Lucifer's Emblem Read online

  Lucifer’s Emblem

  Celestial Academy Book 1

  Sarah Biglow

  Molly Zenk

  Contents

  1. Zuri

  2. Miryam

  3. Zuri

  4. Miryam

  5. Zuri

  6. Miryam

  7. Zuri

  8. Miryam

  9. Zuri

  10. Miryam

  11. Zuri

  12. Miryam

  13. Zuri

  14. Miryam

  15. Zuri

  16. Miryam

  17. Zuri

  18. Miryam

  19. Zuri

  20. Miryam

  21. Zuri

  22. Miryam

  23. Zuri

  24. Miryam

  Epilogue

  Also By These Authors

  About the Authors

  LUCIFER’S EMBLEM Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Biglow and Molly Zenk.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  If you enjoy this book, please consider leaving a review.

  For information contact; www.sarah-biglow.com

  Editing by: Under Wraps Publishing Services

  Cover Design by: Captivating Covers and Plots

  Interior Formatting by: Under Wraps Publishing Services

  Published by Sarah Biglow and Molly Zenk: April 2020

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  1

  Zuri

  Whoever said the road to Hell is paved with good intentions has never actually been to Hell. For one thing, it doesn’t even have roads. Besides even if they did, they sure wouldn’t be paved with anything. Trust me. I’ve lived in Hell my entire life and as my dad likes to remind me, I’ll rule it all one day.

  That’s what being the daughter of Lucifer gets me. Yes, that Lucifer—rebel angel and leader of the Fallen. He gets a bad rep thanks to the Archangels spreading bullshit about him. Maybe I’m biased, but I like to think he’s a decent guy who fought to better the lives of people who couldn’t fight for themselves. Still history is always written by the winner and they obviously think their shit doesn’t stink.

  At the moment, I was lounging in dad’s chair in the board room. He likes to keep things modern. His throne had been a cushy office chair with the family crest—falling stars—for as long I could remember. He was probably off checking on all the other people who lived here. He’s good like that. The door to the office squeaked open on its hinges and a familiar face appeared.

  Damien, my best friend and partner in mischief since we were in diapers.

  “Thought I’d find you in here,” he said and slid into the seat next to me.

  “Were we supposed to hang today? My head’s been a little off lately,” I said, not meeting his gaze.

  “Nah, we didn’t have plans, Z. I know you’ve been stuck in that big brain of yours. Your mom again?”

  I sighed. I’d never met my mother since she’d died in childbirth. She’d been human and by all accounts, the love of my father’s life. I could count the number of half siblings I had on one hand, spread out through millennia. Their portraits hung on the walls in our house. Many of them had lived short lives. Dad was a one-woman guy and it took him a really long time to get over losing someone. “Are you absolutely sure you can’t just peek behind the veil just this once?”

  Damien’s father is the Angel of Death. It’s not as grim or creepy as it sounds. If I were into guys, I’m told his dad is pretty hot actually. But inheriting his dad’s powers meant Damien could reach across the veil past death and pull a soul back to Hell. It would cause too much shift if he tried to do it on the earthly plane, but Hell was off the radar enough it could work.

  “Even if I was strong enough, it’s against the rules. Some rules you just don’t break, Zuri,” he answered, leaning forward enough to reveal the starting swirls of the tattoos that circled his forearms.

  “What about your dad? Can’t you convince him it’s a birthday present for your best friend?” I pressed.

  Damien shook his head. “He loves you like a daughter, but he can’t risk pissing off the cosmos or whatever. Have you thought about asking your dad?”

  I leaned back against the leather. “It’s too painful for him. I think if he saw her again, he’d lose his shit like for real. Anyways I’m not ready for all of this,” I replied, gesturing to the room around us. I was only eighteen.

  “Sorry, Z. I know you really want this, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen,” he said, patting my hand.

  “Whatever. It’s fine.” I waved my hand in the air to emphasize the need for a change in topic. “What about you? Things work out with that cute barista?”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes. “No. She got a little too interested in my family for my comfort anyways. Is that a mortal girl thing? Wanting to know everything about you on the first date?”

  I laughed. “Fuck if I know. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date. Mortal just isn’t my speed and no one around here wants to take the risk of pissing off daddy.”

  “Seriously, that happened once, Z.” The accompanying eye roll told me he thought I was being stupid and making excuses.

  Maybe he was right, but I had my whole—very long—life ahead of me to find the right girl. I didn’t need to rush into things. Damien was the one who wasn’t truly happy unless he was bitching about his latest failed romance. He wasn’t picky though. He’d already dated his way through most of Hell, even some of the demons. Boy had balls; I’d give him that much.

  “Come on, let’s get out of this boring ass office and do something fun,” Damien said, leaping from his chair and taking two long strides to the door.

  “Why not?” I answered and pushed myself out of the chair. As I eased the door shut behind us, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck tingled. I opened the door a crack, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Like a lot of days when we were bored, we ended up in what passed for Hell’s history museum. Most of the Fallen who had fought by dad’s side during the Heavenly War kept away from it. Something about bad memories or maybe PTSD. If humanity had learned one thing in the span of all existence, it was that therapy could be a good thing. Most of the angels I’d known growing up could have really used time on a couch breaking down their feelings. The museum was more a gathering spot for the younger generations.

  Given it was almost eight o’clock at night—according to my phone—it was completely deserted which suited us just fine. The place was locked up at night. I pulled a blank ID badge from my pocket and studied the lock on the employees only door. The card rippled between my fingers, configuring itself to fit the lock and any matching scanner inside the building.

  “I really wish I could do that,” Damien sighed as I slid the transformed key card into the lock. A tiny beep signaled we were in.

  I just rolled my eyes at him. He had plenty of cool angelic powers of his own. With mine I could do what amounted to parlor tricks with my forgery skills. Granted, it had gotten me out of some serious shit in school growing up. Dad had sent me to public school in New York in the hopes of socializing me with mortals. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d been told to “go to Hell” over the years. But hey, at least I knew what a Starbucks was and had a healthy Instagram obsession just like any teenage girl my age.

/>   “Where are we going?” He whispered as I walked down the hallway to the lobby.

  “You know where,” I answered without looking to see if he was keeping up. The sense of being watched was back, but I ignored it. No one would be dumb enough to jump us.

  “Is that a good idea?” He continued to talk in hushed tones.

  “Like I care? It’s technically my property, too.” We wound our way through the west hall through ancient, but well-maintained suits of armor. Continued past the hall of paintings reminding the denizens of Hell what they’d fought for. Canvases that portrayed images of humanity in bondage and landscapes with the sky on fire. I wasn’t so sure it wasn’t some twisted way to punish the Fallen for losing the war and getting banished here.

  We stopped just outside a room marked ‘Restricted Access.’ A black velvet rope presented the first barrier which we easily stepped over without issue. The lock on the door wasn’t a key card this time. It was a fingerprint scanner. I pressed my thumb to it and it beeped twice. The lock hissed as it released and I shoved the door open. Inside sat the few items from the war that were deemed too dangerous for public viewing like Dad’s emblem. It was a seven-foot-tall standard with the family crest. He’d told me bedtime stories as a child of how he used it to lead his troops into battle against his brothers—Michael, Gabriel, and Uriel—and it had kept him safe. I didn’t entirely understand its power. Still I knew every time I was near it, I felt it calling to me like a magnet pulling at something deep inside me. Today of all days I could feel it calling to me even from a distance.

  “This place creeps me out,” Damien said.

  “Pussy,” I snorted and stepped up to the emblem.

  “We’ve seen it. Can we please go now?” He whined.

  “Fuck, dude. Stop being such a wuss,” I snapped as my fingers pressed onto the glass case around the banner.

  Maybe I put too much pressure on the case—sometimes I don’t know my own strength—but the glass shattered beneath my fingertips. Tiny shards embed in my fingertips as I skidded back. The feeling that had drawn me here sang out to me like a siren lures sailors to their doom. My hands trembled as I reached forward only to find myself flat on my back, Damien straddling me. It’s not as sexual as it sounds, though.

  “Get off me,” I said, shoving against his considerable weight.

  Before he could answer or move, a flash of movement caught my eye. Someone had been following us after all. A tall figure in what had to be a school uniform darted past us, snapping up the emblem in their grasp before running away.

  “Move,” I said, my wings unfurling against the ground, pushing me upward.

  Damien staggered off me and I took off sprinting. I didn’t recognize the uniform, but only someone with angelic or demon blood could get in here. I was pretty sure that demons weren’t into the whole uniform thing so that left angel. Once outside I kicked off the ground, letting my wings buoy me into the air as I scanned the surrounding area for the thief.

  “There!” Damien shouted, gesturing off to the right.

  I raced after the figure. Even on the ground, they seemed faster than me. Then, wings sprouted from their shoulders as they slung the pole of the emblem across their back. Short wavy black hair rippled in the wind as they made a break for one of the portals back to the earthly plane.

  “Zuri, what are you doing?” Damien yelled, coming up on my left.

  “That asshole stole something that belongs to my family. I’m getting it back.”

  He shook his head, but kept pace with me as we neared the portal. Our thief darted through and we followed. Traveling through to Earth isn’t like what most people assume. Time doesn’t exist, but neither do things like gravity or air. You may be in there for only thirty seconds, but that feels like an eternity as your lungs and brain crave oxygen.

  We both tumbled out of the portal onto soft grass. I coughed as my body reacclimated to gravity and air. My body felt heavy for far longer than it should have as I struggled to my hands and knees. I had to focus on retracting my wings. They weighed me down until finally they disappeared from sight.

  “Where are we?” Damien wheezed.

  Getting to my feet, I looked around. I could see a dark ocean sparkling in the moonlight. Tall gates rose up in front of us and I squinted to make out the words crafted in metal at the top, Celestial Academy.

  “Well fuck,” I swore.

  “Oh ... Oh that’s really bad,” Damien added.

  “We need to find a way in there. If some Archangel asshole stole Dad’s Emblem, who knows what sort of shitstorm they could cause.”

  Damien grabbed my arm. “You are seriously suicidal today, Z. You can’t go in there. Like literally, you cannot enter the grounds.”

  I was about to test that theory. Besides, Fallen only assumed we couldn’t set foot on campus grounds. We had no proof it was actually hallowed or sacred. I pressed my hands to the bars of the gate. No shocks or anything remotely like turning me to ash happened. I dug the toe of my boots in and scaled the gate, landing softly on the other side.

  “I am not going in there,” Damien said with a nervous shake of his head.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be in and out before you know it.” Now I just had to figure out a way to sneak in without getting caught.

  2

  Miryam

  Sometimes I wished my life was like a musical full of flash mobs, choreographed singing, and dancing where everybody knows all the dance moves even though they’ve never practiced. It would make my usually boring day totally amazing if—instead of just walking down the halls at school—everyone sang and danced with some hidden orchestra accompanying us. I would be the star of my own life musical and all attention would be on me. That’s the problem, see, I needed attention. I needed someone to sing about how amazing I was so I could feel amazing about myself. I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but it is what it is. The sky’s blue and the grass green. Miryam bat-Michael needed attention to feel worthy.

  Notice me. Notice me. Notice me. That would be the refrain in the musical in my mind. You’d think it would be easy to be noticed when your dad was an actual Archangel, but I guess not. People never paid me any real attention, anyway, except maybe Chris. Everyone else just sucked up. I never thought when Mom told me I was Archangel Michael’s kid that I would end up being so lonely.

  “Hey, Miry, I love your hair,” one of the newbie kids said as I walked by her, my black Mary Jane uniform shoes clicking on the hallway’s marble floor. The start of a new school year and new semester always brought in a crop of eager angelic and saints’ kids looking to be my friends. Dad locked himself away in his office so much, the fastest way to impress him was to impress me. I didn’t tell them that they were sucking up to the wrong person. An endorsement from me meant absolutely nothing to Dad. Just like I meant nothing to Dad.

  Mom told me who my dad was all the time when I was growing up. It was practically a religious experience for her with all her candles, shrines, and alters. “You’re special, Miry. You’re special. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. You are meant for great things. If you weren’t, your father wouldn’t have chosen me to bring you to life.” Mom was never great at telling the truth. It sounded super crazy, so it must be super crazy. My Celestial Academy acceptance letter changed all that though. I had thought I could escape Mom and her particular brand of crazy. All Celestial Academy got me instead was a daddy complex.

  I shook my head to banish the memories. Mom was proud of me and I should be proud of myself.

  “Miry, can I get a selfie with you?” One of the newbs called.

  “Miry, what do you think about my new haircut?” Another one said.

  “Miry, can I ask your advice later?”

  Blah, blah, blah. It’s all so meaningless. The one good thing about your dad being the actual Archangel Michael and not some crazy dude that told your mom he was Archangel Michael meant I was kind of like Angel royalty.

  Notice me. Notice me. Notice me. I
hummed to myself, making up the tune as I went. I wasn’t as good as Cecelia—or CeCe as she liked to be called—but no one was. It’s only nine a.m., but I’ve been wandering the halls to avoid a summons from Dad. He called me for a meeting two hours ago and I hadn’t shown up yet. I knew that wouldn’t win me any good-daughter points, but I’d rather stay away than have him look at me with those accusing eyes. Making me feel as if all he could see was some dirty half-human instead of someone who truly deserved the wings on my back.

  “Hey, CeCe, do you have that music theory homework you promised me?” I stopped short when I saw her in the hall. She doesn’t get out of her duties just cause my head was in the clouds instead of on the ground.

  CeCe dug around in her backpack before pulling out a typed double-spaced report on Gregorian chants that was due today. “Here you go, Miry. I have your next topic in mind, too. I call it ‘Harping on Harps: Angelic Music or Stereotype.’” She looked at me with bright puppy dog eyes as if my happiness was her happiness. “What do you think?”

  “I guess it will do.” I flipped through the report, but didn’t bother to read it. “Just make sure you get some things wrong next time so it doesn’t look like I know too much about music.”

  CeCe nodded until it looked like her head was about to fall off. “Of course, Miry. Anything you say, Miry. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miry?”

  I waved my hand dismissively and she scurried away like a cockroach. We don’t have cockroaches here, but if we did, they would scurry exactly like CeCe just did.