(eng) Linda Poitevin - Grigori Legacy 03 by Sins of the Lost (retail)

Author:Sins of the Lost (retail) [Lost, Sins of the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 46

Resting an elbow on the arm of his chair, Lucifer idly rubbed a forefinger over his eyebrow. He stared at the journal on his desk, a pen laid across its blank page. Each of the entries he’d made over the last month had been progressively more difficult to write, and now this. Nothing. No words, no inspiration, no desire.

No need.

It was as if he had emptied himself. As if he found himself in Limbo, where nothing existed anymore. Where nothing mattered.

Oh, he still cared—his whole existence was about caring, for all the good it had done him. He’d just run out of reasons to write about it.

And this interminable waiting didn’t help.

He snatched up the pen and pitched it across the room, scowling when it stuck point-first and quivering in one of the fireplace stones. What in bloody Heaven was taking Samael so long? Finding the Naphil’s sister was such a simple task, the last piece in his plan, and the goddamn Archangel couldn’t get his act together long enough to complete it.

The dish of peppermints on his desk followed in the pen’s wake, shattering against the mantel and sending a shower of glass shards and candies across the room.

Lucifer pushed out of his chair. He wouldn’t put it past his aide to be focused on the whole Mika’el and Seth issue rather than on his orders. Samael’s ability to think strategically might be his greatest asset, but it could also be his most annoying one. The Archangel was forever searching for hidden motives where none existed. Or worse, where they might exist but didn’t matter.

He closed the journal on his desk and turned to slide the volume back into place in the bookcase. Then he paused, staring at the top row of books, the ones at eye level. He inspected the Roman numerals on their spines, neatly lined up in ascending order. Except they weren’t. Not entirely.

They couldn’t be, because the fourteenth journal was missing from its place.

His gaze swept the row, then the room, then returned to the shelf. He released his hold on the journal he’d replaced. Sliding his hand between volumes XIII and XV, he pushed them apart and scowled. Not just missing from its place. Missing, period. As in gone. As in someone had entered his domain and taken his private property. Had dared trespass against him.

Disbelief unfurled in his gut. A snarl of fury—cold and visceral—drove it out. He whirled and stalked around his desk. If he had to rip apart the whole of Hell, he would—

The door opened as he reached it. A diminutive Cherub stood in the opening holding a tray, eyes wide and startled. “Light-bearer!”

Lucifer stopped short of plowing over her. He glowered down. “You’re in my way.”

“I’m s-sorry,” the Cherub squeaked. The dishes on the tray rattled as she held it out to him. “I have your tea.”

Lifting his arm to brush both the tray and the Cherub from his path, he saw her gaze dart past him. The pupils of her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

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