What is it?” I bark at her.
Her eyes flash red for a moment. I’m the prince of Hell and the demon in charge on Earth, but Ishtar isn’t exactly bottom of the totem pole. She stares at me for a moment, silently, her expression frozen in one of forced neutrality. I too, frequently have to stop myself from impulsively ripping the heads off people who disrespect me to my face. I give her a moment, and she resettles into composure.
“I fear your focus on this woman is interfering with your perceptions,” she begins carefully. “The battle spilled out into the street. Although most businesses on this block were closed at the time, there was still significant human traffic on the street, not to mention the security cameras from every building with a straight shot of our doors. The teams you sent out managed to secure the tapes, but some had already been viewed and potentially copied. If those are uploaded online, demons will be exposed.”
“Just like aliens were exposed?” I retort impatiently. “Humans won’t change their world view based on something as inconsequential as video evidence. Those who believe in demons already will use the videos to support their bad behavior, and those who don’t will continue to not. This isn’t something a whole lot of people are on the fence about.”
She purses her lips and cocks her head. “This isn’t like aliens. The concept of aliens is utterly strange to their culture, but demons are rooted in the foundations of the dominant religions of the world. This is a representation of their worst fears, wrapped in human suits. You know how humans react to things that look like them, but which they’ve been convinced are not human. The second World War comes to mind.”
I begrudgingly acknowledge her point, but brush it off with a twitch of my shoulders. “Which is why I have the grunts running damage control.”
Her jaw and eyes turn to steel, and my temper flares in anticipation of her argument. “This is a bigger breach than anything we’ve seen on this continent since the clown incident of twenty-fourteen,” she says icily. “That took all seven of us working days on end, and we still barely managed to take control of the narrative. Our people have children, Lucifer, families who will suffer if we don’t stop the spread now.”
She’s right about that. I used someone’s family photo as a mirror the night I killed Naamah. The night Sophia was stolen from me. I try to picture the kids’ faces, then give up. “I don’t care.”
Her eyes widen, her expression turning stunned. “What?”
I straighten, glaring down at her from across the table. “I don’t care. I don’t care if the humans find out. I don’t care if Cephalus’s war breaks out in the open. I don’t care if the people of this plane come to the sudden and shocking realization that they are in the middle of an interplanar war. I don’t care if they choose sides, and I don’t care that they’ll likely choose Heaven’s thanks to better PR and Cephalus’s obvious fuck-ups.”
My voice is growing louder as I speak, but I don’t care about that either. “The only thing I care about in this world or any other is the beautiful human who crashed into my life and worked her way under my skin. The only human whose perceptions and opinions matter to me is sitting in Hell right now under my father’s control. He stole her from me, for nothing other than manipulation. I cannot sit by and let it happen.It. Isn’t. An. Option.”
The echoes of my voice ring off the walls. Ishtar and Hecate share a meaningful glance, which I ignore. Breathing raggedly and leaning on the table once more, I grip it as though it can keep me from flying apart. My talons, fully exposed now, dig into the polished surface.
“Your concerns are noted,” I say quietly. “And consequently disregarded. I’m going to Hell to bring Sophia back. You can help me, or you can walk away. It’s as simple as that.”
Moloch, who has been silent up until now, clears his throat. “Lucifer, you know me. You know that, on principle, I have nothing against sacrificing precious things for the greater good...” He shoots Ishtar a glance that appears respectful, if not actually apologetic. “But I believe we’re coming at this from the wrong perspective. Do you intend to storm the palace and retrieve your woman by force?”
It’s appealing, so much so that it makes my blood run a little hotter. Slicing through my father’s hedonistic entourage, letting a river of blood run through the palace, the screams of the fallen heralding my arrival. Watching him cower in his throne room without the support of his people…
No. It wouldn’t happen that way.
I take it back to the beginning. Arriving in Hell with an army, standing outside the palace while knowing the first sign of aggression would raise the alarm. Cephalus would use his harems, entourage, and guards to slow us down while he retrieved Sophia from wherever he has her stashed. If we made it to the bottom of the first staircase before he arrived with her already in his arms, choking the life out of her, we'd be lucky.
“He’ll want to barter with her life one way or another,” I murmur, thinking out loud. “Storming the palace will only make him more likely to kill her outright.”
Moloch speaks coolly. “Since I assume you prefer to avoid her execution, might I offer an alternative?”
I nod curtly.
“If, rather than take your entire company down to Hell with you, you were to take one or two trusted companions—generals who will watch your six and taste your wine for poison—you could approach the problem as a negotiation.” He raises a hand as my temper flares in his direction. “Not that there is anything to negotiate. Do not misunderstand me, sir. I certainly don’t suggest approaching this head-on or allowing Cephalus to make all of the rules, but I believe your success will be greater if you appear to be working with him rather than against him.”
I roll that over in my head as I pace the room. “Amon, you’ve been very quiet. What are your thoughts?”
Amon gives me a slight smile. “You know how I feel about stealth and strategy. Better than force ninety-nine percent of the time, and the one percent is only after you’ve crept up behind your enemy and are poised with blade in hand and an exit strategy. I much prefer mind games to war strategy.”
He shifts in his chair and casts a critical eye around the other occupants of the table. “Ishtar can oversee protection for our people while continuing to run her department. Hecate can strengthen the wards around this building and smooth things over with our business contacts. Dagon can handle the supply chain, keeping ours open and closing it for our enemies.”
While my crew members generally don’t like being told what to do by anyone other than me, we’re all aware that Amon is doing nothing of the kind. He’s an observer. He’s stating what can be done, not what should be done.
“Moloch, of course, can manage the corporate negotiations, and Fenriz can oversee the employees themselves, both in business and in battle, should there be one.”
