Sins of Omission: Sinners & Saints, #6

By Rosalie Stanton

He's waited centuries for a woman like her. Too bad she's the devil's lover.

When Hannah was asked by a demigod to help end the world, she agreed without hesitation. Yet months have passed since the so-called apocalypse; the world is still spinning, the demigod in question is MIA, and Hannah finds herself doubting everything she thought was true.

After the world didn't end, Gula, the Sin of Gluttony, was ordered by Lucifer to guard some random human. But like everything else with the devil, the reasons why weren't clear. Gula has his own theories, namely that Lucifer got his freak on with a human for the first time in forever, which would be swell…if Hannah wasn't the type of woman Gula himself has waited centuries to find.

A new assignment brings Gula closer to Hannah that he ever dreamed possible, and that's dangerous for a whole host of reasons. When the girl you love happens to be the devil's mistress, pursuing her is an excellent way to end up dead. But the more Gula tries to use his head, the more his heart gets in the way. And when the apocalypse-happy demigod shows up again, Gula discovers more than his life is on the line.

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Buffy meets Good Omens. A tale of devils, angels, demons, and everything in between. Product may include sacrilegious humor, irreverent beliefs and explicit, too-hot-for-prime-time adult scenes.

This series is best enjoyed when read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosalie Stanton
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393723998

Rosalie Stanton

Rosalie Stanton is a multi-published erotic romance author, with emphasis in paranormal and urban fantasy. A lifelong enthusiast of larger than life characters, Rosalie enjoys building worlds filled with strong heroes and heroines of all backgrounds. Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds, which evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English. As the granddaughter of an evangelical minister, Rosalie applied herself equally in school in the creative writing and religious studies departments, which had an interesting impact on her writing. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family. Rosalie is represented by Tish Beaty at the L. Perkins Agency.

Book preview

Prologue

These would be her last minutes inside Purgatory.

Until now, the veil separating her barren world from the one she belonged to had remained impenetrable, though she’d caught glimpses whenever she could. Had tested the strength of the wall when she’d seen it and tried to knock it down. There had been no give before, but that wouldn’t be the case today.

Lilith sat on ground that she couldn’t see or distinguish. It felt solid—not warm or cold, without identifying textures, and it blended with the rest of the world. Or rather, the non-world that Lucifer had locked her inside—the one comprised of nothing but an endless sea of beige. A world created solely with the intent of keeping the likes of her incarcerated.

Her mouth twisted into a sneer as her fingers found the curved indentations she’d left in her skin. Her body began to protest immediately, familiar with what came next, but she ignored it. The body was a tool, the only one she had left, and it would do as she demanded.

She dug her nails into raw, angry flesh, and it happened at once.

The beige wall flickered, revealing a flash of vibrant color.

She dug deeper, ignoring the pain that radiated outward.

The wall disappeared altogether and the colors on the other side came into focus.

A long stretch of road cushioned by fields of green. There was no civilization on the horizon. No vehicles in sight. Were it not for the fact that she could see the grass swaying in the wind, Lilith might have wondered if she could trust her eyes at all.

But it was there. Fresh air, a clear blue sky, and miles of road.

Lilith struggled to her feet, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. She was careful not to jostle her hand too much, lest she lose her grip on her belly. Though her fingers were now covered in a thick syrup of blood, the pain had largely faded. The babe, in its habitual response, continued kicking like it was training for the World Cup. She fought the urge to punish—knowing it would only kick the harder for her efforts.

If it weren’t for the fact that the critter was using her body as its incubator, Lilith might admire its moxie. And she couldn’t deny the pregnancy had turned out to be a boon.

Which was good for the babe. For if it had this much power now…

A smile tugged at Lilith’s mouth as she stepped toward the road. The stale nothingness around her broke into crisp fresh air, sunlight spilling across her skin, and the beige world closed behind her.

Slowly, she removed her fingers from the folds of her bloody flesh, then brought them to her lips. The child had made this possible. The bastard parasite that had hijacked her womb, that had insulted her with the punishment of motherhood.

The child was the reason she would have the chance to right her wrongs.

To finish what she’d started.

The woman sitting beside him would not be quite so eager to hog the armrest if she knew he was the devil. Yet to inform her of the fact would likely bring about a different obstacle altogether, and Lucifer refused to allow a rude human to spoil his evening.

He had waited long enough as it was to see Hamilton.

There were few things that could genuinely excite him, but the theatre was one of them. Humanity’s ongoing penchant for creativity remained a lasting virtue, especially when the world seemed dark. Even the stories that had been told a thousand times could be made new again with a little outside-the-box thinking. Lucifer had lost count of the number of historical dramas that had proven to be more entertaining than the reality they depicted.

It had been a long while, it seemed, since he’d felt like himself. And while he wasn’t expecting a miracle to occur at the Richard Rodgers Theatre, he couldn’t deny that getting out of Hell for a few hours could work wonders.

Ten minutes before curtain, the space between his shoulders started to tingle. At first, Lucifer did his best to ignore it—the same thing had been happening with some frequency for the last few months. While the sensation was somewhat disconcerting, Lucifer had decided it was related to stress—and why shouldn’t it be?—and shoved it into the back of his head. The incidents didn’t last long and were easy enough to put out of mind until they occurred again.

Except this time, the feeling didn’t subside. Instead, it seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, spreading through muscle until taking residence in his chest. The preshow chatter around him dulled into a distant buzz until his head was full of nothing but white noise. Still, the sensation grew—like a part of him he had switched off had come back online.

Intimate and familiar.

Lucifer inhaled sharply—too sharply, given the snide look he received from the armrest hog—and leaned forward, his hands finding his knees.

The shifting stopped, and he knew.

Something hard and horrible began to sink in his chest. Lucifer drew in a ragged breath and looked up just as the theatre went dark. His fingers were digging into his knees hard enough to leave a mark. He had to force himself to relax his grip. To get to his feet. To edge down the row of theatre attendants for the sanctuary of open air.

Lucifer didn’t breathe again until he’d made it to the men’s room and found it empty.

Pixley, he said.

Pixley was nothing if not prompt. She popped into the space before him the next second, her blonde-and-purple hair twisted in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She had also exchanged her usual hooker boots and fishnets for a modest floor-length black dress that showed enough cleavage to have most men salivating while still not broaching modern society’s indecency laws. As always, the Registration floated just a few inches from her head, the quill making furious scratches to the most recent page as more souls fell into the Lake of Fire.

Were the situation not serious, Lucifer would have chuckled. Pixley had been hinting hard these last few weeks that she would like to accompany the devil to the show. He hated to disappoint her.

I need you to arrange a meeting with Jev, he said.

Pixley’s hopeful face fell. What?

This can’t wait. Let him know that I need to see him at once.

She blinked, but to her credit, didn’t question him. I’ll make it happen.

Please do. Lucifer loosed his tie. That will be all.

Pixley offered a curt nod before vanishing once again, leaving him to the thundering silence of the bathroom—a silence made louder by the music he could hear from the theatre.

Lucifer released a long sigh and rested his hands on the counter.

There was one truth he could never escape, no matter how hard he tried. The devil did not get time off.

Especially not in matters involving his ex-wife.

1

Did you get benched?

Grayson Bailey looked up from the desk stationed outside Lucifer’s office, where he had apparently made himself at home. He seemed comfortable enough, though the panic that crossed his face at meeting Gula’s eyes spoke plainly that he had not intended anyone to catch him there.

Umm… Grayson’s ears went pink. What are you doing here?

Gula arched an eyebrow. I work here. Same can’t be said for you.

I-I work for Lucifer just as much as you do.

He lifted a shoulder. I think I work for him a little more.

No, you—

Reverend, relax. I’m just yanking your chain. Which was ridiculously easy to do, as Gula had learned in the months since his sister had fallen in love with the former human. Seriously, though, what’s with the desk job?

Why do you care?

Well, he hadn’t very much until that moment. Someone was in a snippy mood. Gula crossed his arms. Really? That tone?

I just don’t want to deal with this today.

Then you picked the wrong time to be sitting there. Gula pointed at the closed door to Lucifer’s office. Don’t make me wait ’cause the boss man will just get cranky, and I’ll be forced to tell him you held me up.

Grayson’s shoulders fell. Gula, can we just skip this for now?

We could but that wouldn’t be very fun.

Grayson didn’t answer for a few long seconds, but Gula could tell just by looking at him that the fight had ended. Were it anyone else, he might have felt bad for the guy. Of all the new additions to the Sin family, Grayson definitely received the most abuse. Granted, he didn’t do much to help keep himself from being made an easy target, but after a while, it just wasn’t sporting anymore.

Generally. This was an exception.

I’m Lucifer’s new executive assistant, Grayson said at last, looking defeated.

Gula blinked. That, he hadn’t expected. Huh?

Luxi and I decided it was for the best. I’m not really good at… Well, anything over here.

Don’t sell yourself short. You’re hilarious.

Yeah, but not on purpose.

That’s what makes you hilarious.

Grayson scowled. I’m not good at being a Sin. In fact, I’m pretty terrible at it. And since we’re expecting a baby now, it seemed a good time to just…

Quit?

Put myself to good use elsewhere.

Uh huh. You realize this leaves us one Sin short of a full deck.

Shortly after Grayson’s human life had ended, Lucifer had named him the Sin of Greed. As it turned out, coaxing an immortal man who had the brain of a human into doing some of Hell’s nastier work—especially when the man in question had been a preacher in a former life—was, well, difficult.

Grayson cleared his throat. Umm, actually, the role has been filled already. Cassie is going to take my place.

Cassie. It wasn’t a question.

It…it makes the most sense. She has your—ahh—unique perspective—

Meaning she understands that sometimes humans die on our missions and that it’s really not a big deal.

Grayson made a face. It’s not fair to deprive anyone of life. I don’t see why this is controversial.

And yet you can’t seem to understand that life doesn’t end when a mortal croaks. You’re still around, aren’t you?

I’m a special case.

Gula smirked and slapped Grayson’s shoulder. Don’t let Ira hear you say that. He’d launch into a lecture about just how right you are.

Grayson turned redder, if such were possible. Yes, he said. "Can we not, you know, tell Ira about this? About my new position. He’ll just… He just stopped being an ass about Luxi being pregnant, and I don’t want to—"

Grayson.

What?

You realize that Cassie is going to tell Ira when she gets a shiny new job, don’t you?

Gula had never seen a man deflate before—or if he had, never so spectacularly as did his brother-in-law. The overpowering red drained away from Grayson’s face. His eyes went wide, then dimmed.

Shit.

Pretty much. Gula grinned, went to slap his arm again, then decided to be extra obnoxious and go for the full head ruffle. There was something about the coifed, perfect look the guy always wore that demanded to be fucked up.

Grayson didn’t so much as put up a fight. Thanks.

Don’t worry. Ira will stop giving you shit one of these days.

You think?

Gula shrugged. Eternity’s a long time. He’s bound to get bored and move onto something else.

That’s not very encouraging.

The truth rarely is.

With that, Gula offered a jovial wave, then turned to enter Lucifer’s office, which itself still resembled the Oval Office. He wasn’t surprised to see Ace on one of the sofas adjacent to the fireplace, nor was he surprised that his brother wore a sour expression. Ace would have arrived with two minutes to spare before the designated meet-time, and did not suffer delays well, particularly when the cause was that someone had gotten too chatty. That was because, as far as Gula was concerned, some fun-hating leech had latched itself to Ace’s ass sometime in the fourteenth century and had decided to stay.

Lucifer stood behind the desk. He didn’t look amused, either, which didn’t bode well for the meeting. The devil could be the best boss in the universe. He could also be every bit the monster people wanted him to be, at least when he was in a foul temper.

Which he had been for nearly a year.

So kind of you to join us, the devil said.

Gula hiked a thumb in the direction of the door he’d closed. Got distracted.

We noticed, Ace intoned.

Hey, I didn’t expect to see Grayson here. Cut me some slack.

"So you decided the optimum time to discuss his new arrangement was before our meeting? Lucifer crossed his arms. Please take a seat."

Gula made his way over to the sofa across from Ace, biting his tongue.

Once he had a captive audience, Lucifer pulled two manila folders from a drawer, then circled around his massive desk to join them. It was only when he was within a foot or so that Gula noticed the dark circles under the devil’s eyes, and it took another few seconds for warning bells to go off.

Undeniably, Lucifer had had one of the worst years on record. They all had. Lilith, the former Queen of Hell, had finally made good on her notorious hatred for all things human by trying to bring about Armageddon. It was a wonder none of them had died in the fallout. Hell, Gula’s brother Campbell nearly had, and though no one talked about it, it was obvious he was still messed up.

Not that Gula could blame him.

Or Lucifer. Except it was kind of Lucifer’s job not to terrify his underlings by looking so haggard. Granted, there wasn’t a statute of limitations on recovering from that time your ex tried to kill you and everything you love, but those bags under the devil’s eyes, his dark hair rumpled, his suit somewhat unkempt, brought it all rushing back.

Gula’s good mood plummeted.

Lucifer handed a folder to Ace, then turned to Gula. Jesse Chamberlain, he said. Thirty-four years old, originally from Wyoming. He’s had a string of jobs, none of them above entry-level, and dreamed of moving to Hollywood since he was seven.

Gula opened his folder and looked down. A pair of soulful brown eyes stared back at him. The eyes were set in a pleasant if not forgettable pale face. Were it not for the fact that the forgettable face was framed with shoulder-length brown hair and a growth of beard, there would be nothing of interest about this guy at all.

As it was…

Jesus, Ace muttered.

So you see it.

It’s kinda hard to miss, Gula replied, twisting his folder around so it was on display. The guy was even wearing the white robe and red sash. All that was missing was a makeshift crown of thorns.

You’re sending us after Jesus, Ace intoned.

Lucifer inclined his head. "Jesse Chamberlain has assumed the role of Jesus for The Nazarene, a play depicting the life and times of our favorite lord and savior, performed in Felix, Arkansas. He has been in this role for the last three years."

Gula groaned. "It’s worse. You’re sending us to Arkansas."

Lucifer glared at them for a moment but didn’t pause to admonish them, which was, in itself, rather alarming. Though the devil had not once gotten through a conversation or a briefing without being interrupted or derailed, he had never missed an opportunity to remind everyone present just who was in charge.

Ace met Gula’s eyes long enough for Gula to understand that he had noticed this behavioral aberration as well, and was similarly disconcerted.

Ace cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. You really are sending us after Jesus?

I have reason to believe Mr. Chamberlain has…shall we say…become overly attached to his role.

Gula relaxed a bit. "So he thinks he is Jesus?" That might be fun. They hadn’t dealt with one of those—a legitimate case, at any rate—in centuries.

If that were all, I hardly think it would warrant our attention, do you? Lucifer gave him a meaningful look. "It seems Mr. Chamberlain has given such a commendable performance as our lord and savior that he has managed to convince others that he is, indeed, the Second Coming."

Gula snorted, his gaze falling back to the picture. Americans really do think Jesus was a white guy, then? Not only that but a white guy who looked the part of the West’s version of Christ. To the letter.

It would appear so. It would also appear that Mr. Chamberlain is actively recruiting members to his congregation.

He has a congregation?

The Blood of the Lamb. A collection of devoted followers that started to gain momentum about eighteen months ago. Lucifer’s jaw tightened. The true influx in devotees occurred shortly after the events in Rome.

Gula’s stomach dropped and a sour taste invaded his mouth. Even now, months later, with Lilith’s failed apocalypse buried in a news cycle more concerned with celebrity divorces and orange politicians, they were still discovering new ways the devil’s ex had fucked up their lives.

Ah, Rome, Gula drawled. That old chestnut.

Lucifer nodded. We gave the truthers a conspiracy that had some meat to it. Add in a little fire and brimstone and this is one public relations disaster that will continue to unravel.

Gula looked back at fake Jesus. In reality, he knew things could easily be much worse. The failed apocalypse could have occurred in a pre-modern society where the populace was not only hyper superstitious but actively searching for signs of the divine. If Lilith had to pick a century to try and end the world, this was the best one to date. An army of Hell Demons unleashed on one of the most spiritual cities on the globe and all the damage and reports had been explained away as manmade accidents, or batty fanatics desperate to see Christ on their toast. Or, as it happened, a demon in their closet. Not even the few video clips bystanders had snagged with their cell phones had been enough to shake the hardcore skeptics. With no actual measurable evidence to rely on, humans had glommed on to the word hoax and moved on with their lives. Even the pope had excused the event. No one believed in the mystical anymore, and that was damn good for business.

Except when the people who did believe were nutbars.

Which was, really, par for the course.

Mr. Chamberlain is reportedly a very charming man, Lucifer continued. He has convinced his followers that their families are to be abandoned, that the old teachings are wrong and he’s the only one who knows what the right path is. Those family members that prove not so easily shaken miraculously end up demonically possessed, for one. Last week, one of the women in his circle, Debra Harken, was hospitalized after her neighbors discovered her trying to drown her infant daughter. According to her, its eyes were red and when it cried, its tears were made of blood. Another man, Randall Evans, left his wife shortly after celebrating their fifty-second wedding anniversary. He also refuses to see his children or grandchildren, claims they aren’t clean anymore.

So it’s a cult, Ace said.

Considering I have effectively halted all demonic possessions and grounded all accounted for Hell Demons until further notice, I think that is a safe assumption. The devil paused. "However, that does not account for any of the hundreds of Hell Demons that escaped when the Seals opened. Avaritia and her vampire are hunting down as many leads as I can send them, but, of course, we will not know the full extent of the escapees until all are captured or destroyed."

But I’m guessing none have been felt in the Arkansas area, Ace said.

Of course not, Gula said. Even demons have some standards.

Ace gave him a look. You’re going to be a lot of fun to work with on this, aren’t you?

I just think it’s funny that we’ve had three jobs in the past year, and two of them have taken us to the Ozarks. Gula paused. Granted, Luxi’s job wasn’t so much a job as it was an exercise in misdirection.

Ace cleared his throat pointedly, and Gula looked up to find Lucifer glaring at him.

What? he asked. Am I wrong?

A bit flippant perhaps, the devil replied, but not wrong. He looked to Ace. I have no reason to believe that any Hell Demons are involved with Mr. Chamberlain’s little group, but I am not ruling anything out. You two will go to Felix and become a part of the Blood of the Lamb movement. While I would ask that you determine whether any of our missing Hell Demons are involved in any capacity, your primary focus needs to be on Mr. Chamberlain himself.

Gula sat forward. We offing this clown?

Something that might have been a smile in a former life ghosted over Lucifer’s mouth. I have no desire to make a martyr out of Jesus, he replied. No, you and Acedia will use your considerable talents to convince Mr. Chamberlain that he is not up to the task of being the messiah. You will also do what you can to undo whatever damage he has done to his followers, and help dissuade them from further exploring this particular spiritual path.

That was a fancy way of saying that their task was to make Jesus fat and lazy. Gula bit back a grin.

Insofar as jobs went, it was fairly cut and dry. He hadn’t had a cut and dry job since before Ava had decided to call it quits, and especially since the Seals had opened.

The last job that had taken more than a few minutes to complete hadn’t made a hell of a lot of sense, but he’d known better than to ask questions, despite the burning desire to do just that.

And not that he could complain, except the pang that struck him in the chest every time he thought of Hannah Barnes.

Gula fought a wince. Dammit. But he’d made it longer today than usual without thinking about her, which showed he was progressing. It wasn’t like he could burn her out of his mind.

Or that he actually wanted to.

Lucifer turned his back to them and started toward his desk. I had Pixley purchase a charming Victorian home for you to share while you’re in town. It’s in the heart of downtown Felix, completely furnished, of course, and restored. Should anyone inquire, you are there to open a bed and breakfast.

Gula and Ace exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Do we…do we have to hold hands in public? Gula asked. ’Cause that’ll get weird.

I think you’ll find most people in town will assume you are a couple without you having to say so.

Good. I’ll do a lot of things for you, boss, but I am not frenching my brother.

Ace scowled. Thank you for that image.

It was in my head first. I just needed someone else to share my pain. Gula shuddered. "And won’t us posing as a couple bring out the torches and pitchforks? This is Arkansas."

Happy to say, Felix has a large gay and lesbian population, Lucifer said. It is a Bible Belt community, but likely one of the more liberal ones you’ll find. I rather think you’ll enjoy yourselves. He paused. Furthermore, I don’t expect you to tell anyone you are a couple. Your relationship will be however you define it.

Yeah, two guys moving into a quaint Victorian fixer-upper to turn it into a B&B, Gula said. Everyone’ll buy we’re brothers.

I’m not sure why you seem so bothered, Ace said. I think I’m quite a catch.

"I’m bothered because you are my brother and that thought is gross."

It might be helpful to stop picturing us frenching, then.

Gula shuddered and closed his eyes, but not so quick he missed the shadow of a smile that crossed Ace’s face. Ace was, undoubtedly, the most serious of the Sins. He was also the one least likely to crack a joke or grin, and even less so if those around him made a big deal about it.

If this version of Ace was the one that went on assignment with him, then Gula might actually end up having a good time.

Pixley will be by at the end of each week to collect updates, Lucifer said. "I have taken the liberty of securing you both tickets to tomorrow night’s performance of The Nazarene, which you’ll find in your folders. The show begins at half-past six. Pixley will also be providing additional tickets depending on how you progress."

Gula found his ticket behind the photo of Chamberlain and held it up to Ace. ’Cause this isn’t something you can just see once, he said.

I think you will be suitably entertained, Lucifer said.

Most likely. This job showed all the signs of being a hoot. A staged production in the heart of hillbilly country featuring everyone’s favorite god-figure, who just so happened to be hoodwinking followers—and possibly worse, the way cults went.

Still, the part of him that had flared up in warning at seeing Lucifer’s haggard state had not yet quieted. Even for the most malicious cult leader, the devil wouldn’t look so exhausted. It was enough to make Gula’s inner cynic stir.

Lucifer was not known for being particularly forthright. True, he was usually careful when trying to conceal his actual motives—at least going so far as to look like everything was normal, which meant ensuring he didn’t resemble a walking hangover.

It could be nothing, but Gula’s instincts said otherwise. He’d learned to trust those instincts.

He needed to go into this job with his eyes open.

2

The nagging feeling that Lucifer might not have told them the full truth exploded after Gula laid eyes on the place that was to be their home for the next stretch.

The Victorian house wasn’t so much a house as it was a castle. At least it seemed that way, and Gula had stayed in enough genuine castles to know the difference.

And it was too much. A fuckload too much.

The house was a deep plum in color and accented with a sort of dark blue-green trim that shouldn’t have worked but did. The interior of the home was stylized in old-world gothic, with walls of rich brown that showcased the dark woods comprising the stairs, floor, and doorways. The front door opened to a wide foyer in an otherwise narrow hall. Turning to the right would take them to the parlor, the left the study. Behind the parlor was the formal dining room, which was connected to the kitchen, complete with its own breakfast nook. The kitchen likewise shared a wrapped veranda with the family room. Altogether, the floor plan felt like some warped Rubik’s cube come to life, giving the illusion of intimacy in what was a rather large, garish space.

The upstairs had four bedrooms, the largest occupying the entire back half of the home and attached to a ridiculously extravagant bathroom that had its own Jacuzzi.

Despite his misgivings, Gula had called dibs the second he’d laid eyes on it. He then raced to the bed and belly-crashed hard on the mattress, which likely wasn’t the best practice for antique furniture, but hey, they weren’t his relics.

As it was, Ace hadn’t so much as blinked. He set up shop in the bedroom farthest from the master suite, which happened to be the second largest, though it lacked a kick-ass bathroom set up. It did, however, have its own study, which Gula supposed Ace would get more use out of anyway.

It was a nice home. Very nice. Likely the nicest he’d been in for a job in more than fifty years. There weren’t many places this large that managed to feel small, even with enormous bedrooms. The bed and breakfast angle seemed a plausible one as well. Felix wasn’t a large town, but it was apparently a beacon for tourists—those getting away from the city to do weekend shopping with a healthy dose of religious guilt on the side. And, as Lucifer had said, it wasn’t difficult to see the LGBTQAI community’s influence on the area. No one would doubt their cover if that’s the route they took.

But why did they need a cover? Why the B&B angle at all? If they were just supposed to show up and become converts, they could do that based anywhere. A nice apartment complex made miles more sense than this fancy fuckery.

Gula traipsed down the hall, scrubbing a hand over his fuzzy head and hoping he wouldn’t get lost on the way. Until he was completely confident in the floor plan and how everything interconnected, he might do well to use a trail of breadcrumbs.

He found Ace at the desk in his bedroom’s study, the folder Lucifer had given them spread open.

Does this seem a little excessive to you?

Everything about you seems excessive to me, Ace replied without looking up.

You’re hilarious, but I’m not talking about me.

Ace pulled his gaze from what he was reading. You can see how I’d get confused.

Gula frowned. When did you become funny?

People have never appreciated my humor.

Hard to see why. He cleared his throat. I mean the house. It’s excessive, don’t you think?

Ace seemed to mull this over for a moment, then shrugged. I suppose. Why?

"We’re here to pretend to join a cult, so why do we need the set from The Addams Family? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just camp out at an apartment or something?"

There was a long pause. Don’t tell me you’re disappointed after practically peeing all over the master suite to mark your territory.

Gula held up a hand. "Did I say I was disappointed? I just think this is a little…