5. Chapter 5

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“The investigation is on-going, Ms. Decker. You know the rules.”

“I found the car, remember.” Chloe parried, holding her nerve. “All I am asking for is a little update. It’s not much to ask for, considering.” The Agent spared a glance towards Lucifer who was helpfully being intimidating from behind Chloe and she ruthlessly pressed her advantage. Why other people were scared of Lucifer she couldn’t fathom, but she’d use it anyway.

“I’m not interfering with your investigation. I don’t bother your people; I don’t make mistakes in front of the press, I am demonstrably being helpful to you. A little information would go a long way, and you know you need all the help you can get here. I don’t need to officially work with you to be useful. There’s no disadvantage to you in helping me,” Chloe pointed out as reasonably as she could.

Johnson was beginning to look harried, whether it was from Chloe’s attack of logic or Lucifer’s looming presence, she neither knew nor cared. She wanted to scream she’s my daughter, you bastard but an emotional plea would never work.

“My word on the matter is final. Thank you for bringing the evidence to our attention. Our forensic teaming is analysing it as we speak. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Please wait here and Julie will walk you through what she’s going to do with your phone.”

“She can have it now, I can leave it here. ” Chloe said. “And then I can go along with you.”

“I’m afraid she’s dealing with another avenue of investigation at the moment. But there will be plenty of time to set the trap, I promise. Please be patient. You know how this works.”

Chloe didn’t bother replying.

She turned to Lucifer.

“Lucifer, I need a favour.” She cringed slightly at the wording, but it was too late to take it back. Reluctantly she acknowledged that it might be time to admit how much she owed him for his help so far. If Lucifer had been another cop – not that any were currently talking to her - she wouldn’t have batted an eye. You did favours for friends without another thought. Lucifer, however, was not a cop, and he meant something else entirely when he said favour.

Lucifer, naturally, glowed with delight. He was currently sitting in her chair at her desk, but at her utterance of that cursed word, he stood so that he could take one of her hands in his and look her in the eye.

“A favour? Why of course, Detective. I mean, you already owe me your soul but I, –"

“Excellent,” Chloe said, interrupting him before he could get started and firmly taking her hand back, resisting the urge to wipe it on her trousers because she wasn’t actually five. “I need a hacker. A really good one.”

Lucifer smirked. “Deal.”

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“My Lord!” A demon squeaked as Lucifer landed in Hell – flying so fast that it looked like teleportation to those with lesser senses. “You have returned!”

Lucifer prowled past the snivelling creature, tucking his wings back with timeless grace. There was work to be done. Angelic interference –Amenadiel would pay – meant that Lucifer was restricted to cumbersome human methods of finding the spawn, but find her he would. No one stole from him.

Five years was a lot of time to adjust, but Chloe had a better grasp on this detective business. With their combined skills and resources, Lucifer knew he’d be able to keep his word.

Chloe needed a hacker – Lucifer would provide.

He could name three people who owed him Favours after Lucifer had fixed their problems– a gambling debt, an affair and a new identity – who were supposed to be good with computers, but Lucifer didn’t know how good they were. He could go and ask of course, and test, but that was just so inefficient when he knew the Name of someone with the skills he needed and had much easier ways to command their loyalty than a debt.

‘Connor Brent good’ the Agent had said.

Done, Lucifer thought. If Brent had come to Hell then he belonged to Lucifer. End of.

“You there,” Lucifer snapped, clicking his fingers in summoning as he arrived at the entrance of the First Circle.

“Sire?” The guard who swiftly dropped to his knees – twelve foot tall with red curled horns as if a goat reference would actually flatter Lucifer - enquired delicately. Always wise to be cautious when the Devil called – even if you were one of his demons.

“The records for this Circle?”

“If you’ll come this way sir, the Archives are at the end,” the demon replied diffidently. He managed to make twelve feet of monstrosity look meek as he rose and shuffled along three steps behind Lucifer who led the way even when – especially when – he didn’t know where he was going. The First Circle rarely required his personal attention.

Perhaps he ought to redecorate, Lucifer mused as he passed through the lightest punishment zone, a spider web of branching corridors with numerous doors, all with a name and a date on in neatly printed text. It had been a few centuries since Dante, after all, and whilst there was something to be said for the classic style, his tastes had evolved a great deal in the previous five years.

Perhaps glass and metal? Or, he thought gleefully, white and gold. That would be fun. That would show mortals the dangers of preconceived notions. He could even make the Gates gold and stick a cherub statue on top.

Humans had a nasty habit of breeding like rabbits so there were literally tonnes of names. Thankfully, Lucifer was an archangel, and even paperwork – Heaven’s invention, the bureaucratic bastards – would submit to his will.

Or it would, if Lucifer hadn’t rounded up a few enterprising souls to introduce computers Downstairs just so that he didn’t have to play their game.

A quick search of the Registry found two million seven hundred and sixty five thousand names who died in the year two thousand and eleven Anno Domini. Narrowing it down through the various ingenious filters took about five minutes, he got it down to the tens of thousands just by remembering the country-filter and then further down when he went by state.

Such were the perks of having several billion souls really very eager to be data entry clerks for the rest of eternity instead of their real Judgement. Lucifer was such a merciful lord really.

Name: Connor BrentPhysical Age: 22Number of Rebirth’s: 18Sins: 5206Judgement: 5206 Years, C1.Elapsed: 5.189 YearsReassessment: 2600.5 Years.

Boring.

Lucifer scrolled past the summary to click on the more detailed list extracted from the Scales. Nope, no interesting sins, just the bog standard. Lying, stealing and blasphemy. The only page Lucifer actually needed was the details of Brent’s placement. Hell expanded exponentially, each soul powering the place just a little more. Naturally, it made organising it all a right pain. Maybe he wouldn’t redecorate. At least the current system worked.

Circle: 1Degree: 52-PZ8VHArc Minute: 37-AF8BCArc Second: 17-ZR2Y76BMilliar Second: 59-65PG2EMicro Arc Second: 28-CH7YO0A1

Orientating himself in a nanosecond, Lucifer flew and landed in Connor Brent’s own private Hell.

The First Circle had been one of Lucifer’s innumerable attempts to change the popular opinion of him. A nice little bit of PR. How could he get the blame when he let the Damned invent their torment themselves? Genius!

It hadn’t worked of course.

Still, it gave Lucifer some small satisfaction to see a job well done, and it had been a massive saving on personnel.

Brent’s Hell appeared to be the Neolithic era. How nostalgic.

“Who are you?”

Lucifer turned, eyeing the withering mortal soul doubtfully. He clutched a flint knife and had the gaunt look of surviving on the edge of starvation for decades. His skin was leather and utterly filthy and he was dressed in the poorly cured skins of some unfortunate creature. He also reeked to high heaven. A marvellous saying, that. Humans.

“My name is Lucifer,” The Devil said mildly, with a genial smile on his face.

The Name reverberated around the sliver of a dimension like the clashing of cymbals: It made the colours brighter, the sounds louder, and the shadows longer.

Brent, at least, showed the sense to believe him instantly. Lucifer had grown so used to the amused disdain of the humans on Earth when they heard his name that watching the lad drop to his knees, clutching at his bleeding eardrums was very refreshing indeed.

Why, Lucifer was starting to feel fond of the fellow already.

“Oh that’s much better. You will be an excellent example for Chloe,” Lucifer beamed, patting Brent on the head. “Good mortal.”

“Erm, thank you? Sir? My Lord? Mr. Devil?” Brent stuttered nervously, eyes rolling up in his head to keep sight of Lucifer’s hand, ruffling his hair.

“Enjoying Hell?” Lucifer asked politely, stepping away and clapping his hands to summon a few minor imps. Bit of a failed experiment, imps, but once he’d Created the poor buggers he felt responsible for them and had had to find them jobs instead of just abandoning them like Someone he could name. Or Name, as it was, down here.

“Not really?” Brent asked. “Although I’m sure it could be much worse, I like it as it is actually. It’s perfect, I mean awful? Yes I hate it, please leave me here.” Brent edged away from the imps awkwardly as one of the little blue ones nearly beheaded him with the table it was carrying, invisible under it’s mass.

“Given our delightful surroundings,” Lucifer said, flouncing into the elaborately carved chair the imp laid out for him and waving a proprietary hand to encompass the ancient forest surroundings, “I assume in life you were rather fond of modern conveniences? Tea?”

“Oh god yes.” Brent cried, falling into the opposite chair with an expression of wonder.

Lucifer pursed his lips.

“I mean, yes please? I absolutely didn’t say the G-word, sir, and if I did I didn’t mean it like that?”

Lucifer picked up the teapot just deposited by yet another imp. “I’ll be mother shall I?” He smiled.

Brent swallowed a scream of terrified babbling, as grey as ash he shivered on his chair – nowhere near as fine as Lucifer’s own, and stared at the swiftly appearing tablecloth, fine porcelain tea set and finger sandwiches as imps ran to and from a shadowy door that hadn’t existed five seconds ago.

“Is this some new torture?” He whispered. “Am I not allowed to eat? Will it turn to dust in my mouth?”

“Do you want it to?” Lucifer asked leaning forward with wide eyes.

“No?” Brent replied. “Of course I don’t, I’m starving but, – "

Lucifer sighed, sitting back radiating disappointment. “But this is Hell. Eugh. Humans.”

Brent wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite in fact; he drank his tea in silence, savouring every sip as he watched his host for any sign of danger. He’d lost count of the time he’d spent eking out some form of survival in this damned place. It had been months since he’d last managed fire and he hadn’t spoken to anyone since the day he died.

Devil or no devil, at least he was someone to talk to. It would almost be worth being whipped or whatever else Satan had in mind as long as he stayed.

If he were still alive, his vocal cords would have rusted from disuse, as he was dead, his soul alone felt the pain of complete isolation. He hadn’t exactly been a social man, not offline anyway, but he hadn’t realised how much he’d miss people when all he had for company was the mud and the bugs. He shuddered. Who knew it was possible for them to grow so big? To say nothing of the toadstools.

“This isn’t your doing then?” Brent ventured softly, examining Lucifer over the rim of his cup, craving conversation like air and having no idea where to start. Church had never covered this.

“Do you think I have the time?” Lucifer scoffed. “Millions of you die every day, and most of you come to me. If I Judged everybody individually I’d run out of eternity.”

“Delegation?” Brent offered, slowly reaching for the plate of sandwiches as if he’d scare them off with a sudden movement. He still watched Lucifer though, just in case.

“And give that sort of power to a demon? No, it’s automated.”

“You have machines here?” The longing in his voice was unmistakable. Right now the highest bit of tech he owned was a sharpened stick. He hadn’t even seen metal yet.

“In the main Realm, yes, of course, how else would I sort you all out? You’d have been tapped for maintenance duties in another decade or so, and then you’re file would have appeared on my desk.”

“I would have been…?” The thought of an entire decade spent here in this hell – or Hell – was soul crushing. He could barely believe that this conversation was happening, he’d never been big on faith. And yet why use the conditional perfect tense unless the situation was changing? But hope was a cruel mistress.

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. Brent.”

“Anything to get out of here,” Brent promised fervently, sneaking another dozen finger sandwiches and sliding eleven of them under his rag of a jacket.

“Yes,” Lucifer took a genteel sip, “Yes, I rather thought you might say that.”

#

The station went absolutely silent when the woman strode in.

She was beautiful, Chloe thought unwillingly, beautiful in the way only airbrushing was supposed to be able to achieve. It was impossible not to notice her.

She was six feet, easily, wearing a red dress that just about covered her hips and breasts and she had the kind of long flowing blonde hair that just dared the wind to tangle it. Chloe glanced down at her feet, having done the inevitable once over, the woman was wearing sensible shoes, fashionable to be sure, but not the ridiculously impractical high heel she’d half expected. You could run in those.

Good choice.

“Where’s Lucifer?” She demanded, surveying the scurrying station with an imperious eye.

Oh great, Chloe thought, her opinion of the other woman taking a guilty nosedive. One of them.

Lucifer’s work with Chloe did not go unnoticed by his hoard of rabid fans. When they wanted a second – ninth, darling, really what has Dan done to you – round they knew they could find him at the precinct. Great, just great, she hoped understanding Lucifer’s crazy wasn’t an early warning sign for her own sanity.

The not-so-subtle glances in her direction – Chloe sunk in her chair to no avail, her colleagues were all traitors – ensured that Lucifer’s latest one night stand easily picked her out of the crowd.

“You!” She looked down her perfectly straight nose, pursing her bow shaped lips – matching lipstick, naturally – in some twisted emotion. It didn’t detract from her looks at all.

“So,” the woman spat, eyes sparking with incandescent rage. “You are the mother of Lucifer’s child?”

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