Silence falls, and I give them a moment to absorb the severity of the news. “Okay…” Niklaus finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh. “I’m struggling to see what the big deal is.”
My hands fly out in exasperation, looking among the group for support and finding none. “Thebig dealis that without an actual representative in place, their imaginations have been allowed to go wild. There’s no rhyme or reason to their logic. There's a giant rabbit that lays eggs for reasons I cannot decipher. Do they not realize that rabbits can’t lay eggs? Where are these eggs coming from, and why are they hiding them in each other’s yards?”
“Further,” I continue, glaring at Cecil as he yawns again, “they create idols for these make-believe figures out of chocolate andeatthem in some sort of strange sacrificial ritual.”
“Sacrifices?” Azrael and Damien blurt at the same time, although their expressions are quite different. Azrael looks horrified, whereas Damien appears… dare I say, excited?
“They have theirchildrendevouring the likeness of this supposed Easter Bunny.”
“That’s metal as fuck,” Xalreth says from the back of the room, and when I glare at him, he only holds his hand up in a strange symbol with his pointer finger and pinkie raised.
“My point is that humans, without the proper guidance, will warp this figurehead into something shameful.”
“What’s the harm in it, Micah? I mean, they think I’m a jolly man with a belly,” Niklaus says, and Damien gets a smug smile on his face as he drags his palm over Niklaus’s stomach.
“Hands above the table,” I warn with a glare, but his smirk only digs deeper into his cheeks.
Beatrice timidly holds her hand up in the air, and I groan inwardly as I nod in her direction. “They believe I’m a tiny little pixie.” Her squeaky voice is so quiet it barely even reaches me.
“That is correct, and supports the exact point I’m trying to make. They come up with their own images, and they don’t care that you’re a real… er, person. If left unchecked, they probablywould’ve spun stories about the horrid wench that visits in the middle of the night and rips their teeth from their gums.”
Her mouth drops open in horror. “I would never—”
“Yes, yes,weknow that, but we’ve covered this in the past. Humans are idiots. They need help deciphering what is real and what is make-believe.”
“While I hear what you’re saying, Micah… how does that benefit us?” Drekoth traces his fingertip across the table and doodles what looks like a pair of breasts in the sheen. After he draws two nipples in the center, he glances back up at me with a lazy grin. “The Easter Bunny isn’t real. Why do we care what the humans think?”
“If we don’t have control of the narrative, they can make each one of us look bad. But for once in your life, you are correct, Drekoth.” He doesn’t know whether to preen from the praise or scowl at the insult, so he just pouts instead. “The Easter Bunnywasn’treal… until now.”
Chapter 2
Xalreth
I will not murder The Lucifer…
I will not MURDER The Lucifer…
Have you ever hated someone so much that you had a wet dream about their untimely demise? God, what I wouldn’t give to snap the leg off one of these chairs and stab him through the heart. Might not kill him, but fuck if it wouldn’t be a good time.
My teeth grind until they ache as I stare at the back of Drekoth’s perfectly coifed head. Twenty inches of silky black hair fall in a curtain down his shoulders, not a single strand out of place.Exactlytwenty inches.
Andhow,precisely, do I know it’s exactly twenty inches long? That answer is actually quite simple. I know how long it is because every God-forsaken morning, he forces me to measure itand trim the edges. Then I have to measure it again, just to be on the safe side.
Why?
Because he must be‘perfect for his adoring fans,’which somehow means they might realize if his precious locks are a centimeter too long. He is convinced—and these arehiswords, definitely not mine—that if it isn’t perfect, it distracts from his ‘dreamy orange eyes.’
Gag me with a spoon.
The real reason is because he is a royal pain in my ass.
“Speak plainly, Micah,” Drekoth sniffs, fluttering his hand in front of his mouth to stifle a yawn. “There are those of us in the room that might not pick up on your hidden meanings from all this melodramatic droning.”
Attempting to center myself with a deep breath, my gaze finds Damien’s. He rolls his eyes, nodding his head towards Drekoth before miming a jerk-off motion in the air. My temper subsides and I roll my eyes in agreement, and his smile softens into something he doesn’t show many people.
Behind his sassy exterior, he’s a good guy, and I miss my old friend.
It’s a reminder of the days when my position filled me with pride. When I felt like I was making a difference in this life, even if it was a bit unorthodox. When Damien was The Lucifer, we were tackling social issues and finding ways to improve life in Hell. And, sure, not all of his schemes worked out as expected. I’m pretty sure that curse cloud is still roaming the east side, but rumor suggests it’s weakening. Regardless, Damien cared deeply about demonkind as a whole, even if he hid it behind all that sass.
