The Chronicles of a Young Antichrist

Chapter 1: Death by Summer Vacation

One might assume that the son of Lucifer, King of Hell, would grow up in some absurdly gigantic mansion—the kind with sweeping marble staircases, crystal chandeliers large enough to crush a small car, and enough servants to populate a minor country. Every whim granted before it had even been voiced.

That might have happened.

It almost certainly would have happened.

Unfortunately for Hell's royal architects, Lucifer had made the catastrophic mistake of falling in love.

For the first time in his impossibly long existence, the Devil had met a woman who could look him straight in the eye and say, with perfect calm, "Absolutely not."

Simonetta Drago loved Lucifer with every fiber of her being. She adored the man. The Devil, however, still suffered occasional attacks of spectacular stupidity—specifically the kind fueled by unlimited resources and an almost complete inability to understand why anyone might consider three ballrooms excessive.

His first proposal for a family home had featured exactly that, along with a private opera house, a dragon sanctuary, a wine cellar larger than most supermarkets, and an honest-to-God indoor volcano.

Simonetta had stared at the blueprints for nearly five minutes.

Then at Lucifer.

Then back at the blueprints.

Then at Lucifer again.

"No."

That had been the entire discussion.

Lucifer had immediately agreed, mostly because Simonetta still possessed the rare and terrifying ability to make the King of Hell nervous. He could command armies, stare down ancient monsters, and silence an entire throne room with one look, but explaining why their future child required access to an indoor volcano was a battle even Lucifer Morningstar understood he was unlikely to win.

So instead of a palace, they lived in a large but comfortable house on the So instead of a palace, they lived in a large but comfortable lakefront house in a quiet private village in South Florida. It had a swimming pool, a hot tub, a game room, a home theater, and even a secret passage Marcus had discovered by accident while chasing a possessed Roomba.

It was a real home. Not a castle, not a royal estate, and certainly not a monument to excessive wealth.

When Simonetta became pregnant, she had laid down one more ironclad rule: their son would have a normal childhood. Normal school. Normal friends. Normal summers.

Looking back, that last rule had been a serious strategic error.

Normal summers were designed for normal children.

Marcus Drago had never been that normal.

The school year had ended exactly three days ago, and Marcus knew this because he had counted.

Repeatedly.

Several times an hour.

He paced his bedroom like a caged tiger someone had irresponsibly introduced to twelve cans of energy drink. Back and forth he went, curls bouncing, bare feet thumping over the floorboards until even the wood beneath him seemed to be reconsidering its life choices.

"This is torture," he declared to the ceiling. "Actual torture."

The ceiling offered no sympathy.

"You know Dad would never approve of this."

Silence.

Marcus frowned upward.

"Traitor."

The ceiling remained unmoved.