Lucifer found Elio huddled in the corner of The Big House’s laundry room, an island in a sea of ‘What Happens In The Bayou Stays In The Bayou’ t-shirts, hustling a pair of baby blue pants for all its plastic bags.

  Lucifer hovered at the edge of the doorframe, little more than half an eyeball peeking in. Though it wasn’t because he was afraid of the boy, or anything.

  Absolutely not.

  As a matter of fact, he found the boy’s dead eyes, monotone, hot-and-cold nature, and unsettling presence to be… charming, in its own way.

  He simply wanted to verify that the boy in fact was stealing before he approached him. After all, Lucifer of all people knew how damaging a false flag could be for one’s reputation.

  But to his disappointment, verification meant waiting while Elio went through a thorough examination of his loot. This included plucking the bag, plucking the item through the bag, tossing it about in his hands, finally cracking the bag open and… wafting it?

  Lucifer had had enough.

  “Excuse me, young man,” he snapped, stepping forward. And rather than leaping to his feet, hide the booty behind his back, and stammer through an unconvincing excuse, Elio gave Lucifer a lazy glance over his shoulder before turning back to his stolen goods.

  “Oh. Hey.”

  And?

  Lucifer wasn’t quite sure of how to proceed from there.

  Come to think of it, it had been too many years to count since he’d been in any sort of authoritative position. The most recent he could think of was when the Hellish Branch’s staff had gone on strike—something about an inhospitable work environment after the A/C had gone out.

  This left our unsuspecting Lucifer, who just so happened to be stopping by to sweet-talk Miss Sheryl at the front desk into sharing her honey bun with him, to confront a group of ruffians ransacking the joint.

  “Excuse me, young men,” he said uncertainly, a little louder than he typically would, to be heard over the protesters.

  (“HOT BREATH, THREE HUNDRED DEGREES, LAVA DROPS, NO A/C”)

  “Oh. Hey,” the ringleader said, shooting him a greasy grin. He nudged the rest of his crew. “Look who we’ve got here! Mister Satan himself.” There was a round of hoots and hollers, to which Lucifer replied, “Oh, please, no need for applause.”

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  “You’re too humble, man. Y’know what, why don’t we let Mister Satan have first pick?” The group abruptly disbanded, parting the way. At their behest (and after a few firm but encouraging shoves), Lucifer found himself face-to-face with the honey bun he’d been thinking of all morning. And with no Miss Sheryl in sight.

  It wasn’t his proudest moment.

  Shaking the memory off, Lucifer offered a cautious, “Hey.”

  Elio scooted around to face Lucifer, but kept his eyes on the prize. “Pretty weird that 1st sent you instead of 60th. Or wait, this was part of 60th’s delegation duty, wasn’t it?”

  Lucifer gave a sniff nod. “It’s funny that you should mention that.” Lucifer waited a beat for a reaction that didn’t come. “You see, I’ve been instructed to investigate… theft in the laundry room. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Elio snorted, waving his hands sarcastically. “Uh oh, you’ve got me.”

  And again, Lucifer had no idea what came next. But when the corners of Elio’s lips quirked in what Lucifer assumed was his best attempt at a smile, he let out a relieved sigh. He mimicked Elio’s tone, replying, “I guess my work here is done?”

  Elio patted the pile of cotton next to him, inviting a reluctant Lucifer to join him. “Not yet.” He stood up to rummage through the dirty clothes hamper. He quickly fished out a small blazer and tossed it into Lucifer’s lap.

  Immediately, Lucifer noticed the name embroidered on the breast. It was 1st’s.

  Elio leaned against the washer, his little smile slowly maturing to something more sneaky. “Check it out.”

  Lucifer straightened it out and flipped it over, but didn’t see anything amiss. Elio sighed, “The pocket, dude.”

  And against his better judgment, Lucifer patted over the pocket…

  It was lumpy. And crinkly.

  Elio’s sneaky smile bloomed into a full-blown snicker. “How’s that for an investigation, Johnn? Pull it out!” At his behest, Lucifer shook the baggie out of 1st’s pocket. “A limited edition neon red Dale tribute. Limited edition.” Lucifer inspected it a little closer and there it was, the quirky robot replica in all of its glory. “It’s crazy how 1st’s always up on her high horse, probation this, exile that… but behind closed doors, she’s just like us.”

  Elio on the other hand, who’d hopped up onto the dryer, with legs swinging eagerly, looked like a kid waiting outside of a candy store. But Lucifer chose to take the high road, standing up to leave with the plastic baggie clenched in his fist. “We’re all human, aren’t we?”

  For Lucifer had ways about him—vindictive ways, seething ways, Grudgy ways, as Cara might say—but gossip just wasn’t in his wheelhouse.

  …

  Blackmail, on the other hand, certainly was.

  That’s why he marched right out of The Big House, past the mansion, and into the woods, stalking the path of heel marks in the muck.

  Though it wasn’t long before those little dents vanished, giving way to a stretch of trees with leaves so large and plentiful that Lucifer couldn’t see his own torso.

  “1st!” He bellowed, squeezing his way through the foliage. “I’d like to have a word with y—”

  A clammy palm clamped over Lucifer’s mouth before he could finish speaking. In an instant, leather-gloved hands grabbed at him, dragging him into the trees.