The priest asks us to turn and face our guests, giving me time to collect myself and get my emotions under control. Lucifer grasps my hand and turns to our audience, taking me with him. I stare out into a sea of humans and demons. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stare back at us, excited and relieved. I've done my job and nobody was killed. Success.
Unfortunately, not everyone is so happy with our new union. From the corner of my eye I see Leyna staring at me. She looks ready to eat me alive, yet she doesn't dare. I'm Lucifer's wife now. If she attacks me, she can kiss her perfectly formed ass goodbye. The rest of my bridesmaids don't give me the evil eye of death. Most stand silently, smiling and happy that their ruler has finally found someone new to torment. A few stare at the ground, disappointed that I have their coveted place.
Oh, ladies. If I could switch places with you and cheer you on, I would.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Humans and demons. I give you the king and queen of Hell!"
The congregation erupts in applause. Some cheer, some stand and clap wildly. My mother sits in her seat, dabbing at the tears spilling down her cheeks. Tears of joy, not sorrow or regret. She's realized what I figured out this morning: Not only is she now married into British royalty, but her daughter now rules Hell. To my mother, that's a double dose of wealth, power and privilege.
I scowl at her, furious. I knew I was her collateral if she's flaked on her deal. I never expected her to use me so freely. My mother now stands passes over Leyna on my list of people I hate.
Lucifer steps down off the small platform we're standing on, turning back to me as he tugs at my hand. I snap out of my planning for how I'm going to kill my mother and stare back at him, flustered. He smiles and tugs at my hand again. I nod vigorously and step down cautiously. I saw Evalyn, one of my maids, almost trip on the skirt of her dress as she walked up the aisle and I'm terrified I'll actually complete the foul-up.
Yes. God forbid I embarrass myself now.
Once I'm on the carpet, my equilibrium stars to sink back in. Mentally, I'm still in shock that I now have Lucifer as a husband, but I'm no longer too stunned or frightened to speak or move fluidly. I have better control of my emotions now, and I manage to force a warm smile.
In the few heartbeats I have to think, I spot my mother sitting down in her seat, smiling at me and wiping away her power-happy tears. I smile back, a slow, evil, vengeful smile that rears its ugly head less often than Halley's comet circles Earth. She see it, and her face drops. She knows what I know: She's screwed me over in the most putrid way possible, and I'm eventually coming after her for it.
My evil train of though is interrupted by none other than my new, loving husband. Following tradition, he steps forward and scoops me into his arms, turning to carry me down the aisle. I sigh and relax my body, hanging limply in his arms as he makes his way to the doors of the church.
My head hanging over his arm, I watch as our audience stands to follow us out. They're walking on the ceiling to me, all of them upside-down and laughing. From this angle, it looks like they're laughing with frowns and floating above the earth. A bubble of laughter escapes me as well. This whole thing -- the marriage, the contract, the people -- it's absurd. This would be a fantastic comedy sketch if it weren't real.
We exit the church, stepping out into warm sunlight and a cool autumn breeze. At the bottom of the fantastic staircase leading up to the church sits a gilded carriage that would make Cinderella throw a tantrum if it weren't so menacing. It's all black -- the wheels, the straps, the carriage itself. It's trimmed with lush red velvet and has delicate gold filigree detailing around the edges and on the steps.
I perk up a bit, taking in every beautiful detail of this hell-bound limousine of death. It's stunning, but horrifying as well. But as ominous as the carriage is, it's the horses and coachman that really freak me out. The horses are enormous, as black as the carriage they pull. Their eyes are red as blood, and their hooves send a shower of sparks flying when they tap the ground.
The coachman sits motionless stop his platform, his billowing black cloak whipping around him in the soft breeze. His tattered top hat sits perilously on his head, as if it may fall off and disintegrate at any moment. At the sound of our approaching crowd, he turns to look at us as we approach. His face is pale, bloodless and hollowed from centuries of ageing in the pits of fire. Eyes the color of swamp water stare out from deep sockets, piercing and cold. He nods to us, touching the brim if his ragged hat.
I shiver. He's the most horrifying thing I've seen since watching "The Blair Witch project" when I was ten.
Lucifer begins to descend the staircase, thankfully taking care not to jostle me around too much. I appreciate his kindness, but I'm still cautious. He is the Devil, after all. How much can I trust this creature knowing the reputation he has?
"Tarioc!" he calls out with his incredible voice.
The coachman nods again and cracks the slender reins in his hands. The gilded door to the coach swings open, revealing the luxurious fabrics and décor on the inside. It's all dark velvet, rich satin and stained wood. The crimson curtains inside are drawn, making it look even more sinister.
No sense of modesty, I see.
Am I surprised? Not really. My dress is just as ambitious and outspoken as the carriage. Besides, it's Lucifer. What else would I expect than the highest quality and most expensive? Yet another 'fuck you' to the old man upstairs.