Deals with the Devil (PA #1)

Chapter 23

Willow, Age (Almost) Eighteen

One day. I turn eighteen tomorrow. Seemingly a rite of passage for so many humans in movies, my eighteenth birthday will probably just be another day in my life. Technically, I could already be eighteen years old. Lucifer guessed that my birthdate was a month before Eli's, so that's when we've always celebrated it. If I wasn't mortal, then maybe tomorrow would be the day that I'd feel the stirrings of a mating bond with a shifter. I'm still holding out hope that Killian will be revealed as Eli's mate once she turns eighteen, but she acts as though she's not even thinking about it. Killian's counting down the days, but he'll have to wait another month to know for sure.

Three months. That's how long Ragnar lasted in Hell before taking a position as a combat instructor at Purgatory Academy. Since Aristotle and he-who-must-not-be-named were already gone by that point, Ragnar's departure left Elizabeth as the only remaining child of the Devil in Hell. Lucifer's been overcompensating for his lost children by showering Eli and I both with constant attention. He calls it father-daughter time, Eli calls it smothering. I'm inclined to agree with her, but Lucifer's antics offer a nice distraction from the raging dumpster fire that is my life.

Six months. That's how long I have left until I begin my first semester at Purgatory Academy. I've spent the last three years preparing with Eli and our tutors to ensure that I don't immediately die upon my arrival. I don't have much faith that I'll live to see graduation and be able to return to Hell. Most likely, I'll either be killed, die because I'm a human with mortal abilities, or fail my first trial and lose the bet that Lucifer made with Archangel Michael. If the latter comes true, then I'll have a one-way ticket to earth with no memory of my previous life. Honestly, I'm not sure which option is the most desirable.

Nine months. That's how long it's been since Lucifer's youngest son left for the academy. For my own sanity, I refuse to even think of his name. As incredible and understanding as Eli is, she constantly creates new nicknames for him to cheer me up. Some of my favorites are Expired Mayonnaise, Athlete's Foot, Wet Socks, and Overflowing Diaper. The ridiculous nature of the nicknames makes any mention of the lust demon more palatable. Still, I can't help but miss my male best friend who brought so much love and happiness into my life. Nor can I help but wonder if it's my fault he's gone.