AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It is,” he tells me with a little smile. He starts rummaging through cupboards. “But the servants don’t use every kitchen every time.”
“There are more like this?”
“So many,” he sighs from the depths of a closet. “Five of these banquet-sized kitchens on this level, five more of the same one level up. They get smaller and more personal on the upper floors. The suites all have their own private kitchens.”
“Hard to imagine Diana pouring herself a bowl of cereal in the morning.”
Lucifer snorts as he crosses to a different closet. “She would never. The private kitchens are staffed on demand, andshedemands. Ah. Found it, the bastard.”
He emerges from the closet with something that looks like a large tackle box covered in runes. He sets it on the table and flips it open, humming thoughtfully as he sorts through the various sectioned layers. Some of it is recognizable—gauze is gauze on any plane, apparently—but some of it is baffling.
“Is that a throwing star?” I ask.
He chuckles. “No, but it could do some damage if you wanted it to. It’s a scale pry.”
“Is that what it sounds like?”
“Yep,” he says as he pulls a tub of ointment out of the box along with a few other things. “It’s not uncommon for scales to get in the way of healing. I’ve seen sparks slip through scales and start burning the flesh beneath. If you don’t pry those suckers up and clean it out of there, the soft flesh will just keep charring away until it festers. Scales make for excellent incubators, and that’s not always a good thing.”
He moves his collection of things over to me and sits down where he has unobstructed access to my arm. He picks up a small, flexible bottle and takes the cap off. “Just water,” he tells me, and begins squirting it over my skin. It burns like fire when it hits my cut and I hiss between my teeth.
“Okay, holy water,” he admits with a chagrined expression. “Some blades are cursed.”
“Curses just fly all over the place around here, don’t they,” I grumble.
Lucifer takes a clean cloth and begins wiping the bloody water off my arm. “It is Hell,” he reminds me with a slight smile.
A plaintive sigh escapes me as Lucifer sets the cloth aside. He narrows his eyes at the cut and puts his fingers on either side of it. “Every time I run into another thing I don’t know about Heaven and Hell, it makes me wish I’d gone to church.”
“Wouldn’t have helped,” he replies absently. “I don’t think you need stitches, but I’m not sure.”
“Let’s risk it,” I tell him with a slight shudder. “I hate stitches.” He nods and reaches for the pot of ointment.”What do you mean it wouldn’t have helped?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the renewed stinging as the ointment touches my wound.
“Humans don’t really know anything about Heaven or Hell,” he tells me. “Human religions all have a little of this or a little of that right, but most of what they think they know is nonsense. Okay, just about finished. Hold still.”
It always surprises me how gentle he can be. Here’s a man who just sprouted wings and slammed a full-grown demon around like a three-pound sack of potatoes, handling my injured arm with a feather-light touch. He takes his time, scowling in concentration, then gently releases my arm back to me.
“How does that feel?”
“Doesn’t sting anymore,” I tell him. “It’s not cutting off any circulation. Feels good.”
“Good.” He starts cleaning up the supplies, getting everything back in the box in a fraction of the time it took him to find it all. “Stay here a moment—there’s one more thing we need to handle.”
“What’s that?” I query, but he’s already back in the closet, putting the tackle box away. He gives me an assessing look as he passes by again, then he disappears into the pantry for several minutes. When he returns, he’s carrying a plate full of sandwiches.
“Eat,” he tells me as he sits down. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“The cut isn’t that bad,” I tell him with a smile, but I take a sandwich anyway. As soon as I bite it, I start feeling better. A little more centered and grounded, a little less disturbed. He watches me closely while I eat. He finally nods, satisfied, and takes a sandwich for himself. A warm feeling of contentment spreads through me as I watch him watch me eat the food he made for me. I can’t really put my finger on why, but I would rather have the sandwich than the thousands of dollars’ worth of designer dresses he tried to sweep me off my feet with initially.
I feel steadier once we’re finished eating, anchored and ready to take on whatever darkness is in store for us. Satisfied that I’ve been thoroughly taken care of, Lucifer leads me back through the servant halls to the corridor where we left the body. Of course the corridor looks completely empty, but for a moment I’m afraid we were gone long enough for the body to be discovered.
Lucifer winks at me and waves his hand again. The shimmer returns, then retreats, revealing the fallen would-be assassin. Lucifer hoists the body over one shoulder and ushers me onward, deeper into the grungy wing of the palace.
“I was going to ask him before he went all psycho on me,” I start, nibbling on my lip for a moment before continuing. “But what is this part of the palace for? It seems to be less important than all the other places I’ve seen.”
“As intended,” Lucifer says with a sly smile. “This entire wing, from base to point, is set apart for the practice and education of magic. It’s home to our most closely protected secrets, and most carefully guarded denizens. It’s the hospital, in some ways, and the truest representation of Hell in others. Of course, in cases like these, the two aren’t mutually exclusive at all.”
“Are there any places in this wing where a small, secret strike team would teleport from for some reason?”
