Those were the words that greeted Averie as he opened his eyes to a world of grey and bluish-pink.
Hovering beside him, legs crossed, was Lucifer, the Warden of Hell.
Averie rubbed his eyes and sat straight up.
"Do they fear you or something?" he asked, looking around the place, spotting only The Lady in the distance. "They never show up when you are here."
"I doubt they understand fear. It could be something else. Well, anyway—" He snapped his fingers "—ready for the big day?"
Averie glared at him. "That’s what you ask?"
"Half a year has passed since we last met."
"You think I would forget to ask the hard questions?" Official source is novel✶fire.net
Lucifer observed him silently. His little human friend was always amusing. "Ask."
The actor, hugging his knees, contemplated.
He wasn’t expecting the devil to allow any questions.
"Where to begin... Yes, did you kill Sophie Moon?"
"What does killing entail?"
"We are not playing that game. Did you or did you not kill her?"
"I swear on my father’s grave!"
"The father you killed?"
Lucifer laughed, rubbing his hands nervously. "Let’s not bring up the old grievances now."
"And you want me to believe it wasn’t you who did the deed?"
"She made a deal with the devil, okay?"
Averie gesticulated for his friend to continue.
Lucifer sighed. He didn’t like telling serious stories.
"Before you came to this world, Sophie Moon was really struggling—"
"With ideas, themes, characters—yes, with writing. She had been preparing for her next project—a drama series. It wasn’t going to be much different than anything else in the market, and that didn’t sit right with Ms. Moon."
"She wanted to write something original?"
"Yes, writers are always like that—never sure of what they want."
He cleared his throat and wiped his glasses.
"She tried her hand at something she wasn’t accustomed to—a crime thriller. It had a handsome protagonist, the usual romances, some enjoyable characters, and more. It was all alright, but Ms. Moon wasn’t satisfied. No, she didn’t like it. She wanted something more, something better."
The dwindling gravity of Averie’s gaze abruptly flared. "And you gave it to her?"
"Yes," the devil responded with a smile equally intimidating as the actor’s pupils. "She prayed to God, but when He didn’t answer, the devil had to."
"And you made a fair contract, right?"
The devil’s laughter rang in the otherworldly domain. "Fair contract? Are you drunk, my friend?"
Averie expected that. There was no fairness in Hell, no mercy in its fires. It was a place of cruelty and regrets. A place that made one—not named Gene Conti—feel the vastness of despair.
"There was no contract," explained the warden. "I didn’t read her anything, made her sign nothing. To put it in the words of the young, ’We don’t roll like that anymore.’"
"I gave her dreams, which she chose to write down—of course, she was under suggestion, so it wasn’t really her fault. But hey, that’s why I am the devil!"
Any other day, Averie would have joined in the celebration, pointing at him while yelling, ’That, you are!’
Today, he was furious.
"Why are you involving yourself with my new life?"
The stench of blood wafted from the devil’s jaw.
"Why do you think?" His face hardened as if it had gained a layer of stone. "I am bored."
For the first time, Averie felt threatened by his friend’s behavior. He looked like a proper monstrosity, an air of psychopathy surrounding him.
It was as if he were staring at a primordial being. The concept of emotions seemed non-existent.
"She wanted it," he said, scratching his dry skin. "And I granted it."
"What about the sacrifice? Did she want that, too?"
"No." His empty eyes turned to Averie. "You wanted that."
"Ah, yes, answering a proper question with nonsense, are we?" He flapped his hands around like a squid’s tentacles. "Hey, look at me, I am Lucifer, the Warden of Shithole. I can say whatever I want."
Lucifer didn’t react to the provocation.
He calmly answered, "I offered to provide security, and you agreed. I even granted you another Sin for it."
His index finger, pointed sharply at Averie’s chest where the tattoos were, seemed to accuse him of deeds he had no control over.
"How else was I supposed to send you the help I had prepared? I needed a vessel. Someone needed to be sacrificed, and not every day do you find a fresh body lying around, Averie Quinn Auclair."
"What vessel?" His eyes widened. "That cat..."
"What is she? Who is she?"
He wanted to clutch the devil’s collar and shake him aggressively. And although he had the bravado to do it, he knew it wasn’t a smart choice.
"She is our favorite, my friend."
A name flashed before Averie’s eyes. "Charlene."
She was the blonde tied to the Seventh Circle of Hell, the one Lucifer liked to torment and Gene liked to laugh at.
"You mean that damned thing had actual thoughts while I stared it in the eye?"
The devil grinned. "Perfect way to torture her, don’t you think? She had to learn how to use her tiny new paws. It took her days to walk properly."
’Damn, she watched me blow kisses at my naked figure in the mirror.’
"All that time she spent watching me, the times she snuck into my room at night—what about that? Was she aware?"
The corner of the devil’s eyes turned upward, turning into ugly crescents. "It was all intentional. I don’t know what she was thinking, though."
"Are you mad?" Averie stood up and paced around the place. "Why would you throw her on me? Won’t she slit my throat in sleep?"
"Oh, don’t worry. She knows what awaits her if she tries anything funny. She has been acting as your bodyguard, without you knowing it. Not a bad job she has done so far."
"What is she supposed to do in case I get assaulted? Scratch them? Cry with a high-pitched tone?"
Lucifer didn’t answer; his grin was his answer.
’She can do more, right? Wait, isn’t that a bad thing?’
All the times he made fun of her—plunged her further into despair, dangled hope in front of her before taking it away—seemed to have come back to bite him.
"Anything else I should be aware of?"
"Oh, yes, of course."
He took out a diary from the inner pocket of his suit and searched for a particular page.
"Ah, yes, here it is." He fixed his glasses before turning to Averie. "She isn’t alone in that lithe little body of hers."
Two souls in one body. Averie had heard of it, but never seen it. Yet he prayed—futilely—that Lucifer’s next words wouldn’t stab his feelings.
"These souls alternate between who has control of the body. When one is asleep, the other is awake."
"Who is it?" he asked, his eyes closed in prayer. "Who is this unfortunate second soul?"
Serenes Film Festival, held only every four years, attracted film enthusiasts from all over the world.
And because one needed passion to travel across the sea to watch films not made for commercial success, these festive people happened to be extremely passionate.
One such group of people, made up of different nationalities, had just arrived at Berlin Brandenburg Airport. It was a sad display of infrastructure, unable to garner admiration, unlike the other international airports across European capitals.
"Wow, you guys are late," a blonde woman said in a light Bavarian accent to the group approaching her.
"What can we do, Ingrid?" The ginger man, huffing and puffing, put down his bags. "The flight was delayed."
"The London weather was especially bad when we left," said the woman with upturned eyes and black hair. "I told Richard we shouldn’t have spent so long there, but his love for that awful city never diminishes."
The ginger man wiped the sweat off his beard. "It’s my mother’s home, Kate; I like it there. It’s not every day you get to see houses made of brick walls."
Kate laughed. "Brick walls!"
Her scouse accent really stood out with those words.
"Look at the American, Ingrid," she chirped. "He likes the brick walls."
Now that he was hearing it from someone else’s mouth, Richard also found it funny.
The group was made up of six people, and while one half bantered, the other half remained extremely serious.
"So, what films are going to be shown?" the Japanese man wearing a white t-shirt asked. "We need to plan well. I don’t like going to theaters on an empty stomach."
"Forget that, Hikaru."
The Brazilian man, dressed in baggy clothes like a youngster, tapped furiously on his phone to pull out a list of films confirmed to appear at the festival.
"I don’t want to miss even a single one."
"Ah, don’t worry," said the French woman dressed stylishly, the light colors matching her dark skin tone. "They have made the films a lot more accessible."