At precisely six o'clock, Lucifer knocked on the door. I invited him in.

"Why do you knock rather than ring the doorbell?"

He paused, considering. "I do not know. It feels... more natural to knock. The doorbell seems so intrusive; you cannot control how loud or how soft it rings. There is more finesse to knocking."

He turned to me, "You look wonderful."

God damnit, so do you, I thought. "Thanks!" I spoke aloud. "Are we ready?" I turned to grab a lightweight coat from the hall closet just to keep my hands busy.

"Here, let me help you," he said, taking the coat and holding it out for me to put on. I smiled and slid my arms into the sleeves. He settled it onto my shoulders, hands resting lightly there, as he moved close to me, "Why are you avoiding me? I know you are attracted to me, Olivia, but you have yet to show me you are."

I stepped away. "We've talked about this, Lucifer. You own my soul. I don't feel right dating you with that over our heads."

He sighed. "And, you know my answer in that regard."

"Yes, I do, but I'm the one who gets to say yes or no." I turned to him, "Or, are you saying I can't say no?"

He scowled. "Really, Olivia? If I were going to play that game, I would have thrown that card on the table long before now."

We stared at each other for a heartbeat before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once again, something settled onto him. It tugged at my heart; he was distancing himself.

He opened his eyes and smiled softly as he held out his arm in a true gentlemanly fashion. "We should go. We do not want them to have to hold dinner."

I gave him a slight smile myself and took his arm, and we left the apartment.

The drive over was relatively quiet, as if we'd run out of things to say. But, halfway there, he blurted, "I wish I could just give you your soul back, Olivia. I am sorry."

I didn't quite know what to say. "I—I understand we have a deal, Lucifer. I also understand your very existence is about honoring deals, though you have a reputation for being sneaky about them."

He drew back, "You are expecting me to be 'sneaky' with you in some way? Is that really why you will not date me?"

I couldn't help but sigh. I seemed to do that a lot around him. "That's not really why I won't date you. And I'm not saying I'm expecting you to play some game. But I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

He blinked. I didn't think it had quite sunk in that, while I treated him as a person, I still saw him as the Devil. He turned back to the window, staring at what he could see of the world out of the darkened glass. He was silent the rest of the trip.

We arrived at Shawna's, the tension nearly palpable between us. I was anxious; now I had issues with my date, my best friend, and my best friend's fiancé. This does not bode well for our hero. Still, I'd promised to come, and I'd promised to bring 'Lucas,' and so I found myself ringing the front bell, standing in the cold.

Lucifer had snapped an enormous bouquet just before we left the car. It nearly eclipsed him, and he strategically kept it between the two of us.

I swallowed and had to clear my throat around the growing lump but smile anyway. When Shawna opened the door, all she saw was her best friend and her date tasked with holding the flowers.

"Oh, thank god you're here! John is in the kitchen, cooking, making a mess."

I inhaled. "Whatever he's making a mess to create smells amazing!"

"Yes, but the mess! Good god!"

I laughed and kissed Shawna on the cheek. She hated it when anyone made a mess of her home. "How are you going to get used to that?" I asked as Lucifer shoved the bouquet into Shawna's hands.

"Thank you for the flowers! I just removed the old ones from the vase today, as a matter of fact!" she said to Lucifer. To me, she said, "He's been saying all along he likes to cook, but he's always cooked at his place. He wanted to try out a new recipe tonight, special."

After Shawna had put the flowers in the hall vase and we had removed our coats, she led the way into the kitchen. I tried not to laugh. Not only had he made a mess of the kitchen, but he'd also made a mess of himself too. Flour nearly covered the front of him, along with smears of red sauce. Fortunately, it was all contained on the apron he was wearing.

"Honey, this is Olivia Chase and Lucas Satana."

"Hi! Dinner will be ready soon. I just put the pasta on, and I'm about to bake the bread."

"Everything looks wonderful, John," I declared. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until I got here!"

"Lucas! Would you like something to drink? Honey," he said to Shawna, "get Lucas what he wants."

"What would you like, Lucas? We have imported beer, wine, or liquor."

"A whiskey, on the rocks, would be great," he said and inclined his head in her direction in thanks.

"Olivia? What would you like?" she asked me as she worked to fix his drink.

"I'd love a glass of red. Whatever you've got open."

"Perfect! You can share the bottle with me. John is a beer or scotch man himself."

Lucifer studied one of the many art pieces Shawna had on the walls, which caught her attention. "Oh? Do you like art?"

"Yes, very much. You have some wonderful pieces."

I laughed and turned to John, "Well, we've lost them now. You know how Shawna is about her art. Every piece has a story, and she loves to tell..." my voice trailed off when a look of unadulterated lust filled in his eyes.

"I saw you looking at me the other morning," he said.

Fuck! I needed to stay close to him; beginning an affair would be the perfect get-him-alone scenario. I felt like shit saying what I said next. "Yeah, I know a good fuck when I see one." I sipped my wine in what I hoped was a seductive but casual way.

He chuckled. "Maybe we could do something about that sometime."

I made my lips curl into a sly smile. "Maybe we could."

"Let me give you my number, and let's hook up,"

I pulled out my phone and opened the contacts. He recited the number, and I texted him so he would have mine.

The news on the kitchen's TV caught our attention for a moment, and John turned up the volume.

The newscaster was explaining, "...a horrific mass shooting during a Gay Pride celebration in the bar, the Meeting Place, in southern Mississippi last night at approximately eleven-thirty. Today, police are looking for the most likely suspect in the shooting."

An image of a man in his early twenties, with curls peeking out from underneath a John Deer cap, flashed on the screen. A camera mounted outside the business had taken the grainy picture.

"The man's name is Randolph Attics, Jr.," the announcer continued, "and police are asking citizens to turn in any tips to his location. We encourage residents not to approach Mr. Attics; he is considered armed and dangerous."

We heard Lucifer and Shawna coming back into the kitchen, and John turned off the newscast.

"Honey! When is dinner?" she asked. I had to give it to her, she was a surprisingly good actress if this was an act. And, he was clueless if he was buying both of us.

"Right now, hon," he said, giving her a quick kiss. "Everyone to the table!"

"You don't have to tell me twice!" I sat, Lucifer sitting beside me. I could tell our situation still upset him, but he was playing along. I appreciated he was with me, but I didn't know how to make it known without leading him on.

I found myself smiling at him anyway. He looked smug after that. He was right; he was handsome and charming to me in a way that seemed natural, not forced.

I'm not dating the Devil! I reminded myself. Yet again.

The evening was as ordinary as the situation could allow. I could tell Shawna was forcing her smiles, but she seemed oblivious to how much John watched me. Lucifer was not, and I could feel it rankle him. I had a suspicion I'd hear about it on the way home.

I did, and I didn't. We got into the car after we'd made our excuses and said goodnight. As soon as the driver pulled away, Lucifer turned to me. I didn't expect what he said.

"I have to go. I have an appointment." He snapped a portal, stepped through it as if he were getting out of the car, and it shut behind him, all before I could even say goodnight.

I couldn't help it; once the shock wore off, I started to cry. Despite being so resolute in my decision not to date him, his sudden absence affected me.

I gave into my confused emotion and wept almost all the way home. I had nearly stopped when I dug through my purse for a tissue only to find one of the many monogrammed handkerchiefs he'd loaned me. It even smelled like him. My tears flowed again.

Before I arrived home, I pulled it together, but I had given myself a terrible headache and went to bed early yet again. This was becoming a habit, I realized. I had to admit to myself more than normal grief was going on; my life depressed me.

Who cares? I thought to myself, settling into bed. Just before I turned out the light, I got a text.

~

John: I'm off the next two days. Meet?

Me: Not tomorrow. Wednesday?

John: Sounds good. Will text time and place.

~

His assumption of my eagerness miffed me; he assumed I'd be willing to show up at a place he chose at a time he dictated. But again, I had to be close to him to harvest him. That was if I was sure he was Courage.

I texted Thomas and let him know I wasn't coming in the next day. I needed to spend the day watching Dirty Cop.

I started first thing in the morning, right after a quick shower. John had begun his day even earlier; I found him in a well-appointed room, talking to Sam, the man I sensed was Charity. It surprised me; I'd expected there to be some connection but not one as relaxed and casual as what I was witnessing.

Once again, I wished I could hear people talking. They could have been having an innocent conversation about the latest game. Only the tiniest portion of me considered that to be the truth.

Any sliver of doubt died as I watched the next scenes unfold. A burly man ushered a nervous middle-aged man into the office. After a brief time, he pleaded with Charity over something. Charity dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and his handlers took him back out the door. John followed close behind. After a lengthy walk down a hallway, they pushed him into a room obviously used for anything from minor torture to out-and-out murder if its decor gave the correct vibe.

The floor was tile, with a drain in the center and a garden hose attached in a corner. Above hung various instruments I didn't recognize, but they looked like someone had brought them in from a horror movie set. The walls seemed to be concrete, and the one bare bulb added a dimension of fear described accurately as outright terror. They had to have built the room out in the middle of nowhere; the acoustics in a place like that would have someone's screams echoing round in it for some time.