He gifted her his legendary smile. “Trust me.”
Bianca snorted.
Clearly, the haglette was deranged, because his best smile didn’t work on her. He kind of appreciated that. Not enough to not punish her when this was all over, but he might go a bit easier on her. “Well, you can trust me with this.” He grinned. “Don’t you read all that’s been written about me. I’m a charmer.”
Before she could gather further objections, he slipped into the shabby little kitchen.
A small human sat on a stool at the red Formica countertop. Her dark eyes took him in. “Who are you?”
“Lucifer,” he said and took the remaining stool beside her. Great deceiver he may be, but lying to children wasn’t part of that.
She crinkled her button nose at him. “That’s a weird name.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But I have relations called Belphegor and Mammon, so I didn’t do too badly. You’re Emma, right?”
Her gaze sharpened. “How do you know that?”
“Bianca told me.” He gestured to a hovering Bianca in the doorway.
Emma gave Bianca a weary smile. “Hi, Bianca.”
“Hi, Em.” Bianca’s features softened.
“Where’s my mom, Bianca?” Emma’s voice quavered.
Lucifer took Bianca’s slight pause. “Emma, we have something difficult to tell you.”
Big earnest eyes fastened on him, Emma’s fear a palpable force.
“Your mom seems to be missing.” He laid his hand palm up on the counter, inviting her to put her hand in his.
Emma’s tiny hand slid into his and Lucifer gently squeezed her fingers. Little humans were so fragile.
“We’re not sure where she is.” He lowered his head until they were eye to eye. “But I think you’ve heard my name before.”
She nodded.
“And you know I can do things normal people can’t.”
She nodded again.
“And I’m going to do everything I can to find your mother.”
“Promise?” Emma whispered.
“I vow it.” And this small, pure soul didn’t need a blood oath to bind him. “And a vow is like a promise, only stronger.”
“Then you have to do what you said,” Emma said. Magic surged through the kitchen—strong, potent, wild.
Lucifer glanced at Bianca for verification, and she nodded. In all the witches he’d encountered over the ages, he’d never felt such raw power as he had in Emma. Her magic had reached out and bound him to his vow.
His gut clenched. If Ashe was looking for witches, then a witch this strong would be next on the procurement list. And that made his decision for him. “Tell me, Emma, would you and your brother like to meet an archangel?”
Chapter Nine
Patty sidled closer to Bianca and whispered in her ear, “What’s he doing?”
Bianca would like to know that herself. He had no business making promises to Emma that he would help, and then waving archangels in front of a traumatized child. “Lucifer.” She pinned him with her best I-mean-business stare and jerked her head toward the corridor. When you were a kid raising your baby sister, you learned a thing or two, and that stare was working for her now. “I need to speak to you outside.”
Leaning closer to Emma, Lucifer winked and said, “Bianca wants to talk to me outside. Do you think I’m in trouble?”
“Looks that way to me,” Emma said with a sage head nod. “Whatever it is, just say you’re sorry.”
“Say sorry.” Lucifer gave her a thumbs up. “Got it.”
Bianca was not amused. Hell prince or not, she wanted to hand the arrogant son of a bitch his balls. On a platter.
Grabbing him by the front of his sweatshirt, she tugged him onto the tiny porch and shut the front door behind them. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Do you mind?” Lucifer gave her hand knotted in his sweatshirt a pained glance. “Please do not make this heinous garment worse by wrinkling it.”
“It’s a sweatshirt.” She barely managed not to bite him. “They don’t wrinkle.”
“Appalling.” Lucifer shuddered and picked her fingers off his front. “I am at a loss as to why anyone would even make a garment like this, let alone wear it.”
“Hey!” She went toe to toe with him. Damn, he smelled delicious, like cedar and leather. At least a head taller than her, he had a broad chest that made her itch to sink her nails into it. Focus, Bianca...not on him. “Firstly, check your fucking privilege. Not everyone can afford bespoke shirts. And what do you think you’re doing with Emma? You asked me to trust you, and you’re blowing it.”
