(Still a flashback)

In the dimmed room, the fire cracked and a television on were the only noises present in the soundless night. The news broadcast about an abandoned concert hall ablaze in a city in France. “The officials don’t know what started the fire, but they are positive there haven’t been any casualties—”

The television shut off with a click from the remote, and an eerie quietness fell in the living room. Pink snowflakes drifted down from the darkened sky that had subtle tints of lucid red, thus giving an apocalyptic glow in the twilight.

Thomas Pitch lounged on an overstuffed loveseat, his lavender eyes observing his boss’s mysterious gaze. He talked about the evening’s showing and what items were on display.

Lifting a glass to his friend, Lucifer Morning Star smirked at Pitch’s remarks. He finished the remaining of his drink, the booze burning and smoky like the fire embellished in France.

“So, elaborate on the incident that happened in the Underground Infernal Organization,” inquired the Devil, who titled his head to listen to what Pitch had to say.

The High-warlock explained bumping into Katerina Dixon. “Luckily, she was too engrossed to pretend to be distracted to notice me. Our plan would’ve been ruined if she had figured out I was alive.

“I trust you, knowing what you are doing.”

A blush of gratitude blossomed on Pitch’s cheeks. “I must be honest, Lucifer. I love the UFO, but I absolutely hate selling Galas like they’re objects, which is disgusting to me. I’ve been wanting to ban the Infernals from doing that.”

“Well,” Lucifer replied thoughtfully, “if another organization forms next year, I’ll discuss it with my Princes of Hell.” He mused, “So, Katerina was the only one to do all this damage?”

Pitch described the Prowler setting the abandoned concert ablaze and killing everyone there—well, almost everyone. “There was another girl there,” he puzzled. “I could only see the tips of her black hair because she wore a cloak with her hood on.”

Leaning in and lowering his voice, he continued, “The strangest part of this was that I felt incredible magic from Katerina. However, I’m not sure if the Infernals attacking her simultaneously overwhelmed me, sensing the other girl’s frisson, but the lights flickered off and on at the most convenient time when those items and captives disappeared. Kate’s powers don’t seem to match that.”

Pressing his lips, Lucifer considered the magical system and the differences between supernatural abilities: “There are rumors that Katerina has angelic powers, so she could’ve done that, but usually Infernals do that kind of trait demonic magic, not Choirs.”

“I don’t think Michael would hire an Infernal to help him. Nevertheless, have on mingling with his precious Katerina,” frowned Lucifer.

“We know the Archangel is close to her because of her parents, but you are right, he would have no meaning with an Infernal.” Pitch shrugged and reclined back in his chair. The girl could’ve been a Cambion or a witch because they can also interact with physical matter magically.”

Pitch chuckled. “Also, I forgot to mention a jerk claiming he had the sword.”

“Asmosdues told me,” Lucifer grumbled. He rose from his leather sofa and said, “I need to get back to work.”

“Wait!” beseeched Pitch, his lavender eyes sparking with earnestness.

Lucifer sat back slowly on his couch, examining his best friend with enlightened suspicion.

Scooting at the edge of his cushioned chair, Pitch’s heart was beating a bit faster for some reason as he reached inside his trench coat. “When I noticed Katerina, I assumed she was at the auction to stop it and take everything valuable.” He revealed in his palm the glistering ruby showcased. He grinned. “Don’t ask me how I stole this, but I thought of you.”

Before the Devil could protest that he wasn’t a jeweler, Pitch cut in, letting the necklace dangling from his fingers, the fire’s light catching on the gems. “I wanted to give you it,” he said in a shaky breath, unsure how this may play out, but somehow managed to say, “because there will be one day, you’ll find someone out there that you will love as much as her.”

He glimpsed the uncertainty in the Devil’s eyes. His breath caught in his throat, and he waited for his friend’s reaction. Lucifer was still grieving but had been less emotional about his sister’s death.

However, Pitch witnessed every day the lament in those chocolate eyes and how he’d stare upon her pictures for hours; how he’d glance over from his throne chair at one that was used to exist beside him; the sadness overcoming his expression from missing his sister terribly.

Lucifer was inclined toward him, studying the necklace in quietness. He scanned every diamond and the cut of the ruby.

The High-warlock stammered after seconds ticked by, wishing to cut off the silence chewing away at him. “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to do this.” He scoffed at himself, feeling incredibly dumb for bringing something so sensitive to his boss.

Red flustered Pitch’s cheeks, and he glanced up at his friend. Lucifer stared back at him, their noses nearly touching and their breaths hot on each other’s faces. He felt the warm breath trickle down his neck, and goosebumps crawled on his skin.

He retreated his hand away, but Lucifer grasped his wrist. Chewing on his lips, he gazed somewhere else in the distance. The Devil responded, his voice breaking into uneven pieces, “I miss her every single day. I sometimes think I hear her laughter ringing in the hallways, feeling like her ghost is haunting the castle.”

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have brought this up,” sighed Pitch, disappointed in himself.

The Devil croaked with a shake of his head, sliding his hand to his side, “Repeat what you mean.”

Pitch was mentally kicking himself, but he replied, “I don’t want you to forget your sister, even replace her.” He inhaled, composing to his anxious self, “What I mean is, don’t be discouraged.”

The most powerful warlock in the world held the jewel for Lucifer, expecting him to decline his offer. A breath escaped his mouth, and the weight on his shoulders became less heavy. He wanted to say something along this line for what felt like centuries but had only been nearly a few decades. He always sought to comfort his friend, to know that he deserved better than this grief bearing him down.

“I promise there is someone out there who you will regard as equal or more than her,” asserted Pitch.

Lucifer took the glimmering necklace carefully, the weight feeling somewhat heavy but so delicate in his palm. He finally locked eyes with Thomas Pitch, a subtle threat but broken in his reply: “You better not break your promise.”

(Present)

Pitch blinked back at his best friend, covered head to toe in complete wetness. He cleared his throat, feeling a surge of heat creeping on his face. Stepping sideways, he let Lucifer walk in, water trailing down his body and dripping on the floor.

“I’ll get a towel,” stated Pitch, who hurried to find one.

Lucifer closed the door, glancing around the comfortable lodge cabin. His black clothing clanged against his muscular skin. He stared down at the muddle created at his feet.

Appearing back with a stack of white towels in his arms, Pitch scoffed, “Agh, you are going to ruin this five-hundred-year-old wood!” He tossed a couple of towels at Lucifer and then put the rest on the floor, letting them absorb the water.

“Why did you pick this place?” asked Lucifer, dabbing a towel on himself.

“Well, this place is one of my best hideouts. I have a magic barrier around the property, so it’s hidden. If Galas gets close to the barrier and senses the magic, I’ll create, like the Choirs did, the Pulse of Deception. They will be transported somewhere out of the way and forget why they are in the forest in the first place.”

Once Lucifer dried himself to the best of his abilities, he heard the television on in the dining room and followed the noise. The wonderful smell of sweetness floated in the cabin. “Are you baking something?”

“Yeah, my aunt’s famous blueberry pie,” Pitch answered, grabbing the soaked towels and tossing them in a washer. He emerged from the kitchen to look at the timer, chiming excitedly. “Five more minutes.”

Lucifer sat on the dining room chair with a slump, wiping some wet strands of hair from his face. “It’s nice being out of Hell for a second. Those damn Infernals complain nonstop that I am not evil enough. I should destroy the world or some shit.” His friend sat down next to him, staring up at his messy state.

“I always tell them. What would we Infernals do if the world burned to a crisp? Everyone would die, and we would certainly be bored out of our minds. It’s funnier to terrorize humans and watch them suffer.”

“Do you want to borrow some of my clothing?” Pitch commented on the side note.

“What?” As if the phonograph scratched on the record and rewinded, the Devil questioned with raised eyebrows and had not expected that response.

The High-warlock cheeks pinked. “I was just asking because, well, you might be uncomfortable in those wet clothes. I am a bit smaller than you, not by much, but my clothes should fit you—even though they might be somewhat small in some areas.”

Awkward silence took in for a few beats. “I’m good, thanks.” Lucifer watched the television for a moment, which was hung on the wall to compete against the strange quietness.

“The disappearance of people around the world has been rising,” a blond reporter with glasses claimed in a strong and worried tone. “At first glance, the detectives dismissed this as some teenagers running away home as a prank in a new social media stream, but the people to fifteenth from eighty years old have been vanishing without any trances, leaving the FBI scrambling to find anything…”

Pitch chuckled, “You got to love weird shit that even we don’t understand.” He flickered off the television, leaving the dining room to get the pie out of the oven. “You don’t think it’s some cult thing, do you?”

The Devil smirked, “I wouldn’t be surprised.” His slender brow barely lifted, realizing his friend was wearing a white apron.

“Now, don’t you dare decline my auntie’s best blueberry pie,” warned Pitch. After a few minutes of plates clattering on the countertops and him getting out utensils, he placed the spoons and two plates on the kitchen table.

“You need help?” offered Lucifer, never taking his gaze off Pitch’s apron. There was something so fitting and well-suited to him wearing it.

Pitch grinned, “Nope.” He brought a can of whipped cream and set down the blueberry pie; its crust was perfectly golden, and the smell brought back nostalgia. He cut a huge slice for Lucifer and squirted some whipped cream on top. He slid the dessert over to his friend. “Bon appétit!”

Lucifer dug into the pie, nodding with approval. “Great job; always perfection.”

“So... let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what happened at the meeting with your dumbass brother and his even stupider sidekicks?” Pitch said.

“For starters,” Lucifer answered with a sour expression, “Michael has a daughter that he managed to keep a secret from me.”

“Is it your business, though?” Pitch pressed. He licked whipped cream from his lips and stared at his friend, oddly looking at him.

Whatever trance Lucifer was in, he snapped out of it. He scowled. “The point of this meeting was to get to know our enemies before we set our plan in motion.” He cocked his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You were looking at me strangely!”

“I was not.”

Pitch sighed and stared at his friend in wonderment. “So, Michael has a daughter?” He grinned, unable to help himself. “Who do you think he...”

He was glad this brought a twitching smile to Lucifer’s face. Lately, he had been uptight with his idea: “Good question, but on the point, our main goal is to get what we need, not get sidetracked.” He agreed with a tentative mumble, “I guess you are right; Michael not telling me he had a daughter is none of my business.”

“Why are you upset?” Pitch inquired. Studying the upset temperament and creasing his expression, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Lucifer exhaled what seemed like frustration. “It’s nothing.” He stood up to relax in a reclining chair, a swirling mixture of befuddlement taking its course in his mind. He dismissed his friend’s concern for him by glancing outside, watching the trees rustle in the breeze, and knowing the storm had passed over them.

When he turned back to Pitch, clearing the table, he noticed the slightest glimpse of culpability behind those lavender eyes. He wondered what the High-warlock was thinking about when he was hiding something from him. Whatever the case, Lucifer trusted him more than anyone.

After cleaning the kitchen table, Pitch leaned against the door frame, resting his head on it, and gazed back at Lucifer, looking out the window. He took a moment to admire the curves and features of his handsome face and the details of his masculinity, from the shirt clinging to his body.

Catching Lucifer sliding a stare back at him, Pitch quickly moved forward and hurriedly queried, “I know our plan and everything, but do you have a specific idea for our next phrase?” He hoped that if he asked something, his question would bat away the Devil realizing he was staring at him in wanderlust.

Lucifer whirled around in his chair, his finger thoughtfully posed on his left cheek and the rest of his fingers supporting his chin. “I do have something in mind.” A devilish grin twitched at the corners of his mouth. “The beginning taste of revenge.”