Thy Brother’s Wife
The greatest trick an angel ever pulled was convincing the world that Lucifer was the villain.
Mephistopheles had to hand it to Michael. He suspected even most of Heaven didn’t know what really happened the summer God disappeared and a tyrant took charge.
Right now, the most feared being in all creation lay on the stone floor of hell inside his wife’s cage, crying and clutching his chest as he came down from a particularly wretched panic attack. Mephistopheles gave him space, knowing better than to approach his brother in this state. Lucifer would strike like an August-blind snake, terrified and enraged by his vulnerability.
Finally, Lucifer opened his eyes and glanced at him.
“She's okay,” Mephistopheles said. "I got her settled down and cleaned up, then she fell asleep.”
Lucifer nodded and fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes. He smoked the first one flat on his back. Then he struggled to sit up. He looked weak, drained, and he was covered in blood. It caked on his ears, his hands. He wore a bib of it on his white T-shirt. It pooled beneath him, soaking through his jeans.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and lit another cigarette.
"What happened?" Mephistopheles asked.
Lucifer picked up a small, twisted piece of metal, studied it, then flung it through the bars.
With a humorless laugh, he said, "She cut my throat. Then she tried to kill herself."
He glanced at the sleeping woman on the bed. "Look at what I have done to her."
“You did not do this,” Mephistopheles replied. “He did this.”
When God disappeared, the angels had scattered like unsupervised children. Some--like Michael--moved quickly to seize power. Others--like Lucifer and Mephistopheles--chose to roam the earth, to interact with the humans.
They’d been together that day, when they encountered Abigail and her sister getting water from a well. The sons of God hadn't stood a chance against the beauty of the daughters of Man.
“She forgot Evangeline’s name,” Lucifer said absently, gazing at the names tattooed across the tops of his hands. "That's how it started."
Samuel and Evangeline. Lucifer's twin toddlers. The children he’d almost burned Heaven to the ground to avenge.
Mephistopheles’ body bore no such tribute to his son, Judah. Lucifer could not bear to forget, but Mephistopheles could not bear to remember. Michael, upon learning of their wives and children’s existence, had deemed their families abominations and ordered their swift and brutal executions.
Lucifer and Mephistopheles had been lured away, a cowardly act that made Mephistopheles' blood boil still, thousands of years later. If not for Azrael interceding, Abigail would've died, too, but he had not done her any favors.
To be killed by an angel blade meant a swift death, total annihilation of the soul. Mephistopheles’ family was utterly destroyed along with Lucifer's babies. Abigail still lived, driven mad by the day angels fell from the skies like meteors, turning the river by their village red with blood.
That was also the day she'd learned what her husband really was. More than anything, that galled Mephistopheles. The women hadn't even known. Instead of approaching him and Lucifer directly, brother-to-brother, Michael had lashed out at the most innocent among them.
Mephistopheles wondered if the others knelt to Michael now, the brother who had proclaimed himself king. No matter what happened, he vowed he never would.
The cage Abigail was kept in was for her own protection. Lucifer often spent time here, sitting on the floor outside while she railed curses at him, but sometimes inside the cage with her, holding her when she cried.
“Do you remember them?” Lucifer asked. “Terah and Judah?”
“Barely, now,” Mephistopheles admitted. “Their faces are hazy.”
Lucifer nodded and exhaled a stream of smoke. “I know you've wondered why I sleep.” He shrugged. “I don’t really. It’s the only time everyone leaves me alone. I lie there in the darkness and try to remember every little thing, a movie I play in my head every night. The first day I saw her, how she smiled. Our first kiss…” He smiled and leaned his head back against the bars. “I remember fighting with the midwife to stay in the room to see my child born, and how she thrust Samuel in my arms when she realized there were two babies. That was the most terrifying, exhilarating moment of my life. He was so slick and squirming.” Lucifer glanced at his wife. “I remember her face when she held them.” His face darkened. “They were not abominations.”
“No,” Mephistopheles said. “They were beautiful.”
That he did remember. He wasn't sure where the horns and tail had entered the mythology, but the truth was, Abigail and Lucifer made a striking couple, and their children had been some gorgeous compilation of them. They were not yet three when they were slaughtered. His own son had been almost two.
"I try to remember how it was because I can't stand how it is."
“That's brave.” Mephistopheles stared at the ceiling. “I do the opposite. I try to forget. I can't remember much about them, or about who I was back then, before I hated everything and hated myself.”
"What am I going to do?" Lucifer asked. "It's getting worse. I cannot keep her, and I cannot let her go. I'm so fucking tired. Tired of hurting her. Tired of feeling so much, and of feeling nothing at all. I just want her to be happy again.”
Mephistopheles had no answer to give him. He cleaned the floor while Lucifer cleaned himself.
Then Lucifer clasped his shoulder. “Goodnight, brother. I’m staying with her tonight.”
He let Mephistopheles out of the cell and locked it back behind him. Then he crawled in bed with Abigail and pulled her close.
Mephistopheles left him there, his heart heavy. What had any of them done to deserve this?
Jezebel waited for him in his chambers. Mephistopheles sighed, not really in the mood to deal with her tonight, but the body she inhabited was tempting. But instead of giving him what he wanted, she went off on another tirade against Lucifer. A queen in life, she could not accept being just another demon in hell. Lucifer considered her a mere annoyance, an unrelenting warmonger. Mephistopheles knew she was much more dangerous than that.
“You should kill her,” Jezebel said suddenly.
Mephistopheles pushed her away. “Are you insane? Do you have the slightest idea what Lucifer would do if he heard you speak such treason?"
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Who's going to tell him? You?"
When he didn't reply, she said,"She’d be better off. You know that. So would Lucifer.”
"He loves her."
"He imprisons her. He imprisons himself. As long as he holds her in that cage, he can pretend there's a way out, that he can still make some kind of deal to save her. He will keep dragging his feet until the day Michael tires of it, then we will all be doomed. If you take that hope from him, he will be forced to fight. The only way he could save her soul then would be to win.”
Mephistopheles sighed, and she touched his face, making him look at her. “You know I’m right. It is not only Lucifer’s fate at stake here. It’s ours, too. Every day, we should be planning. Training. The final war is coming, whether Lucifer wants it to or not. We have to be prepared. At least think about what I'm saying.”
Of course he'd thought about it. In many ways, it would be a mercy killing. He spent a lot of time with Abigail. Maybe as much as Lucifer himself, because he was the only one Lucifer trusted to watch over her when he was gone. It hurt Mephistopheles to see her this way. She and Lucifer were the only family he had left.
Initially, he'd hoped she'd get better as time passed, but that was not to be the case. Her days of lucidity had grown few and far between. It was this place, he suspected. These walls kept her physically alive, but were killing the person she'd once been.
Mephistopheles knew what Lucifer hoped for her, but he also knew something Lucifer still could not accept: Michael would never let Abigail into Heaven, if for no other reason than spite. In the end, her punishment would be the same as theirs. She would be damned, unless they could somehow win this war.
Jezebel was right, in that cold, analytical way of hers. Lucifer could not prepare for the final battle as long as his only focus was on Abigail. And if the only thing he had left to lose was stripped away, he would have no choice except to fight. Abigail’s death would bring back the rage, the bloodlust.
Especially if he thought Michael was responsible…
Mephistopheles hated himself for the thought. He was not like that. He did not crave war and power like his bloodthirsty brothers. Lucifer was not like that either, and it still amazed Mephistopheles that the world thought the first war in Heaven was fought over such things. It was fought for vengeance, and next they'd fight for survival. About this, Jezebel was right-- if Lucifer did not get his head in the game, none of them would survive.
Lucifer still saw Michael as righteous--eternally, rigidly moral. Lucifer still thought this was about right and wrong, and he could not see past his own guilt because he felt that, ultimately, he was responsible. Mephistopheles suspected the truth was much different. In fact, he suspected their transgressions meant nothing to Michael at all. They had given him the excuse to take charge, to put himself on the throne, to lead the others in a war of his own creation that he'd started specifically to gain power.
He still remembered how Michael had gloated when he'd stripped them of their weapons and hurled them down to earth.
The force of their fall had crumbled mountains and caused great tsunamis and earthquakes. Dark clouds had blotted out the sun.
Mephistopheles remembered waking in that canyon to the agony of his shattered bones knitting themselves back together. His mouth had been filled with blood and dust and rage. He had seen the smug look on Michael's face and he had realized they were merely pawns in Michael's endgame.
Maybe Jezebel was right. Maybe this was his only choice.
When he returned to Abigail's cage the next night, Mephistopheles found her docile, sitting on her bed singing to her rabbits.
He had brought her those stuffed toys himself, years ago, when he hadn't been able to take another night of her pitiful cries for her babies. The velveteen rabbits were worn and tattered now, but she held them as if they were precious. When she noticed him outside the cell, she motioned him inside.
He'd feared Lucifer's reaction that night, when he'd walked in and found her with them, but there had been no anger on his brother's face, merely defeat. Abigail's delighted smile had been a double-edged sword that cut both of them.
Mephistopheles would've not only died to save his own family, but he would've died to save Lucifer's children, too, had he only known what was coming. They had been so naive.
"Look who's come to see you!" Abigail cooed to the rabbits as Mephistopheles approached her bed.
He would have to take her from here if he meant to kill her. Hell was intended for the fallen, and for those humans who'd died in sin. Since Lucifer had brought her here alive, Abigail was caught in some profane catch .22. As long as she was within these walls, she possessed the same immortality he did.
He could get her out of here, but could he look Lucifer in the eyes and lie about it? Could he hurt the girl who smiled up at him so innocently, who even now was offering up one of her 'babies' for him to hold? Nobody else in his world fully trusted him anymore, not even Lucifer, since Mephistopheles had begun his affair with Jezebel. He took the rabbit from Abigail and sat in the rocking chair beside her bed, cradling it.
"How are my niece and nephew today?" he asked, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.
They talked for awhile, as they often did, with him pretending that everything was fine and that Terah and Judah would probably join them any minute. The lie hurt more today than it usually did. Abigail told a story about Judah almost eating a bug in the field, and mimicked Terah's horrified reaction. Mephistopheles laughed, but his chest ached. He'd forgotten that story, as he had so many others. Abigail could not move past those days, Lucifer would not, and there he was, the bastard who could scarcely remember his own son's face because he could not bear to think about it.
Mephistopheles watched her as he rocked, trying to make a decision. He wished for a moment that she was in one of her rages. It would be so much easier then, when her pain was so stark and jagged and raw. Then he could know he was doing the best thing for her. Today, she was too normal, too much like her old self.
His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and sweat beaded his lip, despite the coolness of the cavern.
It could all be over with in a moment.
Jezebel had concocted a plausible story, and he knew his generals would back the lie. One had even offered to do the deed for him, but Mephistopheles had made it clear none of them were to touch her. If she faced death, it would not be at a stranger's brutal hand. He owed her that much, at least.
He willed himself to rise.
"What's going on?"
Lucifer's voice echoed in the cavern, startling him. Had he somehow learned of the plan? Where was the demon who was charged with keeping him occupied? A sick dread filled Mephistopheles' belly.
Lucifer grabbed two of the iron bars and stuck his face between them. He focused on Abigail, his brow knitted in a frown, his mouth tense.
"Daddy's home!" Abigail cried to the rabbit she held.
Lucifer's face relaxed and he let himself inside. Abigail jumped up to greet him. She hugged him fiercely, squishing the rabbit between them, then she kissed him, with as much joy and passion as she ever had.
Mephistopheles watched his brother lose himself in that kiss, and the sight made him bitterly curse Michael's name. What right had he had to destroy them? What fucking right?
Mephistopheles ached for them. Michael had taken everything they had, but he could not kill their love, damned as it might be. Even on its worst days, it still burned beneath the madness and rage. On its best days, it consumed Lucifer's entire world. Perhaps those days were the most brutal punishment of all, because they were so fleeting. Because they sparked hope.
Lucifer lived for these days, when she was happy again, and he did not care that they weren't based in reality. He grabbed the rabbit and held it above his head as if it were a child.
"How's my big boy today?" he crooned. "Have you been good for Mama?"
Abigail laughed. "Samuel's been good, but let me tell you what Judah did today."
She told him with the same story she'd told Mephistopheles, laughing so hard she could barely get to the punchline. Lucifer shot him a pained, sympathetic look, but Mephistopheles shook his head. It was okay.
He closed his eyes, listening to her talk.
Oh, what he would give for one more day with them! For one more moment back in her arms. He could see Terah's beautiful smile, and Judah's haphazard dark curls. A tear slipped down Mephistopheles' cheek and he quickly brushed it away.
Lucifer turned the subject to their nephew, son of Abigail's sister, Rachel. That boy had followed them around like a pup and had been the source of constant entertainment. They had loved him as much as their own sons.
Mephistopheles grinned as Lucifer regaled them with a tale of a fishing exploit that had taken place thousands of years ago, but he made it seem like it had taken place only hours before. It sparked a memory Mephistopheles had of the same trip, and he told that tale, too.
They looked ridiculous, Mephistopheles was sure. Two of the most powerful beings in the universe clutching toy rabbits and swapping fish stories, but he didn't give a damn. For a moment, they were all happy again, even if it was just an illusion.
Michael had never known love, and even though he'd tried his hardest, he could not take theirs.
Mephistopheles stayed for awhile, then he kissed the rabbit's head and laid it in the crib beside Abigail's bed.
"This little lady fell asleep on me," he said. "Tell her I'll play with her tomorrow. I need to go check on my two."
He hugged both Abigail and the other rabbit, then impulsively hugged Lucifer. Lucifer looked surprised, then he laughed.
"You alright, brother?"
Mephistopheles smiled. "Yeah, just feeling a little sentimental, I guess."
As he walked down that long corridor alone, he still heard their voices, their laughter, and he felt ashamed of what he'd gone there to do.
If he killed Abigail, he would be the same as Michael, a coward who attacked the innocent and betrayed his own brother to advance his own agenda. Abigail did not deserve that, and Lucifer did not, either.
Even though he was fallen, he took small comfort in the fact that at least he had not fallen that far. They would find another way. He would not steal even a second of his brother's happiness.