Los Angeles - Lux Nightclub - 13 Years Later
The sultry notes drifted through the crowded nightclub as Lucifer's fingers danced across the piano keys with supernatural grace. His voice, rich and haunting, wrapped around the melody like velvet around steel, drawing every patron deeper into the music's hypnotic embrace. The golden light from the stage caught the sharp planes of his face, highlighting those aristocratic cheekbones and the dangerous curve of his smile that had charmed angels and demons alike.
"Right then," he purred into the microphone as the last note faded, his British accent cutting through the appreciative silence like fine whiskey through ice, "that was adequately received, though I did notice at least three of you checking your phones during the bridge. Honestly, the state of modern audiences. In my day—and I've had many days, trust me—people knew how to appreciate a proper performance."
From behind the bar, Mazikeen rolled her eyes so hard it was practically audible. The demon was polishing glasses with the kind of precision that suggested she was imagining they were skulls of her enemies, her dark hair falling in perfect waves around a face that could launch a thousand ships or sink them, depending on her mood.
"Your day was when humans were still figuring out fire, Lucifer," she called out, her voice carrying that distinctive edge that made smart people step back and stupid people step forward. "Maybe lower your standards a bit."
"Never," Lucifer declared dramatically, straightening his perfectly tailored black suit with a flourish. "Standards are what separate us from the animals. Well, that and opposable thumbs. And the ability to appreciate good music, apparently."
At the bar, Lily Potter—now Evans again, thank you very much—smiled as she mixed cocktails with the fluid precision of someone who'd turned bartending into performance art. At thirty-four, she'd grown into her beauty in ways that made grown men forget pickup lines and settle for reverent staring. Her red hair caught the light like spun copper, shorter now in a sleek bob that framed her face with elegant sophistication.
"Two whiskey sours and a Manhattan," she called to Alice Longbottom, who was working the other end of the bar with the kind of efficient grace that came from years of practice and a few decades of magical combat training.
"On it," Alice replied, her petite frame moving with the quick efficiency that had once made her one of the Order's most feared Aurors. The streaks of premature silver in her dark hair caught the light as she worked, a reminder of battles fought and won in a different world entirely. "Table seven's been asking about the special appetizers—should I tell them Remus is experimenting with fusion cuisine again?"
"God help us all," Lily laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Last time he tried to combine British and Mexican food, we nearly had a riot."
From the kitchen doorway, Remus Lupin appeared with a mock expression of wounded dignity, carrying a tray of what looked suspiciously like fish and chips tacos. At thirty-four, he'd finally grown into his height, the years of steady employment and family stability transforming him from the prematurely aged, shabby man who'd fled Britain into someone who looked like he'd found his place in the world.
"I'll have you know," he said with the kind of patient dignity that came from years of teaching teenagers, "that fusion cuisine is a perfectly respectable culinary tradition. Just because you people have no appreciation for innovation—"
"Innovation is putting pineapple on pizza," Mazikeen interrupted, not looking up from her glass polishing. "What you do is culinary terrorism."
"Mazikeen," Remus sighed, "we've discussed this. Just because something is different doesn't mean it's an attack on civilization."
"Have you tasted his Yorkshire pudding quesadillas?" she shot back. "Because I'm pretty sure they qualify as weapons of mass destruction."
Near the entrance, Nymphadora "Call me Tonks or I'll hex your eyebrows off" Tonks was working security with the kind of casual competence that came from being able to become literally anyone at a moment's notice. Currently wearing the appearance of a tall, imposing bouncer—complete with muscles that could probably bench press a motorcycle—she was checking IDs with one hand while casually rearranging her facial features with the other.
"Evening, gorgeous," a particularly brave (or drunk) patron said as he approached, clearly having missed the part where her face had just shifted from classical beauty to something that belonged in a heavyweight boxing ring.
"Evening, handsome," Tonks replied sweetly, her voice remaining distinctly feminine despite her current appearance. "ID please. And just so we're clear, I can become anyone I want, including your ex-wife. So let's keep this professional, shall we?"
The man's face went pale as he handed over his license, suddenly very interested in the floor tiles.
"Excellent choice," Tonks said cheerfully, her features shifting back to something more conventionally attractive as she stamped his hand. "Enjoy the show. Try not to text during the performance—the boss gets cranky."
The real entertainment, however, was happening at the corner booth where the teenagers were holding court with the kind of animated discussion that usually ended in either revolution or detention.
Harry Potter at fourteen was everything his father had been and more—tall for his age, with that same impossible black hair that refused to cooperate with any known styling product and warm hazel eyes that could shift from mischievous to serious in a heartbeat. But where James had been merely handsome, Harry was striking in ways that had nothing to do with conventional attractiveness and everything to do with the otherworldly grace that came from celestial heritage.
"I'm just saying," he was arguing with the kind of passionate conviction that could probably power small cities, "if we're going to this new school, we might as well make it interesting. What's the point of having abilities if we're just going to hide them like we're something to be ashamed of?"
His wings weren't visible—he'd learned to keep them retracted in public—but the power they represented hummed beneath his skin like barely contained lightning. When he gestured for emphasis, which he did frequently, the air seemed to shimmer around his hands with potential energy.
Susan Bones, now fourteen and every inch her aunt Amelia's niece in miniature, fixed him with a look that could have cut glass. Her strawberry blonde hair fell in perfect waves around a face that promised to break hearts in a few years, but right now was set in lines of pragmatic skepticism that would have made any Bones family member proud.
"Harry James Potter," she said in the tone of someone who'd appointed herself the voice of reason in a group that had a suspicious shortage of it, "you cannot just walk into a new school and immediately start a supernatural rights revolution. Some of us would like to actually graduate instead of getting expelled on day one."
"But where's the fun in that?" Neville Longbottom asked with a grin that would have given his grandmother Augusta a heart attack. At fourteen, he'd grown tall and broad-shouldered, with his father's steady confidence and his mother's sharp intelligence. The boy who might have been the Boy-Who-Lived in another timeline had instead become something perhaps more dangerous—completely comfortable with his own power and utterly unafraid to use it.
"The fun," Susan replied with the kind of authority that came from being raised by someone who'd once run the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, "is in not being the subject of a supernatural incident report before we've even unpacked our trunks."
"Incident report?" Harry scoffed, his British accent carrying just enough aristocratic drawl to make it sound properly dismissive. "Susan, love, you're thinking entirely too small. We're not going to cause an incident—we're going to cause a bloody revolution."
"Harry," Susan said with the patience of someone who'd had this conversation roughly seventeen times in the past week, "revolution implies organized resistance to established authority. What you're describing sounds more like creative chaos with delusions of grandeur."
"I prefer 'strategic disruption with style,'" Harry shot back, that Potter grin spreading across his face like sunrise over a battlefield. "It has a better ring to it, don't you think?"
Neville leaned back in the booth, his expression thoughtful. "You know, if we're going to revolutionize anything, we should probably understand what we're revolutionizing first. What exactly do we know about this school anyway?"
"Excellent point," Harry said, pointing at his friend with obvious approval. "See, this is why I like you, Nev. Always thinking strategically."
"Someone has to," Susan muttered. "God knows you don't."
Before Harry could formulate what was undoubtedly going to be a particularly cutting comeback, Lucifer appeared at their table with the fluid grace that came from millennia of practice. He slid into the booth beside his unofficial son, a glass of his finest whiskey appearing in his hand as if by magic—which, knowing Lucifer, it probably was.
"Children," he said with the kind of fond exasperation that came from thirteen years of parenting supernatural teenagers, "I couldn't help but overhear your spirited discussion about educational revolution. While I admire your commitment to shaking up the established order—it's very much a family trait—perhaps we should discuss the practical implications of your academic debut."
"Lucifer!" Harry's face lit up with genuine happiness, the kind that never failed to make something twist in the fallen angel's chest. "Perfect timing. Tell Susan that hiding what we can do is just another form of the manipulation we left Britain to escape."
"I think," Lucifer replied carefully, swirling his whiskey with practiced ease, "that there's a significant difference between being manipulated by others and choosing discretion for strategic reasons. The world has changed considerably since we arrived here, but it's still not quite ready for young men with angelic wings attending high school."
"Even at a school for supernatural students?" Neville asked, leaning forward with the kind of intensity that made small objects sometimes levitate in his vicinity.
"Especially at a school for supernatural students," Lucifer confirmed with a knowing smile. "Trust me, supernatural politics make regular politics look like a friendly game of chess. Everyone thinks their particular brand of otherworldly power makes them special."
"Don't we?" Susan pointed out with characteristic Bones family directness.
"Well, yes," Lucifer admitted with that devastating grin that had been charming beings across dimensions for eons, "but we have the distinct advantage of actually being right about it."
"Modest as always," Mazikeen observed from where she'd appeared beside the table, apparently having finished her glass-polishing duties. She was carrying a bottle of something that looked expensive and probably illegal in several states. "Should I tell them about the time you spent three hours explaining to a vampire why celestial beings are superior to the undead?"
"That was a perfectly reasonable theological discussion," Lucifer protested. "And I was making excellent points about the fundamental differences between divine creation and supernatural transformation."
"You made him cry," Mazikeen said with obvious satisfaction. "A century-old vampire. Tears."
"Tears of enlightenment," Lucifer clarified. "There's a difference."
"Right," Harry said, his eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that usually meant someone was about to have a very interesting day, "so what you're telling us is that supernatural beings have fragile egos and poor understanding of power hierarchies. This is exactly the sort of broken system that needs revolutionizing."
Susan buried her face in her hands. "We're going to get kicked out of school before we even start, aren't we?"
"Probably," Neville said cheerfully. "But it'll be brilliant."
From across the club, Sirius Black's distinctive laugh carried over the general noise—rich, warm, and completely unrepentant. The man himself appeared moments later, looking every inch the successful Hollywood producer in an expensive suit that managed to be both impeccably tailored and slightly rebellious. At thirty-four, he'd grown into his aristocratic features in ways that made casting directors weep with joy, and his marriage to Amelia Bones had added a contentment to his gray eyes that would have shocked anyone who'd known him in his Azkaban days.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, sliding into the booth with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent years dodging both Aurors and paparazzi. "Amelia got held up at the precinct—apparently someone tried to rob a bank using what they claimed were 'ancient magical artifacts,' which turned out to be props from my last film."
"How delightfully appropriate," Lucifer observed with obvious amusement. "Art imitating life imitating art. Very postmodern. I approve."
"The irony was not lost on the responding officers," Sirius grinned, the expression transforming his face from merely handsome to devastatingly attractive. "Especially since half of them have seen the movie. Nothing quite like explaining to the LAPD that no, those aren't real cursed objects, they're just very convincing replicas made by the same people who do Marvel films."
"Please tell me someone got video," Harry said hopefully. "Because that sounds like the kind of thing that would go viral in the best possible way."
"Harry," Susan said warningly, "we are not using viral videos of supernatural incidents as part of our school application strategy."
"Why not?" Harry shot back with that grin that meant he was already three steps ahead of everyone else. "Think about it—we'd be the most interesting students they've ever had."
"We'd be the most notorious students they've ever had," Susan corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there though?" Neville asked thoughtfully. "I mean, notorious can be good if you're notorious for the right reasons."
Before Susan could explain exactly why notorious was never good when it came to teenagers and educational institutions, the rest of their extended family began filtering over—Frank and Alice Longbottom looking comfortable and prosperous; Ted and Andromeda Tonks with Andromeda carrying herself like the aristocratic pureblood she'd been raised to be; and bringing up the rear, Detective Amelia Bones in her LAPD uniform, looking like someone who'd found her calling in law enforcement all over again.
Amelia moved with the confident stride of someone accustomed to being the smartest person in the room and having the badge to prove it. Her red hair was pulled back in a professional bun, and her green eyes—so like Lily's—held the sharp intelligence that had made her legendary in magical law enforcement.
"Right then," she said briskly as she settled beside her husband, pulling out a file folder with the kind of thorough preparation that would have made Hermione Granger weep with joy, "let's discuss this school situation properly. I've done some research on the Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted, and there are some things you all need to know."
She opened the folder with practiced efficiency, revealing what looked like a small novel's worth of documentation. "First, the good news—it's a legitimate institution with proper accreditation, an excellent academic record, and a track record for helping supernatural students integrate successfully into wider society."
"And the bad news?" Lily asked, moving closer to the booth with the kind of maternal concern that had kept them all alive through thirteen years of chaos.
"The bad news," Frank said with the careful assessment of someone who'd spent years evaluating magical threats, "is that it's complicated. The student body includes vampires, werewolves, witches of various traditions, and several species I couldn't even identify. The social dynamics alone could be challenging."
"Plus," Andromeda added with the kind of aristocratic precision that came from being raised as a Black, "there's the rather significant question of how to explain the children's... unique... backgrounds without revealing things that absolutely must remain hidden."
Her dark hair was perfectly styled despite the late hour, and she wore her expensive clothes with the unconscious elegance of someone born to luxury. Even after thirteen years in Los Angeles, she still carried herself like pureblood royalty—which, technically, she was.
"What kind of things?" Harry asked with the dangerous curiosity that had been getting him into trouble since he could walk.
"Like the fact that you're part angel," Ted said with a lawyer's precision for uncomfortable truths. His Scottish accent had softened over the years, but it still carried that dry humor that had won Andromeda's heart decades ago. "Or that Neville could probably level a city block if he put his mind to it. Or that Susan has been trained in magical law enforcement techniques that technically don't exist in this dimension."
"Not to mention," Sirius added with characteristic Black family pragmatism, "the rather significant issue of documentation. Birth certificates, academic records, medical histories—all of which need to exist in forms that won't raise questions about dimensional refugees from a magical civil war."
Ted nodded grimly. "The paper trail alone could be problematic if anyone decides to dig too deeply."
"All of which I've handled," Lucifer said smoothly, producing an elegant leather portfolio from seemingly nowhere with the kind of casual magic that had impressed them for thirteen years. "Birth certificates from a small town in Oregon that conveniently suffered a records fire. Academic transcripts from a progressive private school that specialized in... gifted... children and has since closed due to financial difficulties. Medical records indicating various minor allergies and unusual genetic conditions that could explain any... anomalies... that might arise."
He smiled at their surprised expressions, the expression radiating smug satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd spend thirteen years in Los Angeles without learning to navigate bureaucratic systems? I've been forging documents since before your species invented writing. Modern paperwork is child's play."
"The wings," Alice said quietly, her voice carrying the kind of concern that came from years of mothering supernatural teenagers. "How do we explain Harry's wings if they manifest accidentally?"
"We don't," Lucifer replied simply, his tone carrying the finality of someone who'd already thought through every possible scenario. "Harry will maintain the control he's already mastered—wings retracted in public, just as he's been doing for years. If an emergency arises where they're necessary, we'll deal with the consequences then. But under normal circumstances, no one needs to know about his angelic heritage."
"That seems like we're asking for trouble," Susan observed with her aunt's talent for spotting potential disasters before they happened.
"Everything about our situation is asking for trouble," Lucifer pointed out with obvious amusement. "The question is whether we want the kind of trouble that comes from hiding in isolation forever, or the kind that comes from engaging with the world on our own terms."
Harry leaned back in the booth, his expression shifting to something more serious. "This school—the Salvatore School—what's it actually like? Not the brochure version, but what you really found out."
Amelia's smile was sharp with professional approval. "Smart question, and exactly what I'd expect from someone with Potter instincts. The official version is that it's a boarding school for academically gifted students with special educational needs. The reality is considerably more interesting."
She pulled out several photographs and documents, spreading them across the table with practiced efficiency. "It's run by Dr. Alaric Saltzman, a former supernatural hunter who now dedicates his life to helping supernatural youth learn to control their abilities and integrate safely into society."
"Former hunter?" Neville's eyebrows rose with the kind of interest that made magical energy crackle faintly around his fingertips. "As in, someone who used to kill people like us?"
"Reformed hunter," Frank corrected with the careful distinction of someone who understood the difference. "Someone who realized that not all supernatural beings are threats and decided to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem. From everything I've been able to determine, he's genuinely committed to helping students rather than studying them."
"Plus," Remus added from where he'd been quietly listening while serving nearby tables, "the school has an excellent track record for graduating students who go on to successful, relatively normal lives. Which is more than most supernatural children can hope for in this world."
Alice nodded in agreement. "The alumni network is impressive—doctors, lawyers, teachers, business owners. People who've found ways to use their abilities positively while maintaining their place in human society."
"Sounds almost too good to be true," Mazikeen observed with the kind of skepticism that came from millennia of dealing with beings who rarely lived up to their promises. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Amelia said with characteristic directness, "is that it's not perfect. There have been incidents—conflicts between different supernatural species, power struggles, the occasional student who couldn't adapt to the structure. It's still a school full of teenagers with supernatural abilities. The potential for chaos is significant."
"Chaos?" Harry's eyes lit up with interest. "What kind of chaos?"
"The kind that ends with property damage and very awkward phone calls to parents," Susan said firmly. "The kind we are not going to be part of."
"Susan," Harry said with the kind of patient condescension that had been perfecting since he was five, "you're thinking entirely too small again. We're not going there to cause random chaos. We're going there to assess the system, identify its weaknesses, and implement strategic improvements."
"That's just chaos with better planning," Susan shot back.
"Exactly!" Harry grinned. "See, you're getting it."
"No, I'm not getting it," Susan said with growing exasperation. "What I'm getting is a headache and a growing certainty that this is going to end badly."
Lily moved to stand behind Harry's chair, her hands resting gently on his shoulders in the unconscious gesture of maternal protection she'd perfected over thirteen years of supernatural parenting.
"The real question," she said softly, her voice carrying the warmth that had sustained them all through the difficult years, "is whether you want to go. All of you. This is your choice, not ours. We can continue with private tutoring and the life we've built here, or you can try something new. But whatever you decide, we support you."
She looked around at each of the teenagers in turn, her green eyes reflecting the love that had held their unconventional family together. "You're not children anymore—not really. You're young adults with abilities and intelligence that most adults would envy. If you think this school could offer you something you need, then we'll make it work."
"Even if we decide we want to revolutionize supernatural education from the inside?" Harry asked with that devastating Potter grin that had been charming people since he was three.
"Especially if you decide that," Sirius said with obvious Black family pride. "Revolutionizing broken systems is a family tradition. Potter family, Black family—we've been causing productive trouble for generations."
"And a Bones family tradition," Susan added with growing determination. "Aunt Amelia didn't reform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by accepting the status quo."
"And apparently a Longbottom family tradition now too," Neville said with quiet confidence that somehow made the air around him shimmer with barely contained power.
Lucifer looked around the booth at the faces of the people who'd become his family—chosen family, found family, the kind that mattered more than blood or divine mandate or cosmic responsibility. Thirteen years ago, he'd offered them escape from a world that had failed to protect its children. Tonight, they were choosing to engage with a new world on their own terms.
And if that engagement happened to involve turning supernatural education on its head, well, that was just a bonus.
"Well then," he said with the kind of satisfied smile that usually meant someone's expectations were about to be thoroughly shattered, "I suppose I should make a phone call to Dr. Saltzman. I have a feeling the Salvatore School is about to become a much more interesting place."
Mazikeen snorted with amusement. "Interesting is one word for it. I'm thinking more along the lines of 'memorable' or 'potentially catastrophic.'"
"Those aren't necessarily bad things," Harry pointed out cheerfully. "I mean, who wants to be forgettable?"
"People who want to graduate without incident reports," Susan muttered, but she was smiling despite herself.
As the conversation continued around the booth—plans and preparations, concerns and excitement—Lucifer caught Lily's eye across the table. She smiled at him with the warmth that had sustained them through thirteen years of building something beautiful from the ashes of loss and tragedy.
Outside, Los Angeles sparkled with a million lights, each one representing dreams and possibilities and second chances. Inside Lux, a family that had been forged in cosmic fire and tempered by love was preparing to take the next step in their extraordinary journey.
And in a small boarding school in Virginia, Dr. Alaric Saltzman was about to receive a phone call that would change everything he thought he knew about supernatural education.
After all, it wasn't every day that the Devil himself called to enroll his son in your school.
"Right," Lucifer said, pulling out his phone with a flourish, "let's see how Dr. Saltzman handles a conversation with the Lightbringer, shall we? This should be... enlightening."
—
**The Salvatore School for the Young and Gifted - Mystic Falls, Virginia**
Dr. Alaric Saltzman rubbed his temples as he stared at the mountain of paperwork spread across his desk, the late evening light filtering through his office windows casting long shadows across enrollment forms, budget reports, and incident documentation from the previous school year. At forty-five, he looked older than his years—the kind of premature aging that came from a lifetime of hunting supernatural creatures, losing people he cared about, and now trying to educate the next generation of beings who could accidentally level buildings when they had bad days.
The Salvatore School had been his life's work for the past five years, a chance to do something genuinely good after decades of violence and loss. But some days—like today, when he was trying to figure out how to explain to the school board why they needed to replace the entire east wing after a particularly energetic disagreement between a teenage witch and a young werewolf—he wondered if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
His phone rang with the distinctive tone that meant it was routed through the school's main line, probably another parent calling to complain about their supernatural child's "unique educational needs." He considered letting it go to voicemail, but his sense of duty—or maybe just masochistic curiosity—made him pick up.
"Salvatore School, Dr. Saltzman speaking."
"Dr. Saltzman!" The voice that came through the phone was crisp, British, and carried the kind of cultured charm that belonged in BBC dramas and expensive whiskey advertisements. "How delightful to finally speak with you directly. I'm Lucifer Morningstar, and I'm calling about enrolling three students at your magnificent institution."
Alaric blinked, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate prank. "I'm sorry, did you say Lucifer?"
"I did indeed. Lucifer Morningstar, fallen angel, former ruler of Hell, current nightclub owner, and part-time guardian of some rather extraordinary young people who are in need of a proper education." The caller's tone was pleasant, conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than claiming to be the Devil himself.
"Right," Alaric said slowly, reaching for his bottle of bourbon with his free hand. "And you want to enroll students at our school."
"Three of them, actually. Remarkable children, though they do have some rather unique... circumstances... that I feel you should be aware of before making any enrollment decisions. I'm a great believer in transparency, you understand. Saves everyone considerable awkwardness down the line."
"Unique circumstances," Alaric repeated, taking a generous sip of bourbon. "Such as?"
"Well," Lucifer continued with obvious amusement, "Harry Potter—he's fourteen, brilliant boy, but he does have wings. Angelic wings, to be precise, inherited from my essence when I helped his parents conceive him. They're retractable, mind you, excellent control for his age, but they do manifest when he's particularly emotional or in danger."
Alaric nearly choked on his drink. "Wings."
"Magnificent ones, actually. Crimson and gold, very dramatic. Takes after me in that regard." There was obvious pride in the caller's voice. "Then there's Neville Longbottom, also fourteen, phenomenally powerful witch—magical energy that could level city blocks if he really put his mind to it. Lovely boy, very stable, but his parents thought he might benefit from being around other supernatural students."
"City blocks," Alaric said faintly.
"And Susan Bones, another fourteen-year-old, trained in magical law enforcement techniques from a dimension where magic is considerably more... aggressive... than it is here. Think of her as a teenage Auror with excellent judgment and a talent for keeping the other two out of trouble. Most of the time."
Alaric set down his bourbon and reached for the much larger bottle he kept in his desk drawer for special occasions. "You're claiming to be the actual Devil, calling to enroll three supernatural teenagers at my school, including one with wings and another who can level city blocks."
"I'm not claiming anything, Dr. Saltzman. I am Lucifer Morningstar, and these children are very important to me. They've been privately tutored for the past thirteen years, but they've expressed interest in attending a proper school with other supernatural students. Yours came very highly recommended."
"By who?"
"Oh, various sources. The vampire Marcel Gerard speaks quite fondly of your work, as does Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes. I may have made some inquiries through supernatural channels—one does like to do proper research before entrusting children to strangers."
Alaric was quiet for a long moment, trying to process this conversation. "Assuming for a moment that you are who you claim to be—"
"Which I am."
"—why are you calling me? Why not just... appear dramatically in my office like most supernatural beings seem to prefer?"
"Because," Lucifer said with obvious approval, "that would be terribly rude. You're running an educational institution, not hosting a supernatural circus. Though I suppose if you'd prefer the dramatic entrance approach..."
The temperature in Alaric's office dropped ten degrees in an instant. Golden light began to seep through the cracks around his door, and the air itself seemed to thrum with power that made every supernatural-detecting alarm in the building start screaming at once.
"No," Alaric said quickly, "phone call is fine. Phone call is perfect. Please don't—"
The light intensified anyway, and reality tore itself apart right in front of Alaric's desk.
The dimensional portal that opened in his office was a masterpiece of controlled chaos—golden light that sang with harmonics beyond mortal hearing, space folding and bending like origami made of starlight, and a presence so vast and ancient that Alaric's hunter instincts screamed at him to run while his educator instincts told him to take notes.
Through the rift stepped a man who looked like he'd just walked off a movie set—tall, elegantly dressed in a suit that probably cost more than Alaric's annual salary, with dark hair perfectly styled and a smile that could have charmed angels out of Heaven. Which, Alaric reflected with growing hysteria, was probably exactly what had happened at some point.
"Dr. Saltzman," Lucifer said pleasantly, straightening his tie as the portal sealed itself behind him, "I do apologize for the dramatic entrance, but you seemed to have doubts about my identity. I thought a small demonstration might be helpful."
---
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