Black Spring

For creatures so old and powerful, this struck me as suspicious, particularly in Alerian’s case. If this shifter was like the ones Alerian had created so many centuries ago, then he should have been able to detect traces of its power signature. Alerian had expressed a decided lack of interest in the shifter. Lucifer, too, had been dismissive of the idea that such a creature could exist. All the evidence seemed to point toward the theory I’d developed earlier at dinner—that Lucifer was the shifter’s master, that he was using the shifter to corner me.

If Lucifer was manipulating all this, then I might have made a huge mistake by quietly offering myself up for imprisonment. But if Lucifer was simply using the circumstances to move things in his favor, then there was hope for me.

It was a gamble, but I hadn’t seen any other way to get out from under Lucifer’s microscope. Any other way that didn’t involve bloodshed, that is.

I was so involved in my thoughts that I’d barely noticed where we were going. Now I realized my two escorts were leading me down—and down, and down. We were on a curving stone staircase in a narrow passage, almost like one that would lead up to a high tower in a fairy tale. Except that in this case, the princess was going in the wrong direction.

We descended into the earth, far below Lucifer’s mansion. I wasn’t sure that any house built near Los Angeles could possibly have a foundation like this—more evidence that Lucifer magically manipulated his home to suit his needs. For all I knew this part of the house could be in a completely different dimension.

At the bottom of the stairs was a short row of cells on both sides of a hallway—metal bars that blocked rooms made of cold stone. There were no windows, and only a few flickering torches of flame provided light.

“Where did Lucifer learn about prison decorating? The Count of Monte Cristo?” I said.

Neither of the two men with me responded. One of them took out a bunch of keys on a metal ring. The feeling that I was suddenly trapped in a Dumas novel persisted. He opened the metal door and the other jail keeper ushered me in. There was a stone bench to sleep on, but nothing more.

As the door slammed shut behind me, I felt a moment of profound panic. I was trapped, pinned like a butterfly on a board. Lucifer finally had me where he wanted me—under his thumb and unable to do anything about it. My baby, who had been so unusually silent and still during the events upstairs, fluttered his little wings in time with the rapid thrum of my heart. Would Nathaniel even be able to find me down here?

Lucifer’s goons drifted back up the stairs. I was underground, in the dark, and alone. But I didn’t have to stay here. I knew that as soon as I put my hands on the bars. There was no magic binding me, nothing to stop me from blasting the doors off and fighting my way out of the house.

Except that I would be leaving the others behind, who would no doubt pay a terrible price for my actions. I realized that I had essentially left my family and friends as hostages, and that Lucifer’s plot to get us all under one roof would make his plans—whatever it was he had in mind—much, much easier.

I really wished Daharan were here. He would never have allowed it to come to this.

“I see that your sins have finally come home to roost,” a voice slurred from the darkness.

I peered across the hallway, trying to make out the shadow hidden in the cell opposite mine.

“Who is it?” I said. “Come into the light.”

The figure moved from the back corner of the cell, shuffling slowly. For a strange moment I thought that it was a zombie, or some other kind of monster imprisoned by Lucifer. Then the person’s face emerged into the flickering light of the torch. The face had obviously been hit multiple times, but I still recognized it.

It was Jack Dabrowski, and I had only one thing to say to him.

“You are a moron,” I said.

He shook his head, though it was obviously painful. “How could I pass up the wedding of Lucifer? Everyone online was talking about it.”

“You could have passed it up by using your brain,” I said harshly. “I warned you over and over again that it was dangerous to investigate things you don’t understand. You’re lucky Lucifer hasn’t killed you already.”

“He didn’t kill me because I told him I was a friend of yours,” he said.

“And as you can see I’m in the cell across from you,” I said. “Not your best move. And we’re not friends. Last time we met you were a little annoyed with me because I’d locked you in the storage area in my basement.”

“Which was significantly more comfortable than Lucifer’s accommodations, by the way. But I thought that saying I was with you was a safe bet. Everything I’ve read has indicated that Lucifer lets you do whatever you want because you’re his favorite. What are you doing in the oubliette with me, anyway?” Jack asked.

“Just how much of my life is discussed on the Internet?” I asked, avoiding his question.