The Devil Likes Lemon Cupcakes

The Devil and Grigori

               »When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,

                         And he shall make the face of heaven so fine,

                         That all the world will be in love with the night,

                                and pay no worship to the garish sun.«

                                             William Shakespeare

»You're not serious?« I muttered, overflowing with confusion and sheer annoyance by his haughty presence. Even stabbing myself with a fork seemed a more enjoyable experience than facing the Lord of  Darkness at my dinner table.

»Why not?« He gracefully placed both of his arms behind his back, posing in a slick tone of an old fashioned man with a superiority complex.

I frowned and clenched my hands harder than usual, searching for a decent reply. »Because...Because you're, you know – you, and I'm sure that you've got better things to do.«

He focused his look on the floor for a few seconds. »No, I do not.« He quickly attained his self-importance back.

»Don't you have like – people to dismember, souls to steal or, I don't know burn someone...«

»As amusing as that sounds,« His lips twitched into a wicked smile. »I am positively hot for your mother's cuisine.«

»Liar.«

A shadow of our coat-hanger danced across his face when the dimmed lime lights lustered through the glass door. »I am a lot of things, little Lux,« He pinned my hands behind my lower back and matched my torso with his. The sent of him was still the same as always, but the fieriness was gone. His touch didn't burn my skin. »but I am no liar.«

I shifted my eyes uneasily and nodded. He let go of me and joined my mom in the kitchen. His presence in my home and around my family should have made me nervous, frightened even, but...but there was just something about him. Something tranquil. I saw something in his eyes that I often saw in my own reflection, a certain essence that was ours, and only ours. But then again, I could just have some version of the *Stockholm syndrome.

                                                         *                       *                       *

After a thought-provoking acquaintance with my father, a few death stares with my brother and a suspiciously sly conversations with my mother, Lucifer sat down at our dinner table. I was not sure how he was going to react to what's gonna happen next.

Right on time, my mom mouthed the words: »Shall we say grace?«

I glanced towards our dinner guest to notice...nothing. Not a twitch of a muscle, nothing. Only a cocky stare right back at me.

»Can't we just eat?« Jan leaned on his elbow and gyrated the spoon in his hand.

»No,« My mom insisted. »we have to bless the food first.«

»Why, it won't taste any different?« He clanked the metal spoon at the edge of a plate.

»That's not the point, besides,« She seemed more put together with her tone of voice tonight. Probably because of our visitor. »you ate an entire bag of chips, how hungry can you possibly be?«

»Mom, I could eat three bags of chips, covered with melted cheese, and I would still be hungry.«

»Calm down Marta,« Dad broke the conversation. »the boy's got to eat. He's a top sportsman!« He took the plate with fried chicken. »Here son, eat!«