Lucifer (Dark Angels Book 1)

the winding stone staircase leading down into the dungeons.  Moisture seeped in from between the stones in the walls feeding moss that grew in patches.  Pink-tinged from drawing its life from the bloody river below the castle, the patchy plant life gave off a scent of rot and death.  His footsteps echoed on the stone flags as Satan made his way down to the cells located in the bowels of the castle.  This was a visit he made on a regular basis.  Only a select few of his minions knew about this particular prisoner.  Locked behind two separate doors, crafted of charmed Wolframite, was one of the most powerful beings in the world.  If his plan went off without a hitch, this prisoner would play a part in Satan’s ultimate bid for power.  Smiling to himself and whistling “who’s afraid of the big bad wolf,” Satan congratulated himself on the impending success of his plans.  Centuries ago, he had given up on this route to becoming the most powerful force in existence. That had all changed thirty-five years ago.  In the larger scale of things, three decades wasn’t long to wait for a plan to come to fruition, but he was still anxious to get the show on the road.  It was only a matter of time now.  He had almost all of the pieces on the chessboard in play and now only waited for delivery of his queen.  Earlier that day he had received a report from his minion, Voss, that she had arrived in Sheol.  Soon the binding would take place and he would leave this shithole for good.  Time to get cracking on ideas for re-decorating Heofon's palace.

The heat began to waft toward him from enormous boilers set up to dispell the chill surrounding the castle.  It was cold as a witch’s tit here, one thing Satan wouldn't miss when he finally got to take ownership of his new kingdom.  Finally hitting the landing, he began the long walk toward his VIP’s cell.  Striding along the hallway, he smiled at the sounds of pain echoing from the cells around him.  Nothing brightened his day like the dulcet tones of suffering.   Being stuck in this fucking castle sucked, he had to get his kicks somehow.  The balance between the Dark and the Light be damned.    Things had changed too much for his liking over the centuries.  His demons had begun to break his hold over them.  Now only a few species remained who existed only to serve.  The others had become so human, able to decide the fate of their own souls.  That was all going to change…soon.  Soon he would be able to put a stop to the positive influence of the angels and fae...all creatures of the Light.  He’d fill his dungeon with them, ripping off their wings and feeding them to his sisters.  He would leave this place and conquer Heofon and the world of man.

Reaching the door to the specially-charmed cell, Satan reached out and placed his palm near the handle.  The sound of tumblers rolling echoed around him.  With one final click, the door swung open.  As he entered, he muttered a command and the door swung shut behind him.  Marching forward, he repeated the process with the second door.  Satan emerged on the other side into a large room, the walls, floor, and ceiling were all cold stone.  Heat from the boilers was unable to penetrate the thick stone and Wolframite doors.  Satan’s breath puffed out in front of him like a fluffy white cloud.  A thin layer of frost was evident on the stone walls surrounding the single barred window on the far wall.  The dungeon level of the castle looked directly out onto the winding vines that crept around the building, allowing some of the black sludge to ooze through the cracks of the window.

The room was dimly lit, with one sole candelabra standing on a small wooden table in the center of the room.  Charcoal drawings were stuck to the walls and littered the floor, along with a multitude of books that sat in messy piles, leaning like mini Towers of Pisa around the room.  A large four poster bed sat in the corner farthest from the frozen window.  Satan’s VIP sat on the bed sketching as he usually did.  There wasn’t much else for him to do down here to pass the time.  Walking over to one of the walls, Satan took in the sketches covering the space in front of him.  The same woman figured in all of the drawings, her face shown from different angles and in various expressions.  In some of the sketches, she was smiling; in most, she simply had a heartbreaking look of longing.

“Very life-like.”  Satan said, motioning to one of the sketches on the wall.

“Is it?”  Came a voice raspy from disuse.

“Yes, surprisingly so.”

“Interesting.”

Peering through the dim, flickering light at his prisoner, Satan looked him over.  “We are expecting a guest soon I'd like you to meet.  We should probably get you fixed up a bit before then.”

Looking up from his sketchpad, the prisoner raised his eyebrows.  “Really?  Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“Not wrong, per se.”  Satan replied cryptically.

Sighing, the prisoner placed the sketchpad down on the bed.  “Considering you’ve never given me a mirror, I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“You’ve never needed one before.  This is different. I imagine our special guest will be anxious to meet you.”  Satan replied, reaching down and picking up a book off the nearest pile.  It looked as though it had been read countless times — the spine was cracked and splitting in several places, multiple pages were dog-eared.  The Count of Monte Cristo, he smiled wryly, how fitting.

Replacing the book on the top of the pile, Satan motioned toward the drawing of the woman.  “Why do you keep drawing her?” he asked, genuinely curious about the answer.  His prisoner had been drawing the same thing since he was old enough to