So here’s the “first chapter” of my novel I’ve been working on. I’m working on the 11th now. I’m actually at the point where I know where I’d like to go with the story which would require an entire rewrite. BUT it’s not about being perfect this time around, just need to FINISH!
Constructive criticism always welcome.
—–
Lucifer never liked hot weather. He considered the firey pit a bum deal. Sure, he knew he made the decision to fall from Heaven, but never expected to land in fire. The lava pits, natural hot springs, and endless entertainment of torturing damned souls did nothing to appease his disdain for the boiling temperature. This was why he chose San Francisco. He enjoyed the microclimates, the light jacket weather –though the drought was causing the city to heat up too much. Toying with the idea of moving, he stared out the window of his sixteenth floor office.
The high-rise overlooked downtown. Businessmen in suits and startup entrepreneurs in flannel over shirts dashed through the streets to get to work. Lucifer, known to his human colleagues as “Simon Conway” worked as a lawyer in one of the city’s premier agencies. It suited his lavish lifestyle of fast cars, fitted suits, and his secret addiction to gummy candy. In a locked drawer, he hid his stash of gummi bears, gummi worms, and fruit snacks that he pulls out between meetings. The only one to know of this weakness was his underworld assistant, Crowley.
Every week Crowley joins Lucifer in the San Francisco office to discuss business. They run through the numbers –soul intake, levels of torture, room to improve, etc. While spending his days above ground, Lucifer left Crowley in charge. He knew that his assistant was doing his best, but no one could take a demon seriously if he continued to walk around in board shorts with sandals and socks.
At noon, a siren sounded across the city. It was Tuesday. Every week the siren was tested, and its blaring carried with it a moment of worry through every local’s heart. Lucifer was here for the 1989 earthquake. In fact, he rather enjoyed the ride. Humans aren’t aware, but earthquakes are just a response to Hell’s overpopulation. During each quake, Lucifer and his staff releases souls –the one who “learned their lesson”-back into the wild. From there they are reborn to try anew. Lucifer chuckled to himself, reincarnation was never a part of the Christian religion, and yet there it was.
Just like the weekly siren, Crowley arrived for his meeting. Lucifer turned to face his assistant only to be met with the fashion faux pas of the century. A bright yellow tie dangling from his neck, a pink fishnet crop top with a white wife beater underneath, black pants that could only be found in the depths of a Goth’s closet, and white hi-tops. Lucifer was too stunned to laugh.
“What the Hell are you wearing?”
Crowley looked down quizzically, “What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything. Here put this on.” From his in office wardrobe, Lucifer pulled out a black suit. Though he knew it would be a bit large on the small demon, it couldn’t be worse than what Crowley was already wearing.
Crowley began undressing, “I have the numbers for you. It’s been increasing steadily over the years.” He pulled the pants up, and as predicted, the legs dragged on the floor. Lucifer walked over to him, bending down to fold the cuffs, as Crowley buckled himself in.
“Some of the demons have been talking about starting a union. They’re tired of the long hours with no pay. Also the Death called and wanted to see if you’d like to play poker.”
“A union? They’re demons! Let me guess a union rep just arrived?” Crowley nodded. “Tell them to shut up and deal with it. Also, tell the Death that I’m willing to play as soon as War pays up. I’m sick of him dodging my phone calls.”
Crowley snapped his fingers and a notepad appeared in his hands. He began taking notes, ‘hmm’ ing to himself. “Sir, I know that your body’s expiration date is coming up, and I was wondering if you’re planning on returning.”
Lucifer slid the suit jacket off of Crowley’s shoulders. He tossed it onto a nearby chair, and began rolling up his shirt sleeves. “The jacket is too big,” he bent over and picked up the original outfit from the floor. His arms outstretched, the clothes burst into fire, turning into ashes that fell gracefully onto the carpet. With a snap of his fingers the ash seeps into the ground, and into the office below. The window invited him to have another look outside. Down onto the street, though ant-size from the height, he watched a pigeon get hit by an out-of-date BMW.
“I think I’ll stay for another hundred years. It’s easier to take souls when I don’t have horns.” In the reflection of the window, Lucifer sees Crowley smiling to himself. Little Bastard. He turns to face his assistant once more. Crowley coughs to mask his grin. “You can go now. And next time you come to see me, don’t dress like you got lost on your way to a rave.” With a snap of the Devil’s fingers, Crowley disappeared into a burst of fire.
“Asshole…” He whispered quietly. Lucifer knew he had been gone for far too long. Whenever he chose to, he could watch what was happening in Hell from his pet crow he had left behind. The weekly meetings with Crowley were a formality. In actuality, he didn’t need an update. Lucifer watched them regularly in his downtime at the office. The cases he picked up didn’t require the attention people believed they deserve. Instead he has his clients sign on the dotted line. The contract states that they will win the case, as well as one extra perk (most ask for a young, model girlfriend) in exchange for their already blackened soul.
That’s what you get when you work as a corporate lawyer, he supposed.
Tired of standing around waiting for more clients, Lucifer decided he needed lunch. Hunger, in Lucifer’s opinion, was one of the best side effects of being “human”. He could always eat, but the flavors were underwhelming, not to mention there was no need for food. Being around for a century, Lucifer has eaten practically everything he could get his hands on. Currently- aside from gummy candy- his favorite is Indian cuisine.
He absolutely hated salads.
The best Indian food was in London. Lucifer spent plenty of time out there watching the British tear down India. Now, moving past the conflict, Indians have opened restaurants all over the United Kingdom with flavors that surpassed anything the British could ever hope to create. Unfortunately, Lucifer didn’t have time to pop over to the other side of the world; he had a meeting at three after all. Instead he chose a hole-in-the-wall Indian café that never lived up to expectations.
Halfway through his third piece of Naan, he heard the familiar voice of long-time client Robert Stork. “Simon! Simon Conway! I never thought I’d see you in a shithole like this.”
Mentally running through his files, Lucifer remembered the Stork contract. “How’s the oil?” Human shell, Simon Conway asked.
“Flowing. Hey, man, you’re looking a bit tired there. Working too hard?”
“Oh, just surprised to see you in this shithole,” behind Conway’s snark, he knew Stork was right. The body was wearing out. No amount of hell-born magic and kale smoothies could fix his pallor. “Something you need?”
Robert Stork sat across from his lawyer, peering over his wire-rimmed glasses he wore for show. A faded lipstick stain, barely hidden from view, caused Lucifer to smile. The lipstick, much like his glasses, was fake. Another way for Stork to create an image for himself, when in actuality he spent his nights alone behind a computer watching taboo pornography. His soul was already damned, so instead Lucifer took Stork’s ability to be happy. He may smile, but there was nothing behind it.
“My brother is in a bit of… trouble. His company is being sued for selling personal information and fraud. Maybe one or two other things as well,” Stork leaned back in his chair.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Lucifer lied. “What other trouble is he in exactly?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He may have been involved in a car accident- Yes, Lucifer thought, he was- that may have led to a death or two.”
The car accident in question left three dead, two children under the age of ten and their mother. Four if you count the eventual suicide of the devastated father. Simon Conway esquire yawned unintentionally. His body continued to deteriorate causing him to become more and more tired every passing day. Not even the shockingly bright-colored silks that lined the restaurant walls could keep him from ordering a coffee.
“Normally, I don’t take clients in a criminal bind,” Lucifer said, sipping bland coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “But this time I’ll make an exception.”
He was sure to find a new body at a telemarketing firm.
Mai Insanity 