pookie

No, Lucifer thought, lifting his cup with deliberate calm as Mammon stood in the doorway wearing the expression of someone trying to remember how innocence worked. The party was not the conspiracy.

Something else was.

“Morning,” Mammon said.

Lucifer looked over the rim of his coffee.

Mammon had dressed early. Worse, he had dressed well. His jacket was pressed, his sunglasses were on top of his head instead of crooked across his face, and he had the brittle brightness of a demon who had either committed a crime or accepted responsibility for something. Both possibilities were equally alarming.

“Good morning,” Lucifer said.

Mammon stepped into the room, then stopped, as though uncertain whether the floor might betray him.

Lucifer set his cup down. “Is there a reason you are hovering?”

“Pft. What? No.” Mammon laughed. It was not a convincing laugh. “Can’t a guy walk into his own dining room?”

“You may. You have not.”

Mammon glanced down, realized he was still in the doorway, and took one exaggerated step inside. “There. Happy?”

“Rarely because of you.”

“Wow. On your birthday, too.”

“Especially on my birthday.”

Mammon’s grin sharpened, warmed, and then immediately became suspicious again. “Speaking of, ya got any plans before the Castle thing?”

Lucifer folded one hand over the other on the table. “The Castle thing.”

“Ya know. The party. The fancy one. Diavolo’s whole - ” Mammon gestured broadly enough to include not only the Demon King’s Castle, but possibly the surrounding district. “Birthday Thing.”

“I am aware of the formal celebration that Lord Diavolo has arranged.”

“Right, yeah. Formal. S'what I said. That.”

“You are asking whether I have plans before an event that begins at six, for which Barbatos has requested my arrival no later than four-thirty, and for which Asmodeus has already attempted to commandeer the final hour beforehand for what he described as ‘necessary refinements.’”

Mammon blinked.

Lucifer offered a mild expression - not quite a smile. “Do continue. Please.”

“Right. Great. So, since you’re free -”

“I did not say that.”

“ - since you’re basically free,” Mammon corrected, “I figured you might wanna come with me for a bit.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows rose by a precise fraction of a degree.

Mammon’s confidence faltered, rallied, then returned wearing a cheaper, shinier suit. “There’s, uh. A thing.”

“A thing.”

“At RAD.”

“At RAD.”

“Important thing.”

“On my birthday.”

“Psht.Things happen on birthdays, Lucifer.”

“Indeed. Traditionally, several of them happen to me.”

Mammon put both hands on the back of the nearest chair and leaned forward as if proximity might create credibility. “Look, do ya want my help today or not?”

“With what?”

“With - ” Mammon stopped.

A small, fatal silence opened between them. Lucifer hid his smile, mostly - he was beginning to enjoy this morning.

From the hallway came a soft, frantic scraping noise, followed by Asmodeus’s voice, too brittle by half. “Levi, darling, if you drop that, I am going to say something so cruel you will need sixteen days to recover.”

“I’m not dropping it!” Levi hissed. “Beel startled me!”

“I was just walking past,” Beel said.

“You walk with a radius!”

Lucifer closed his eyes as Mammon winced..

From somewhere beyond the dining room, something gave a muffled plink.

Not a crash. Not a thud. A plink.

A single, delicate sound. Metallic, perhaps. Or glass. Then a burst of shushing so aggressive it seemed to have been performed by committee.

Lucifer opened his eyes.

Mammon had gone pale beneath his tan.

“RAD,” Lucifer repeated.

Mammon pointed both thumbs at himself. “Exactly.”

Before Lucifer could answer, Satan entered carrying a book he was not reading.

This, too, was informative.

Satan always read while walking. He read down staircases, through doorways, in the middle of arguments, and once, memorably, during an evacuation drill he had personally caused. The book in his hand was open, yes, but upside down.

Lucifer looked at it.

Satan noticed, glanced down, turned it correctly, and smiled.

It was an alarming smile. Pleasant. Mild. Practiced.

“Good morning, Lucifer.”

“Is it?”

“I would say so.”

“Would you.”

Satan seated himself with unbearable composure and opened the book again. “Many happy returns.”

“Thank you.”

“You look well-rested.”

Mammon made a strangled noise, moving toward the doorway.

Lucifer turned slowly toward Satan. “Do I?”

Satan’s eyes moved over Lucifer’s face with the detached interest of a scholar assessing a specimen. “Relatively.”

“How generous.”

“I try.”

“You do not.”

“No,” Satan agreed, and took a piece of toast, buttering it with more than necessary force.

At the far end of the table, Belphegor lifted his head from where it rested on folded arms.

This was perhaps the most suspicious development of all.

Belphegor was awake.

Not merely present. Awake. His eyes were open. He appeared to be following the conversation. His hair was mussed, his expression was drowsy and unimpressed, and he had the air of someone who had been forced into consciousness by circumstances he intended to resent for the rest of the day.

Lucifer regarded him.

Belphegor regarded him back.

“Happy birthday,” Belphie muttered.

“Thank you.”

“You’re staring.”

“You are awake.”

“People do that.”

“Not you. Not before noon. Not voluntarily.”

Belphie yawned. “Maybe I wanted breakfast.”

Beel, who had entered behind him with a covered platter held carefully in both hands, looked down at him. “You said if I didn’t wake you, you’d curse my pillow.”

Belphie’s eyes slid shut. “Don’t remember.”

“You were awake.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

Beel set the covered plate on the sideboard.

Lucifer looked at it.

Beel did not eat from it.

Lucifer looked at Beel.

Beel looked innocent, which on Beelzebub was not usually suspicious. On this particular morning, however, he had the focused stillness of a guard posted before a royal vault.

“What is under the cover?” Lucifer asked.

Beel’s hand moved half an inch toward the plate.

“Snacks,” he said.

“For whom?”

Beel hesitated.

Mammon stared at him in horror.

Satan closed his eyes.

Belphie, without lifting his head, said, “For people.”

Lucifer allowed the silence to lengthen.

Beel’s ears reddened. “For later.”

“Later.”

“People get hungry.”

“You are people.”

“I had breakfast.”

That, at last, caused the entire room to go still.

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. He put his paper aside. This was truly an entertaining morning already.

Beel had had breakfast.

Before breakfast. That was not unusual. That, actually, was normal.

And was now guarding snacks he did not intend to eat.

“Beelzebub,” Lucifer said.

Beel swallowed. “Yes?”

“Are you hiding something from me?”

Beel looked profoundly unhappy.

Mammon made frantic cutting motions at his own throat.

Satan suddenly became fascinated by his book.

Belphie said, “Technically, everyone is always hiding something from you. It’s healthier that way.”

Lucifer turned his head toward him.

Belphie’s mouth curved faintly without opening his eyes.

Before Lucifer could decide whether to pursue this thread or strangle his nearest available brother just to see the reaction of the others, Asmodeus swept into the room in a shimmer of fragrance, silk, and deliberate distraction.

“Lucifer!” he sang. “There you are. I've been looking for you~~”

“Asmodeus,” Lucifer replied. “How astonishing to find me at breakfast during breakfast.”

“Oh, don’t be sharp. Not today. You’re meant to be adored today.”

“I was under the impression that was your daily requirement.”

“As it should be. I can share today.” Asmo came around the table, bent, and kissed the air beside Lucifer’s cheek without quite touching him. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not wearing that to the Castle.”

Lucifer glanced down at his clothes. “I am eating breakfast.”

“And already making choices.”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. “My choices have served me adequately for several centuries.”

“Some of them,” Satan murmured.

Lucifer ignored him.

Asmo rested both hands on the back of Lucifer’s chair and examined him with theatrical concern. “We will need at least an hour before departure.”

“We will need nothing of the sort.”

“Your hair alone—”

“My hair is fine.”

“Fine,” Asmo repeated, wounded. “He says fine. On the night His Highness has arranged a celebration in his honor at the Demon King’s Castle. In front of nobles, dignitaries, invited guests, musicians, officials, and at least three people who will be hoping you look bad so they can feel brave enough to criticize you.”

Lucifer picked up his coffee again. “Then I shall disappoint them.”

Asmo smiled. “Exactly. With my help.”

A faint sound came from the hallway.

This one was unmistakable.

A piano note.

Soft, clipped, badly muffled.

Lucifer’s cup paused halfway to his mouth as his eyes slipped to the door.

Every demon in the dining room froze.

Then Leviathan appeared in the doorway, sweating.

He had both arms wrapped around a small case, and a cord trailed from one pocket. His headphones were around his neck. His expression suggested that if the floor opened beneath him and swallowed him whole, he would consider it a mercifully low-stakes ending.

“Levi,” Lucifer said.

Levi jumped. “What!?”

“I had not yet asked anything.”

“Right. Yeah. I know. I wasn’t answering. I was just - ” Levi’s eyes darted to Mammon, to Satan, to Asmo, to Kai’s empty chair, then back to Lucifer. “Reacting. Normally.”

“Were you.”

“Yes.”

“Your pocket is singing.”

Levi clapped one hand over his coat. “No.”

A few tiny, distorted notes bled through the fabric. Not enough to make a melody. Barely enough to be called music.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

Levi’s soul visibly left his body.

“It’s game audio!” he blurted, words tumbling over one another. “From a game. A normal game. A rhythm game. Limited-time birthday event. Not your birthday. A different birthday. A fictional birthday. Of a character. Who is not you. It's uh - her - birthday!”

Mammon put a hand over his face.

Asmo muffled a giggle, torn between horror and enjoyment. “Oh…”

Satan said, “Fascinating strategy.”

Levi’s expression crumpled. “I panicked!”

“So I gathered,” Lucifer said.

Levi drew himself up with all the dignity of a demon who had once commanded armies and now wished very much to become furniture. “Anyway. Happy birthday. I’m leaving.”

“You have only just arrived.”

“I know. Huge mistake.”

He turned to flee.

“Leviathan.”

Levi stopped as if caught by a chain, his expression horror-struck.

Lucifer studied him for a long moment.

Then he said, “Enjoy your game.”

Levi twisted around slowly, suspicion warring with relief. “Whi-?”

“Your entirely unrelated rhythm game.”

“Oh. Right. Yes. The game. I will. Because it is unrelated.”

“Entirely. Evidently.”

Levi stared at him, waiting for punishment.

Lucifer merely lifted his cup.

Levi backed out of the doorway, stumbled once, and vanished.

A moment later, from the hall, they heard him whisper, “He knows.”

Several voices whispered back, “Obviously.”

Lucifer looked toward the ceiling.

The House of Lamentation, ancient and moody and possessed of too many opinions for a building, creaked faintly above him. Somewhere past the common room, a door clicked shut with exaggerated care.

That would be the unused parlor near the east wing, then.

The one no one had entered in months except to complain about dust, drafts, and the hideous little landscape painting that changed seasons according to its mood.

The one that, as of this morning, had apparently become the most guarded area of the House.

Lucifer finished his coffee.

“Is Kai joining us this morning?” he asked.

Another silence.

Not as dramatic this time, but deeper. That, more than anything, drew his attention.

Mammon looked at the table.

Satan turned a page he had just turned.

Asmo’s expression softened in a way he tried to hide behind a smile.

Beel glanced toward the hall.

Belphie opened one eye.

“He was up late,” Beel said.

“He’s been up early,” Satan said at the same moment.

“Both can be true,” Belphie muttered.

Asmo moved away from Lucifer’s chair and began rearranging the jam jars for no reason at all. “He’s around. Busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Things.”

Lucifer set his cup down with a quiet click. “That word has seen heavy use this morning.”

Mammon shot Asmo a desperate look. “He’s helpin’ with party stuff.”

“The party is at the Castle.”

“Yeah. Castle party stuff.”

“The Castle has Barbatos.”

“Yeah, well, even Barbatos can’t do everything.”

The temperature of the room shifted by a degree.

Everyone looked at Mammon.

Mammon’s face changed as he realized what he had said.

From somewhere very far away - possibly the Castle, possibly the fabric of reality itself - one could almost hear Barbatos smile.

Lucifer’s mouth curved. “A bold claim.”

“I mean - like, obviously he can do everything. I meant he shouldn’t have to. Outta respect.”

“Of course.”

“As respect.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I would not dream of depriving you of the opportunity to explain it yourself.”

Mammon sank into a chair. “Why are birthdays always so violent?”

The door at the opposite end of the dining room opened before Lucifer could answer.

Kai stepped in carrying a stack of folded napkins.

That was his first mistake.

The napkins were black, formal, and embroidered with silver thread. They were also unnecessary, because the birthday celebration was, as previously established, taking place at the Demon King’s Castle, where Barbatos would rather dissolve four realms into shadow without Diavolo’s permission than allow guests to supply their own linens.

Kai realized this at the same moment Lucifer did.

He stopped just inside the room.

His fingers were ink-stained.

Not dramatically. Not as though he had been dipped in ink, not enough to be theatrical. Just the tips, the side of one finger, a faint dark mark along the heel of his hand. The kind of ink that came from hours of careful work and a failure to notice one’s own body in the process.

Lucifer saw it.

Kai saw Lucifer see it.

The room collectively held its breath.

Then Kai lifted the napkins slightly. “Asmo asked me to bring these.”

Asmo clasped his hands. “Did I? How thoughtful of me.” 

Kai shot Asmodeus a glare that could curdle milk.

Lucifer’s gaze did not leave Kai. “For breakfast?”

“For later,” Kai said.

Beel looked betrayed by the repeated theft of his answer.

“Later,” Lucifer said.

Kai’s expression remained remarkably steady. He had, Lucifer noted, a better face for conspiracy than most of the household. Unfortunately, he also had ink on his fingers and the tired, overbright focus of someone who had misplaced several hours of sleep and had no intention of admitting where.

“You have ink on your hands,” Lucifer said.

Kai glanced down as though surprised to find hands at all. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Your occupation this morning being napkins?”

Mammon made a tiny noise of despair.

Kai looked at the napkins, then back at Lucifer.

For one brief instant, something like amusement crossed his face. Not guilt. Not panic. Amusement. A little dry. A little affectionate. As if the absurdity of the whole household attempting to smuggle a secret past Lucifer had finally reached him.

“Among other things,” he said. “As it usually is here.”

Lucifer’s fingers tapped once against the porcelain cup.

There it was.

Not a confession. Not quite.

But an admission that there was a game being played, and that Kai knew Lucifer knew, and that both of them were now pretending not to notice for the sake of everyone else’s dignity.

How unexpectedly civilized.

Asmo swept forward and relieved Kai of the napkins before anyone could make the situation worse. “Thank you, darling. Exactly what I needed.”

“You don’t need those,” Satan said.

Asmo turned on him. “I need many things you could not possibly understand.”

“They’re napkins.”

“They are atmosphere.”

“They are evidence,” Lucifer said.

Asmo hugged the napkins to his chest. “They are imported.”

Kai coughed into his hand.

Lucifer saw the ink again.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

Kai’s eyes flicked up.

The question was simple. Ordinary. It was also, in that room, a blade slipped neatly under the edge of the morning’s performance. Several brothers became intensely interested in their plates.

Kai gave a small shrug. “I had tea.”

“That was not my question.”

“Then no.”

Beel immediately reached for the covered plate.

Lucifer did not look away from Kai. “Sit.”

Kai hesitated. “I have - ”

“Things?” Lucifer supplied, after a pause.

Mammon groaned. “We gotta ban that word.”

Kai looked as though he very much wanted to laugh and very much could not afford to. “When don't we?.”

“They will survive ten minutes.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know more than enough.”

For a moment, Kai held his gaze.

Then, with the faintest surrender, he came to the table.

Beel uncovered the plate at once. It contained small pastries, sliced fruit, and something chocolate-dusted that Lucifer recognized from the kitchen’s upper cabinet—the cabinet Beel was not supposed to be able to reach without disarming three wards, though Lucifer had long ago stopped pretending anything presented any meaningful obstacle to hunger when Beel was determined.

Beel pushed the plate toward Kai.

Kai took one pastry.

Beel looked at him.

Kai took a bite, glaring.

Beel looked mildly satisfied.

The room resumed breathing.

Lucifer watched Kai sit between Beel and Asmo, watched him keep one ink-marked hand under the edge of the table, watched Mammon relax by a fraction too small for most people to notice.

There was an affection in the room that morning, clumsy and badly concealed and almost offensive in its brightness.

It had the shape of a trap.

Not a dangerous one. Not to him.

A birthday trap.

Lucifer had been the subject of many such attempts over the centuries. Most had involved Diavolo. Several had involved cursed objects. One had involved a flock of enchanted ravens trained to sing his name in seven-part harmony, which had been impressive for approximately eleven seconds and intolerable for the following nineteen hours.

His brothers’ conspiracies were usually easier to dismantle. They relied too heavily on panic, volume, and the mistaken belief that closing a door made the activities behind it metaphysically inaccessible.

This one, however, had been ongoing for longer than the morning.

He could see it now.

The slight shadows under Kai’s eyes. Satan’s irritation whenever Levi’s pocket had made a sound. Asmo’s distracted glances toward the hallway. Belphie awake enough to listen. Mammon inserted between Lucifer and any route that might take him past the east parlor.

They had planned.

Poorly, in places.

But earnestly.

And the public celebration at the Castle had provided them with cover. Of course it had. A known spectacle was an excellent place to hide a quieter secret. Everyone could discuss suits and speeches, gifts and guest lists, arrival times and seating arrangements, while something smaller moved beneath all of it like a hand under dark water.

Lucifer almost admired the strategy.

Almost.

He spread jam over his toast with aristocratic calm. “I have several tasks before we leave for the Castle.”

Mammon sat upright. “No, you don’t.”

Lucifer looked at him.

Mammon’s eyes widened. “I mean - ya shouldn’t. It’s your birthday.”

“How radical.”

“Exactly! Radical. Take a day off. Be reckless.”

“A tempting proposal. Shall I begin by allowing you access to my accounts?”

“I mean if you wanna - but let’s not get insane.”

Satan closed his book. “Mammon is correct in principle.”

“Mark the date,” Lucifer said.

Mammon pointed at Satan, triumphant. “See? He said it. He said I’m right.”

“In principle,” Satan repeated. “Not in execution. Never in execution.”

Mammon scowled. “You always gotta add a knife.”

“It is how I season things.”

Asmo leaned forward, chin in hand. “Lucifer, darling, the Castle preparations are being handled. Your outfit is nearly handled. Your arrival is handled. The speeches are, regrettably, handled.”

“Regrettably?” Lucifer asked.

“Diavolo has written four.”

Lucifer’s expression did not change.

The room felt him suffer.

Belphie snorted softly.

Asmo patted Lucifer’s wrist. “There, there. Barbatos will cut him down to two.”

“Barbatos will attempt to cut him down to one,” Satan said.

“Diavolo will add another while pretending to revise,” Kai murmured.

That drew Lucifer’s eyes back to him.

Kai was looking at his plate, but there was the faintest curve at one corner of his mouth.

Lucifer inclined his head. “An accurate assessment.”

Kai took a bite of pastry and said nothing, chewing slowly.

The old clock in the dining room ticked ponderously. Somewhere in the walls, the House groaned. A far-off door clicked shut again.

Lucifer heard paper rustle.

Then a hiss.

Then Levi, muffled by distance, whispering, “Don’t touch the corners!”

Satan’s face went blank.

Asmo inhaled through his teeth.

Mammon shot to his feet. “I just remembered! RAD! Thing! We gotta go.”

Lucifer did not move. “We?”

“Yeah. You. Me. Important.”

“What important thing at RAD requires my presence on the morning of my birthday, before a public celebration at the Demon King’s Castle, with no prior notice from Diavolo, Barbatos, the faculty, or the couriers?”

Mammon opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Kai, very quietly, said, “Student council emergency?”

Lucifer’s gaze sharpened with amusement. “Is it?”

Mammon snapped his fingers and pointed at Kai. “Student council emergency.”

“You are barely on the student council,” Lucifer said.

“Emergency’s so bad they called me in.”

Satan rubbed his forehead.

Asmo whispered, “I am aging.”

Lucifer rose.

Every person at the table reacted.

Mammon stepped toward the door, too fast. Satan’s eyes flicked to the hallway. Asmo gathered the napkins as though prepared to weaponize them. Belphie opened both eyes. Kai’s hand tightened briefly around his cup.

Lucifer buttoned his jacket.

The performance, he thought, had become almost touching.

“I do need to review the reception order before we leave,” he said.

Mammon brightened. “You can do that later.”

“I also intended to stop by the east parlor.”

The effect was immediate.

Beautiful, really.

Mammon choked.

Satan’s book snapped shut. Asmo dropped one napkin.

Beel said, “Why?”

Belphie said, “Nothing’s in there.”

Kai said nothing at all.

Lucifer smiled.

It was not a large smile.

It did not need to be.

“The east parlor has gone unused for months,” he said. “If guests are stopping by after the celebration, I would prefer to know whether it needs attention.”

“No guests are stopping by,” Satan said.

“So quickly answered.”

“It’s dusty,” Mammon said.

“Then it needs attention.”

“It’s cursed,” Levi called from down the hallway.

Lucifer turned his head slightly. “Is it.”

A beat.

Then Levi’s voice, smaller: “Emotionally.”

Belphie lowered his face onto his arms and began to shake.

Probably with laughter.

Possibly with despair.

Lucifer took one step toward the door.

Mammon moved in front of him.

It was bravado, that step. Foolishness, certainly. But there was something else beneath it too, something older and warmer than either of them would have named at breakfast. Mammon standing between Lucifer and a hallway, not because he thought he could truly stop him, but because he had been entrusted with stopping him anyway.

Lucifer paused.

Mammon lifted his chin. “Come with me.”

“To RAD.”

“Yeah.”

“For an emergency.”

“Yeah.”

“That does not exist.”

Mammon’s mouth twitched. “Didn’t say that.”

“You implied it very loudly.”

“Look, just - ” Mammon glanced past him, toward Kai, toward the others, then back again. His voice shifted lower. Not much. Enough. “Just let us have this one, all right?”

The room quieted.

Not entirely. The House still creaked. Levi still breathed too loudly in the hall. Somewhere, something paper-thin slid against something else and was hastily caught.

But the table itself stilled.

Lucifer looked at Mammon.

The second-born was a terrible liar when the lie did not matter and an excellent one when it did. This morning, inconveniently, he was being honest.

Not about RAD. Obviously.

About the rest.

Let us have this one.

Lucifer could have stepped around him.

He could have opened the east parlor door, dismantled whatever little operation had overtaken it, named every participant, corrected their method, and restored order before the clock struck nine am.

It would have been simple.

Efficient.

Entirely within his rights. Utterly expected.

Instead, he looked beyond Mammon to the breakfast room: to Satan pretending indifference so hard it had become an art form, to Asmodeus clutching embroidered napkins like contraband, to Beel guarding a space that needed none, to Belphie awake before noon and failing to hide his amusement, to Kai sitting very still with ink on his fingers and a secret tucked behind his eyes.

A known party waited at the Castle.

A public evening of speeches, music, laughter, obligation, and Diavolo’s impossible generosity. Lucifer would endure it. More than endure it, perhaps. He would be gracious, composed, grateful. He would stand beneath the horrifying spectacle of his own celebration and allow himself to be adored in all the ways the Devildom understood.

But here, in his own House, his family had made something smaller.

Messier.

Worse organized.

Perhaps doomed.

Certainly unsubtle.

His birthday, then, had two celebrations.

One known to everyone.

One being defended by Mammon in the dining room with nothing but panic and a jacket he had clearly put on inside out the first time before correcting it.

Lucifer sighed.

Mammon braced himself.

“Very well,” Lucifer said.

Mammon blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“Do not make me reconsider.”

“Nope. Great. Perfect. Knew you’d see reason. The Great Mammon knew!”

“I have not seen reason. I have seen you.”

“Same thing.”

“Do not push your luck.”

Mammon grinned, bright and relieved, then immediately tried to smother it into something more casual. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, then. Big emergency. Very official. We gotta go.”

Lucifer turned back to the table. “I will be out for one hour.”

“Two,” Asmo said quickly.

Lucifer looked at him.

“One and a half,” Asmo amended.

Satan said, “An hour and forty-five would be ideal.”

“An hour,” Lucifer said.

Kai, who had been quiet too long, finally looked up. There was ink at the edge of his thumb and half of a pastry on his plate. His expression was composed. Almost.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

It was simple.

Too simple, perhaps.

Lucifer studied him for a second longer than courtesy required.

“Thank you,” he said.

Something in Kai’s face softened, then hid itself.

Mammon seized Lucifer by the sleeve with suicidal confidence. “Great. Birthday emergency. Let’s go.”

“If you wrinkle this jacket,” Lucifer said, “your next emergency will be exceptionally personal.”

Mammon released him at once. “So touchy.”

They reached the doorway before Lucifer paused.

The hallway beyond was a tableau of parodied innocence.

Levi stood with his back pressed against the wall, one hand clamped over his pocket. A coil of cord had escaped and lay on the carpet like a captured serpent. Behind him, the potted fern blocked the corridor with majestic uselessness. From the direction of the east parlor came the distinct sense of several people pretending it did not exist.

Lucifer looked at the fern.

Then at Levi.

Then down the hall.

He could hear, very faintly, the whisper of paper.

He could smell ink.

He could see where someone had tried to move in a hurry and left one clean handprint on a side table covered in dust amid an empire of neglect.

He let the moment stretch until Levi appeared ready to faint.

Then Lucifer stepped past him.

“Do try not to burn the House down while I am away.”

Levi exhaled so hard his headphones slipped off his head. “Not my style!”

Behind Lucifer, in the dining room, several people began breathing again.

Mammon hurried ahead, as though speed might prevent Lucifer from changing his mind. “See? This is good. Fresh air. Brotherly bonding. Birthday stuff. Admiration.”

“We are not bonding.”

“Sure we are.”

“We are walking.”

“Same thing if you do it with heart.”

Lucifer glanced back once.

Kai stood in the dining room doorway now, half-shadowed, one ink-marked hand at his side. Asmo had leaned around him. Satan hovered behind them both with false disinterest. Beel was eating the backup pastries at last. Belphie had lowered his head again, but Lucifer could see the smile he was failing to hide.

A conspiracy.

Poorly executed, naturally.

The public celebration would come later, all gold light and music and Diavolo’s delighted excess. The official birthday, known to half the realm and polished within an inch of its life, waited at the Demon King’s Castle.

This, though - 

this untidy little rebellion of closed doors, bad lies, hidden ink, and brothers standing guard over a secret they were too fond of to conceal properly - this was something else.

Still, it was his birthday.

He supposed he could allow his family one already doomed attempt at subtlety.

Lucifer turned toward the front door, Mammon already inventing details for an emergency that did not exist, and permitted himself the smallest, most private smile.

“Lead on,” he said.

Mammon glanced back, startled by the warmth under the words.

Then he grinned, launching into a Mammon-sized explanation that meant nothing, and made less sense.