Prologue

Cold air crept through the small school playground, stirring the abandoned swings on either side of Serah. Once alive with children's carefree laughter, all that could be heard now were the sounds of desolation: the metal chains creaking and clanking as the crisp, earth-toned leaves on the trees crinkled in the thrashing wind, mixing with the menacing, high-pitched noises streaking through the atmosphere, the hisses and clangs only she could hear.

The skin of Serah's arms and legs prickled as she trembled, pushing her brown hair from her face when it flew into her eyes. Her long summer dress flapped in the wind, darkened with filth, obscuring the pretty peach it used to be. Once proper and polished, she'd been ripped apart, tainted with sin and covered in dishonor.

How had it gotten that far? How had she fallen so fast, so hard?

The answer to her question appeared right in front of her face.

She sensed him before she saw him, felt his presence like the bitter breeze. He smelled like lit matches, crackling fire with a hint of peppermint. The electricity in the air intensified, the sky stirring, a red and black swirl of clouds blocking the much-needed sunlight. A storm was coming on fast, and that storm had a name.

"Lucifer."

Serah gazed across the playground as he stepped out from behind the worn metal slide. Although he was yards away, she knew he'd heard her when she whispered his name. Tall, dark, and handsome, while overtly cliché, was the only way she could begin to describe him. His short, dark hair was a wild mess of thick curls, his long-sleeved button-down shirt exposing hints of a solid chest. With broad shoulders and tanned skin, Lucifer appeared sturdy yet harmless, his dimpled half-smirk almost friendly. With just one look, one measured curl of his lips, he invited you in to stay forever. And there was no denying this charismatic creature. While maybe not Heaven, he was certainly home.

But his eyes told another story, a far different one, more angry and sinister, just stealthily disguised by charm. Once as bright blue as a summer afternoon, now they burned black and red like the fiery evening sky, a small glimpse of the festering monster beneath the pretty skin.

"Stop this," she said, her voice a soft breath. "Please."

He stepped forward, moving closer. Serah shuddered violently as the air around her grew frigid, like he’d claimed every speck of warmth for himself. Her heart frantically raced in her chest, so fast and hard it hurt, a jackhammer brutalizing her ribcage. Thump, thump, thump. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt until recently—not until him, not until this.

"I can't," he whispered.

"You have to," she insisted. "It's gone too far."

He stood there, stoic, statuesque as he gazed at her. The sky continued to churn, sporadic fat raindrops starting to fall. One splattered his skin and sizzled as it evaporated into a puff of steam.

The sky was crying acid tears.

"Lucifer, they're going to—"

He cut her off. "I know."

"You can't win."

"I know that, too."

"Then why?" she asked, pleaded, begged for an answer she’d understand. "Why are you doing this?"

He hesitated, taking one more step toward her, his hands clasping the chains of her swing. Leaning down, he pressed his feverish forehead against hers and stared into her eyes, searching for something, as she equally sought out the truth in his.

After a moment, he let out a deep sigh. Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her softly, sweetly, an innocent gesture for a creature they called "The Devil."

"I have to try," he murmured, "for you."

One

Six weeks earlier

(Or six months, or six years . . . time is but a blink sometimes)

"Ring-a-round a rosie,

A pocket full of posies;

Ashes! Ashes!

We all fall down."

The two little girls collapsed into the lush green grass. The blonde one, seven-year-old Emily Ann Dryer, kicked her feet with joy, while her brunette best friend, Nicki Marie Lauer, laughed gleefully alongside her. Their classmates ran around them, playing and shouting, enjoying every second left of midday recess.

"Isn’t that about the plague?" Hannah asked, cocking her curly blonde head to the side as she studied the kids. "The Black Death?"

"Maybe," Serah replied, swinging gently back and forth on the center swing. "Or maybe it’s just a nursery rhyme."

"Either way, it’s absurd," Hannah said. "It makes no sense."

"That’s the point." Serah watched as the girls stood back up and grasped hands, spinning around in circles again. "It’s supposed to be silly."

Hannah sighed. "I’ll never understand humans."

Serah glanced at the swing beside her as Hannah’s attention shifted away from the kids. She gazed into the cloudless afternoon sky, her eyes focused directly on the sun. Her red dress glowed under the sun's strong rays, her wings nearly see-through as they shimmered, a shield of gold glitter in the air surrounding her.

Just then, a little boy ran by—Johnny Lee Smith, age eight—and grabbed ahold of Nicki's long ponytail. He yanked it hard, pulling her away from her best friend and throwing her to the ground before running away again.

Sighing, Serah snapped her fingers. Johnny skated to a stop and whirled around, pausing for a fraction of a second before racing to help Nicki back to her feet.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Don't be mad, ’k?"