Lucifer Damned (Morningstar Book 3) by Percival Constantine (books to read in your 20s female .TXT) 📗

“I never said you were dumb, I just know that sometimes you—”

“Wait.” Ham covered Shem’s mouth with his hand. “Did you check that couch?”

Lucifer saw Ham’s gaze moving in his direction and he slid back behind the sofa. He held the butcher’s knife in a reverse-grip.

“He’s not hiding in the couch, Ham.”

“Not in the couch, you moron. Behind it.” Ham moved away from Shem and reached behind his back to draw an ornate dagger from its sheath. “And you treat me like I’m the dumb one…unbelievable…”

Lucifer listened for the footsteps, and stared at the floor. Ham’s shadow loomed closer, growing larger. This was it, this was the moment. Lucifer jumped up and lashed out with the butcher knife.

And all he cut was empty air.

“That…wasn’t how I expected it to go…” muttered Lucifer.

Ham smiled and waved the dagger. It had a gold hilt and a long cross-guard, which made it reminiscent of a crucifix. He thrust forward and Lucifer just barely jumped back to avoid the blade. Lucifer threw the knife, but Ham ducked and it harmlessly flew over his head.

“Time to die, Satan!” shouted Ham as he charged at the Morningstar.

Lucifer was near the liquor cabinet. He picked up a bottle of gin and smashed it on Ham’s face right as he came within reach. Ham was startled and stumbled and fell face-first on the ground.

“That was my brother!” shouted Shem and opened fire.

Lucifer jumped behind the sofa and rolled, waiting as Shem fired. It was a revolver, so Lucifer counted. Once he reached the final round, the gun clicked on the empty chamber.

“Oh poop, time-out,” said Shem as he fumbled to open the chamber and reload the gun.

Lucifer didn’t honor the time-out. He stood and leapt over the sofa, then darted towards Shem. The smaller brother looked up in surprise.

“No fair, I called a time-out!” shouted Shem just as Lucifer barreled into him, putting all his weight into a shoulder-strike. Shem was thrown back into the wall and Lucifer went into the foyer.

In the driveway was a minivan that looked to be several years old and not in the best condition. Lucifer went to the driver’s seat and opened the door. It was unlocked and the keys were still in the ignition.

“First bit of luck today,” said Lucifer as he turned the key. The engine puttered and rattled. Lucifer turned the car off and tried again, stepping on the gas a few times. The engine still wasn’t quite ready to reward him. “Come on, come on…”

Lucifer glanced behind the seats and saw several weapons stacked up in the van. He reached over and picked up a shotgun. Pointing it out the open car window, Lucifer aimed at his front door. Shem appeared in the doorway and raised the revolver. Lucifer pulled the trigger and Shem ducked, the buckshot taking out several chunks of the wood in the frame.

“I’ll definitely be billing them for that.” Lucifer tried the ignition again and this time, the car started. He laughed and shifted into reverse, looking over his shoulder as he backed out into the street.

“That’s our van! This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen!” Shem shouted as he ran after the car.

Lucifer ignored the protests and shifted into drive, then sped down the street towards Chicago. Although “speed” was probably not the best use of words—the van didn’t exactly have a whole lot of pick-up.

As he merged onto Lake Shore Drive and headed into the city, Lucifer thought about the odd incident. Those two definitely weren’t demons and they certainly didn’t seem skilled enough to be part of any sort of organized outfit. It wasn’t likely they were simple thieves, either—they were after him.

Lucifer remembered that Shem mentioned something about their father and a guild. He would have to find out more about those two feckless, would-be hitmen. And for that, he would need to consult some help. Someone who could possibly know something about this and who would provide assistance without any strings attached.

There was only one person in the city who fit both those criteria.

4

Miraculously, Lucifer had somehow managed to get the rickety van he stole from Shem and Ham all the way from Evanston to the city. He parked it on Rush Street in front of a fire hydrant and climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition. He was still dressed only in his silk robe and a pair of slippers.

A nearby pedestrian called out to the Morningstar. “Hey Hef, you’d better move your car.”

“Why?” asked Lucifer.

“Because the city’s gonna tow it if you leave it there.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Not my car anyway.”

He whistled as he crossed the street, waving greetings to the people who were stunned to see a man walking the streets in nothing but a robe. Lust was his destination—on the surface, it was a fashionable night club. But beneath that thin veneer, it was a gathering place for the supernatural elements of Chicago. At one time it was run by Asmodeus, who—after a run-in with Luther Cross—ended up imprisoned in Cocytus. Now it was under the control of Asmodeus’s former paramour, Lilith. She remained in Hell, but left a trusted lieutenant to watch over her operations on Earth.

The club itself wouldn’t open for business until around nine or ten at night. But Lucifer was one of the few aware of the apartment above the club where the manager resided. And also knew of the rear entrance.

He walked up the staircase that led to the sole room at the top of the building. Lucifer pushed the button and waited. After a few moments, there was no answer. Lucifer rang the bell a second time. Just as he was about to go for the hat-trick, the door finally opened.

“I will personally rip every tooth out of your goddamn skull and use them to decorate my bathroom,” said the demon with fiery red hair and wearing sweat pants and a black T-shirt with “SATANIC PANIC” emblazoned on the front.

“Good morning to you as well, Mara,” said