“Yes. By design. I am the ultimate cheater, didn’t you know? I can’t very well have others spying on my plans, or the angels would always know what I was about. Scrying won’t work, either. Your crystal ball will return only static. If I had known of your presence, it would’ve been the first thing I taught my daughter. I’ll remedy that shortly.”
“I do not advise that, not until the war is through.”
The Seer’s eyes filled with a gravity that made him pause with his foot on the first step.
“My goal is to keep Reagan alive,” she said. “I must do everything in my power to help her…” The woman shook her hands above her head theatrically. “If she stays in the middle of the two factions at war, she will perish.”
That stopped him short. He studied her for a moment, getting a read on her. There was no mistaking the mischievous glimmer in her pale eyes, the tiny smile playing about her lips, both seemingly unconscious. Very unlike the Custodes, for certain. But then, she was a Seer, not a warrior. She didn’t belong exclusively to the fighting sect of their people, although she’d obviously been trapped with them before coming to the Brink. The warrior fae had been hiding in the Flush, he knew, until recently. A suffocating sort of place, Reagan had said. The Custodes could be suffocating creatures, so he believed it.
He checked out her odd choice of clothing—a clean, flowered apron over a dingy dress overlapping baggy purple sweats with holes in the knees. A foot-long broom handle stuck out of one of the pockets, the end filed down into a point, like a stake. A silent threat to the vampires, perhaps, who likely wouldn’t take her seriously.
Her wild hair was ratty and unbrushed, and dirt marred her pale complexion. Her unkempt look had to be planned. She was going against the grain, as it were, of her very put-together Custodes counterparts.
Underneath all of that, though, he felt her frustration. Her plea for true freedom. Her wildness and her savagery. Her desire to play tricks and create mayhem. She had more to offer than what she’d been allowed to give, and she was begging someone to notice. Given the crow’s-feet around her eyes and lines denting the skin around her mouth and on her forehead, she’d been waiting a long time.
“Do you come here often?” he asked, wanting a bit more information.
The violent man huffed, leaning on his railing, continuing to watch.
The fae didn’t notice, her gaze glued to Lucifer. She knew he dealt in lies and tricks. Everyone did. She was trying to tread carefully.
It wouldn’t matter, not unless his daughter interjected. Reagan was the only being to have thoroughly bamboozled him and lived to tell the tale.
“She is the favorite of the fates,” said the fae, speaking more slowly than before. “I need to keep an eye on her.”
He squinted an eye, and a smile stretched across his face. “Care to give a real answer?”
The man from across the street skulked closer, his hands in his pockets, watching the fae warily.
Ah. There was too big of an audience.
“How’s this?” Lucifer sent a plume of fire at each of the watchers, shrouding them in hot air but not allowing the flames to touch their flesh. Reagan wouldn’t take kindly to him infringing on her territory.
A squeal rent the air from the skulking man, and then he set off running, through the flame and toward the cemetery. Lucifer doused the fire from the man’s head and clothes. He’d forgotten how prone to flight humans could be. The man’s hair would suffer, but the flame probably hadn’t touched skin for long enough to do more than give him a sunburn.
Lucifer tore the fire away from the violent man next door. Rather than run, he’d gone for the gun tucked into the back of his belt. Lucifer waved his hand and knocked the man’s hand aside.
“The fire was not a threat. It was a request for privacy,” he said.
“If you want privacy, ask for fucking privacy,” the man responded. “If you want to get shot, try to light me on fire again.”
“And you are not magical, correct?” Lucifer asked. “Because it would be wonderful to have you come to the Under—”
“Don’t even fucking say it.” The man reached the gun around to his back, using the wide radius Lucifer was allowing him, and stuffed it into his belt. “Don’t say another fucking word. Obviously you’re busy…” He waved at the fae. “I don’t want none of that. Handle your business.” He jogged down the stairs and walked off in the opposite direction.
“He’s not fond of knowing magic exists,” the fae said with a grin.
Judging by her delight, she’d clearly taunted him in the past. Very mischievous, indeed.
“So. You’ve escaped the Flush,” he said, monitoring her closely. “When this is all over, will you go back? Or will you stay here?”