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“She’s crying again.”
Lucifer lifted his head from the paper, needing to double over his desk to read the cramped script. It’s like Leviathan purposefully ignores all his polite requests to get someone to transcribe everything, when all correspondence might as well be chicken scratch. At least Mammon’s insistence on misspelling every third word can be parsed out with how the jumbled letters jag across the page in glorified crayon. Lilith leaned against the doorframe with a bored expression.
He turned in his chair. “Are the staff not able to handle it?”
“Don’t know. They just came to complain to me. Go fix it.”
“I’m trying to figure out something with—”
“Luci.” She clicked her tongue testily. “I’m in the middle of a negotiation with the Goetia and don’t have the time to clean up our daughter’s mess. Do you really want to take up my job herding those headless chickens?”
“No. I, uh—” He stood quickly, smoothing out the tails of his coat. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” Lucifer strode past her, clasping his hands behind his back. His wife renovated the halls again, it seems. She replaced the open concept pillars to the central courtyard with stain-glass windows shaped like apples, red, green, and gold light shining through to blind him. Good taste, but a bit gaudy for him. He turned to walk right through the garden, nimbly stepping around the tree in the center, so he could get to the wing that held their bed chambers. He can guarantee that every inch of blooming fauna will be stripped for something new by the end of the week, so he didn’t bother admiring it.
Two hellhounds, one short with wiry hair, with the other limber-limbed and fluffy, stood waiting at the entrance. “Your Majesty—”
“What did you do.” He would speak in a kinder tone, but the large dog that belonged in a herd was obviously hiding something behind her back, so he wasn’t in the mood.
She swallowed, then glanced to the terrier for support. “Charlie was complaining about her feathers, and she—”
“We were making sure she’s healthy!” He cut in quickly, tongue lolling for reassurance.
“Yes, of course. We just didn’t want them to fall out while she’s sleeping and poke her, so we. Er.” The hellhound hiked her shoulders up to her folded ears as she held out a handful of bloody feathers.
Bloody.
Feathers.
He knew it was barely a honey-colored dip on the calamus, but each feather was bent and broken like they pulled it out of her—
“You’re fired.” An inhale through the nose, then out through the mouth. If a flash of fire whistled through his lips, that’s perfectly fine, because he’s trying not to be angry. It’s a good diversion of energy. The hellhounds stepped back, like they seriously thought that tiny display of frustration was an attack. Please. If he was that upset, they’d be GONE AND BURIED.
But now’s not the time to bare his fangs and extend his claws. He could feel the horns shrinking back into the crown of his head as he pushed past them. He needs to look welcoming to comfort his little girl after the mess they made.
Honestly, he has had this conversation enough times to memorize it. Anyone who is acting as a guardian over Charlie is not to mess with her wings under any circumstances. Contact him immediately (not Lilith, she hates dealing with the staff) if anything goes wrong, but do. Not. Touch.
Because when idiots touch, they ruin. They hurt. They burn. His daughter isn’t old enough to understand any of this, why the adults her parents trusted to care for her made her bleed instead. His only consolation is that if he crosses his fingers, she’s young enough to not remember this incident as a scar against her trust. He stopped in front of her door, noting how one imp came running forward to ask if he needed anything, halted in his tracks at the glare, turned around, and left again. Good instincts.
He gently rapped his knuckles on the wood, leaning close with his hand on the knob. “Char Char? You okay, sweetie?”
A sniffle. She really is crying. He opened the door slowly, poking his head inside. She yelped at the creak, scrambling tiny hooves on the floor until her back hit the side of her blood-sprinkled bed. The little girl hissed in pain, fresh tears leaking down her face as her wings bent awkwardly under the strain. He dropped to his knees, his heart still stuck in his throat. If he was around to help her more, she wouldn’t instinctively flee as soon as he came in. Lucifer only gets to interact when there’s a problem, and it’s one that a gentle touch needs to fix, not a scolding one. Maybe one day he’ll be free enough from work to tell her stories, or take her out to dinner. It hasn’t happened yet.
“I’m here, honey. You’re going to be alright.” He studied the feathers twisted in odd ends and snapped, clearly where someone thought it’s better to pluck out the problem than actually fix it. “Can I help? That looks like it hurt.”
Charlie didn’t need further convincing, running to collide into his chest with a sob.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He scooped her up with caution, keeping his hand between her shoulder blades as he walked back into the hall. Lucifer caught the hellhounds still there and narrowed his eyes, the warm yellow dropping away for red hot enough to scald. They didn’t need further convincing to scram after the trouble they caused. “I’ll fix it, Charlie. I’ll fix it.”
“I’m itchy.”
“I know. That’s molting, sweetie. That means you’re becoming a big girl, and I’m so proud of you for that.” He turned toward the main bathroom, waiting just long enough for the lights to flicker on themselves before closing the door with his heel. The room was mainly a soft cream, with a dip in the center instead of a tub. It’s the only way to comfortably wash out his wings, although they used to have something smaller when Charlie was a baby. He placed her next to one of the four pillars around the divot, carved to have serpents climbing up them. “Can you stand right here while I fix the water?”
“I had a bath.”
“Your wings will feel better with this, I promise.”
She looked down at how one of the feathers spiked out in the opposite direction it should, then slowly bobbed her head.
“That’s a good girl.” He carded his hand through her long hair once before rolling up his sleeves, then deciding it’s best if he abandons the jacket altogether. No one’s going to care if the king’s underdressed while caring for his daughter. He snapped his fingers to replace it with a swimsuit, then directed his attention to the knobs he had to twist for the right temperature. He opened up a shelf and walked his fingers along the different bottles he could choose from, stopping at the first one he found with six-winged imagery on it. Preening oil for angels is understandably hard to come by in Hell, so he has someone individually employed just to make it for him. Ever since Charlie came around and they had six sets of wings to take care of, they’ve been a miracle worker.
And these so-called “accidents” keep happening. His little girl coming to him with ruffled barbules, primaries combed the wrong way and stuck there, little bumps where a shed feather was tugged prematurely, and on one particularly upsetting occasion, her claws raking across scratchy skin because someone was too scared to admit she had hell mites. Lilith bound her hands in mitts so she’d stop tearing scabs under the milk-colored down. They need to have someone to help them take care of their daughter while still managing all of Hell, but at this point, he may abandon it just to be a father full time. He can’t trust the Hellborn to be kind to her anymore.
Lilith would never let that stand, though, so he’ll find another solution. He grabbed scissors and turned with a patient smile to his daughter, still waiting and watching the center pool fill up. He helped her lift off her nightgown, since those mutts were supposed to be fulfilling the simple task of putting her to bed. Now, he has to grimace at the blood speckling the back of it and place it to the side to wash later. He took a tray from the side of the bath and set it in the water where it could float, stacking it with the oil and scissors. Then, he dropped into the bath, making sure it was room temperature before he held out his arms to Charlie. “Come on,” he cooed.
She dipped one hoof in, stopping on a step and hesitating with one hand still on the pillar. He took that as a signal to let his wings out, fluttering until they became several times larger than the both of them. Charlie watched them with wide eyes before slowly sliding close to him.
“You’re doing great.” He lowered his wings so they’re shielded from any prying eyes, turning away from the door with a brilliant fan of crimson and white behind him. “You ready for the fun part?”
She puffed her cheeks up with air, squeezing her eyes shut. He dunked her quickly, holding her under her shoulders and bringing her back up before she could instinctively start a struggle. She gasped when she resurfaced, shaking out her head and instinctively bushing out her feathers. He took the moments when she was pushing the hair out of her face to drag the edges of his lower wings through the water, making sure the strings of golden blood melted into the background so she wouldn’t panic at the sight of them.
“Did you like it?”
She rustled her tiny wings again, whining at the sensation. It helped get a lot of the blood off, as well as the wisps of white from what the hellhounds dragged out of her. Even then, too much was left to ache and burn at a touch.
“I know. It’s just step one, okay? It’ll feel better soon.” The water’s shallow enough for him to stand with it going to his navel, but she doesn’t have anything to keep her afloat if he started working on her wings. Lucifer dragged one of his wings to be a wall for her to cling to, resting her hands on the bend of it. It took a beat for Charlie to realize she had to hold on, using the down as a floating platform as he tried to pick out the biggest problems first. Of course they messed with her when she was molting, so everything’s extra sensitive and hard to handle. At least from what he can pick up, they avoided the feathers his fledgeling needed to fly. Mostly. He glared at a feather dangerously close to her shoulders that was practically ripped in half. There’s no fixing that. He reached for the scissors and lined them up to minimize the damage. Charlie flinched at the sound.
“‘m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I couldn’t hold still when they fixed my wings.”
He pressed his lips in a thin line, studying the next spot that they annihilated. Blood feathers are common for all winged creatures, and luckily for Charlie, angel descendants can’t bleed out from something so trivial. Otherwise, the jagged edge he had between his fingers could’ve—best not to think about that. “Did this hurt when it happened?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell them it hurt?”
“They said it doesn’t.”
Those hounds better be FUCKING GRATEFUL THAT HE IS A GOOD MAN. “Charlie, I need you to remember to tell me or your mother if anyone hurts you like that, okay? I know that it’s scary, but we need to know so we can help you.”
“I didn’t want to be in trouble.”
“You’re not in trouble.” He snipped a few more scraps that were beyond saving, but still too dangerous to leave as is, checking under each wing before being satisfied with the scissors. Charlie crossed her arms to use them as a pillow on the water as he checked the spindly barbs of red spiking through her. Pin feathers are painful enough without a skilled hand to fix them. He cupped some water to pour over her back, waiting for a new blood flow to start up again. None did, thankfully. He’ll organize what’s already finished molting before going back to the pins. “And I don’t want any of the staff to mistreat you. They’ve been told not to touch your wings, so if they try to, tell them again. They need to listen.”
“But they’re a problem.”
Lucifer froze, the tiny barbules still scratching his fingers. “Sorry, what?”
“My wings. I can’t play with them, and I can’t fly, and none of my clothes fit right.”
“We’ll get you new clothes.”
“They’re itchy and I can’t make them stop itching. I got paint on them yesterday and they hurt to scrub off.”
“Darling, please tell me if you have something on your wings. I’ll help you.”
“Mom said not to bother you.”
He clicked his jaw, thinking carefully. There is nothing he could be doing to make himself too busy for this. No duty as king means that he should trust his daughter’s hygiene to people who will fumble it and hurt her. The idea that Lilith knew and didn’t tell him is…
…a conversation for when he doesn’t have a child around to hear it. “Well, then I’ll teach you how to clean it yourself.” He fluttered so he could shake loose a feather that he hasn’t bothered to discard yet, holding it out for her to look at. “Do you see all the little lines?”
Charlie nodded.
“Those are the tiny barbs that stitch together so you can fly. So, we need to be extra careful to keep them like that when we take care of ourselves. You do that by zipping and unzipping it.” He purposefully busted the strands so there’s a gap in the side of it. “Unzip.” He pinched his fingers over it to twist it back into shape. “Zip.”
She took the feather offered to her and did the same, pulling too hard at first before she understood the actual rhythm.
“Creatures with wings have this oil that they use to make that stick. We create it with our fingers, but I also have some bottles of it so your mother can help out. Animals in the living world have the oil in their tails.”
“Like ducks?”
“Yes, exactly like ducks.” He twisted so she could see the mischevious look on his face. “And do you want to know something really cool?”
“What?”
“Different birds have different types of wings, and the seraphim copy those birds. So, your daddy is a duck.” He pressed one finger into her nose as she giggled. “Which makes you a duck. You’re a little duckling, just like all your toys.”
“We’re not ducks!”
“It’s true. Ducks can’t preen without water, so we can’t make the oil. That’s why we dunked ourselves, remember? So your fingers can help you fix your feathers.” He rubbed the pads of his fingers together, showing the tiny sheen. “If you didn’t need water, your hands would always be greasy.”
“Gross.”
“Gross,” he agreed, moving a center wing to where she can access it. “I have an idea. You practice on my feathers, while I fix yours. Does that sound fun?”
“And they won’t pull out mine anymore?”
“I’ll make sure of it.” He adjusted where he stood, moving to a shallower edge of the pool so he can sit and put her on one knee. He turned Charlie so he could keep working through her back as she fidgeted with his wings. Lucifer kept the preening oil close, since with all the pain she endured, he could never be too gentle.
His daughter counted through his feathers lightly, stopping whenever she found one that had a break in the barbs. It took a few attempts with Lucifer hiding his winces for her to understand she does not need to go against the grain. He kept one eye on her progress, and whenever he could, he tried to copy her motions on her own wing, so she could feel herself get it right.
“What if we lose a feather?”
“Just don’t pull it out too soon and you’ll be fine,” he replied simply. “Either it’ll fall on its own, or you’ll feel that it is safe to remove. It’s like a loose tooth.” He paused, staring straight ahead. “Have you lost any teeth yet?”
“No.”
“Hm.” He hummed, packing away the concern that he should know that. “You’ll know if it’s too early because it hurts.”
“Or if it bleeds, right?”
“Well—” He scrunched up his face, trying to find a nice way to put this. “Feathers don’t usually have blood in them. If they do, then it’s really too early to take out. It’s still growing.”
“But I was bleeding.”
“Yes, you were.” And he hates it. “So, your feather loses its blood, and then it’s a pin feather. These little spiky things, see?” He helped her look near the tip of her wingspan, rolling the coating between oily fingers. “They need a lot of oil, so pinch it and gently take it off when it’s ready. If you need to tug, then stop, because it doesn’t want to leave yet.” He held out the tiny nib of keratin. “Do you get it?”
She blinked, then tried to copy it on the other wing. He nodded encouragingly as she skipped over a few that she couldn’t pull, eventually offering him a matching scrap.
“Great job! I told you that you’re a big girl now. Look at you, cleaning all by yourself.”
“I want to finish them.”
“Then you get what you can reach, and I’ll comb through your back. You’ll be able to reach there someday, just not now.” He was only half-lying, since the feathers that drew the hellhound’s ire the most were obviously the ones that sprouted from the skin. He needed to press his hand into her spine and will the skin to sew back up before she remembers she’s seriously hurt. It’s odd how kids forget that so easily, already humming and kicking her legs with tiny needles getting flicked from her fingers as she preened. He finished with that pretty quickly, deciding his new job was to make sure she doesn’t dump the preening oil into the water and waste it.
She still had a few feathers clipped, but the rest stayed in place like a single coat across each limb, twitching as she stretched. It’s pure white along the back, with a red underside glossy from the pampering. Just like him, and so grown up.
Lucifer grinned, wrapping his arms around her middle. “Now there’s no need for anyone to touch your little wings. If any of the staff try to fix it for you, tell them that you’re a grown up little duckling, and you know how to do it.”
“I’m not a duck!”
He tilted his head, letting his vocal chords shift so he could release a perfect quack in response. Charlie giggled.
“We’re not ducks, we’re demons!”
“We’re duck demons, and I’m going to take you for a swim!” Before Charlie could escape, he stood and flipped onto his back, taking the brunt of a splash into the water again. She shrieked, but to his relief it wasn’t in fear.
He still should’ve warned her first, holding her out of the water again while she coughed. “Dad!”
“Sorry. When you use the bottle of oil you can leave too much on your feathers, so you need to rinse afterwards. We’re done, though, I promise.” He waded back to dry ground, leaving wet hoofprints on warm stone. Charlie snapped her wings in a frenzy to dry them off. He closed his eyes and leaned back to avoid the spray.
Lucifer placed her on the ground, waited until she was looking, and did the same thing, shaking his whole body like a dog. She squealed with the feathery appendages over her like an umbrella.
“Come on. If you go to bed now, I’ll tell you a story.” She leapt at that offer, grabbing his hand as he opened the door. He forgot for a moment how odd they would appear traipsing around the palace with puffy wings, sodden hooves, and a lack of professional attire. Any imps who looked at them sideways got a new tail rattling dangerously with spines sharp enough to maim at a distance. No one dared follow, but he appreciated how there’s fresh sheets for his little girl. He took out a night gown, tugging at the edges to see if it fits. Charlie’s right: it’s too small. He’ll order something new tomorrow. Lucifer scooped her up in a spin before depositing her back on the bed. “What do you want to hear?”
“Luci.”
He blinked, turning to see Lilith’s silhouette in the door. He swallowed, patting Charlie on the head. “I’ll be right back, hon.”
Lilith practically dragged him to the other end of the hall before he could speak. “Did you spend an hour taking our daughter for a swim?”
“It couldn’t be an hour. That wasn’t—we didn’t spend enough time for it to be an hour.”
“It most certainly was. You were supposed to just calm her down and then go back to work, not play. And what’s this about you firing her only caretakers? Do you have someone ready for the morning, or did you seriously not think through dumping them on the spot?”
“They pulled out her feathers. They aren’t safe around her.”
“Feathers grow back.”
“Slowly and painfully, if they were old. These were new feathers, young as her, stuck deep enough in her skin to draw blood. If she was an animal—”
“She’s not. Charlotte’s a demon, and she’s old enough to know how to hide it.”
Lucifer gawked, unsure if he heard her correctly. “Sorry?”
“The wings are the issue, correct?” Lilith rolled her shoulders airily, unaffected by the slight. “So, she shifts them out like you do. With that, there will be no way for anyone to damage her feathers, and you won’t have a reason to throw a fit and fire her caretakers without consulting me.” She bit out the last phrase bitterly.
“But—”
“Luci, do you have a logical reason to object, or is it just your pride?”
He hunched his shoulders. He looked pathetic compared to her, with damp hair bunched together and fingers red at the tips where he wore them out trying to help. He could shift his appearance in a thousand ways, and he’ll never compare to how effortlessly intimidating Lilith is as herself. Something about his wife looking so flawlessly human gives her a leg up on everyone in Hell. “I don’t want her to cover up who she is.”
“Do you see your shape shifting as hiding?”
“No, since I choo—”
“Then there’s no problem.” Lilith reached to pat him on the back, then stopped when the wings got in the way of the consoling gesture. “Get some rest, and then find a plan for new guardians tomorrow.”
“Alright.” He closed his eyes against the kiss on his brow, standing there for a moment while his wife walked away. Lucifer sighed, rubbing his eyelids before returning to Charlie’s room. “So what story do—”
He stopped speaking at the sound of a soft exhale. He shut his mouth, stepping gingerly on cloven hooves over to check on his daughter. Charlie curled into herself with her wings acting as a blanket. Only her head poked out of the down, eyes closed and face relaxed.
Lucifer tried not to be too disappointed as he gave her a light peck on the cheek, careful so the door doesn’t creak when he leaves. Hell keeps him too busy for quiet moments like this now, but some day in the future, he’s sure he can sit by her side and tell her all the stories she wants. When she’s older, she can have a good memory of him.
Little ducklings like her are too young to remember this, aren’t they? So his lack of presence before this is…a small blight he can repair. He’ll just double down. Somewhere between king and sin, he’ll scrounge up the energy to be a father. Sure, he’s not the best at keeping track of time, but he can do this if he sets his mind to it. He can fix this.
He passed Lilith’s bedroom with the door already locked, and changed into pajamas in his own. She claimed that there’s not enough room in one bed for both of them when he keeps manifesting his demon form when he sleeps. Makes sense, at least. Who wants to deal with six wings, horns, a tail, hooves, glowing eyes, claws…
Huh. He sounds like a monster when he thinks of it like that. And besides, why does that bother her now, and not for the past thousands of years? Is this a recent development? Did it always happen and she never brought it up? Was it an excuse for something else? He squinted at the ceiling, trying to puzzle it together and coming up woefully empty. He’ll ask more tomorrow.
Lucifer stretched with a yawn, digging his hooves under the thin comforter as his horns hit the pillow. He didn’t need anything too fancy when his wings make the perfect cocoon of warmth, tail coiling so it won’t catch a chill dragging on the floor. The flaming light from his eyes slowly slid shut, like a shutter on a lantern.
Before he could drift off to dreams about his little girl soaring through the sky, he remembered to remove the wedding ring from his claws and place it on the bedside table.