“Anything? I like the sound of that.” Lucifer slid his hands into his back pockets, tilted his head, and stared at Cam, considering. “Lilith’s current Hell is set to expire in fifteen days. I’d enjoy watching you make her even more miserable for those two weeks.” He paused. “We could make it interesting.”
“You have a bad habit of making things interesting,” Cam said.
“A wager,” Lucifer proposed. “If, in the fifteen days remaining, you can cleanse Lilith’s dark heart of her hatred for you and convince her to fall in love with you again—truly fall in love—I’ll close up shop, at least where she’s concerned. No more bespoke Hells for her.”
Cam narrowed his eyes. “It’s too easy. What’s the catch?”
“Easy?” Lucifer repeated, cackling. “Didn’t you notice the gigantic chip on her shoulder? That’s all you. She hates you, pal.” He blinked. “And she doesn’t even know why.”
“She hates that miserable world,” Cam said. “Anyone would. That doesn’t mean she hates me. She doesn’t even remember who I am.”
Lucifer shook his head. “The hatred for her miserable world is a front for the older, blacker hatred for you.” He poked Cam in the chest. “When a soul is hurt as deeply as Lilith, the pain is permanent. Even if she no longer recognizes your face, she recognizes your soul. The core of who you are.” Lucifer spat on the floor. “And she loathes you.”
Cam winced. It couldn’t be true. But then he remembered how cold she’d been to him. “I’ll fix her.”
“Sure you will,” Lucifer said, nodding. “Give it a try.”
“And after I win her back,” Cam asked, “then what?”
Lucifer smiled patronizingly. “You’ll be free to live out the rest of her mortal days with her. Happily ever after. Is that what you want to hear?” He snapped his fingers as if he’d just remembered something. “You asked about the catch.”
Cam waited. His wings burned with the need to fly to Lilith.
“I have indulged you too much for too long,” Lucifer said, suddenly cold and serious. “When you fail, you must return to where you belong. Here, with me. No more gallivanting through the galaxies. No more white in your wings.” Lucifer narrowed his blood-red eyes. “You will join me behind the Wall of Darkness, on my right-hand side. Eternally.”
Cam eyed the devil evenly. Thanks to Luce and Daniel, Cam had an opportunity—he could rewrite his fate. How could he give that up again so easily?
Then he thought of Lilith. Of the despair she’d wallowed in for millennia.
No. He couldn’t entertain what it would mean to lose. He would focus on winning her love and easing her pain. If there was any hope of saving her, it was worth everything to try.
“Agreed,” Cam said, and held out his hand.
Lucifer swiped it away. “Save that crap for Daniel. I don’t need a handshake to hold you to your word. You’ll see.”
“Fine,” Cam said. “How do I get back to her?”
“Take the door to the left of the hot-dog-on-a-stick stand.” Lucifer pointed at the row of vendors, which were now far in the distance. “Once you set foot in Crossroads, the countdown begins.”
Cam was already moving toward the door, toward Lilith. But as he passed out of Hell’s food court, Lucifer’s voice seemed to follow him.
“Just fifteen days, old boy. Tick-tock!”
Fifteen Days
Lilith could not be late to school again today.
Bailing on the bio test yesterday had already earned her detention after last period—her mother had silently handed her the detention slip when Lilith got home. So this morning, she made it a point to get to homeroom before Mrs. Richards had even finished adding creamer to the coffee in her biodegradable cup.
She was two pages into her poetry homework before the bell rang, and so pleased with her small accomplishment that she didn’t even flinch when a familiar shadow darkened her desk.
“Brought you a present,” Chloe said.
Lilith looked up. The senior reached into her zebra-striped purse and plucked out something white, then slapped it on Lilith’s desk. It was one of those adult diapers, the kind meant for really ancient, incontinent people.
“In case you crap your pants again,” Chloe said. “Try it on.”
Lilith’s cheeks warmed, and she pushed the diaper off her desk, pretending she didn’t care that it was on the floor now, that other kids had to step over it to get to their desks. She glanced up to see whether Mrs. Richards had noticed, but to her dismay, Chloe was now having a tête-à-tête with their smiling homeroom teacher.
“I can recycle my shampoo bottles and my conditioner bottles, too?” Chloe was saying. “I never knew! Now, may I please have a hall pass? I’m supposed to meet with Principal Tarkenton.”
Lilith watched with envy as Mrs. Richards dashed out a pass to Chloe, who took it and skipped out of the room. Lilith sighed. Teachers doled out hall passes to Chloe like they doled out detentions to Lilith.
Then the bell rang, and the intercom crackled to life.
“Good morning, Bulls,” Tarkenton said. “As you know, today is the day we reveal the much-anticipated theme of this year’s prom.”
The kids around Lilith all hooted and clapped. She felt alone among them once again. It wasn’t that she thought she was smarter or had better taste than these kids who cared so much about a high school dance. Something deeper and more important divided her from everyone she’d ever met. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her feel like an alien most of the time.
“You voted, we tallied,” the principal’s voice continued, “and this year’s prom theme is…Battle of the Bands!”
Lilith scowled at the intercom. Battle of the Bands?
She hadn’t filled out the ballot for this year’s prom, but she found it hard to believe that her classmates would have selected a theme that was actually almost interesting. Then she remembered that Chloe King was in a band, and that the girl had somehow brainwashed the student body into thinking that whatever she did was cool. Last spring, she’d made playing bingo an actual thing the in-crowd did every Thursday night. Lilith, of course, had never gone to Bingo Babes, as it was called, but come on—who between the ages of eight and eighty actually enjoyed the game of bingo?
The prom theme could have been worse. But still, Lilith was sure Tarkenton and his high school henchmen would figure out a way to make sure it sucked.
“And now a message from your prom chair, Chloe King,” Tarkenton said.
A scuffling noise came from the intercom as the principal passed the microphone.
“Hey, Bulls,” Chloe said in a voice that managed to be both peppy and sultry at the same time. “Buy your prom tickets and get ready to dance the night away to amazing music played by your amazing friends. That’s right—prom is going to be part Coachella, part reality TV show, with a panel of snarky judges and everything. It’s all sponsored by King Media—thanks, Daddy! So save the date: Wednesday, April thirtieth—just fifteen days away! I’ve already signed up my band to do battle, so what are you waiting for?”