Michael pulled away from her, frowning. "I thought we established he was no longer relevant, that we should just forget about him."

"You established that," she said. "You made that quite clear. But he's still my brother, Michael."

"No, he isn't, Serah. Not anymore. You need to accept that."

Nicki came bounding into the room then and snatched her crayons and notebook from the table. She started to leave but hesitated, her brow furrowing as she glanced around the room. "Daddy, the kitchen smells funny."

"What's it smell like?" he hollered anxiously. "Fire? Is something burning?"

"No. It smells like that time you and Mommy took me to the lake and we went swimming and I had the pink floaties and you took that cooler with sandwiches. Remember? It was your birthday! Aunt Maggie came!"

"Yes."

"It smells like how that day smelled," she said.

Nicholas laughed. "So the kitchen smells like April? Spring?"

Nicki shrugged. "I guess."

After the little girl skipped from the room, Michael grabbed ahold of Serah again and apparated the two of them from the house. She was much too startled to resist, caught up in the conversation between the father and child.

Spring. That was exactly how Lucifer had described her smelling.

"What's gotten into you?" Michael asked once they were outside. "You know how things work. This is the basis of our existence."

She shook herself out of her stupor. "Samuel wasn't just my brother, he was my friend. And he was your friend, too. It doesn't bother you?"

"No. I don't let it. I wish he hadn't fallen, but he did. There's nothing more to talk about. He's gone. End of story. We have to move on."

"How can you just write my brother off like that? How could you write your own brother off so easily?"

Michael tensed, his expression hardening as he stuck out his chest, wings ruffling defensively. "I have no brother."

"You do, Michael. Lucifer will always be your brother."

Michael glared at her, defining the phrase "if looks could kill". "Lucifer no longer exists. That thing down there, that corrupt half-angel, half-demon monstrosity, is Satan. No matter what he may have said to the contrary, he's nothing but evil. He wants nothing more than to seek vengeance against us all."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know?" He stepped toward her, head held high, authority in his stance. Serah had been determined to stand her ground, but the movement made her balk. "You're questioning my assertion? I'm an Archangel! I've stood beside the throne! I've been in His presence!"

"So has Lucifer."

Michael shook his head as he clenched his hands into fists. If Serah didn't know any better, she'd suspect he felt a bit of wrath right then. "You know nothing of him. This task is messing with your logic. It must stop! You're questioning things you can't question; you're imposing with this human family. I'm going to put an end to it now."

Michael vanished. Serah immediately put out feelers, seeking his essence, trying to sense him and find his location, but she felt nothing. An angel couldn't be found if they didn't want to be found, especially one far, far away.

Panicked, she immediately apparated to the gates, swiftly passing through them, relief washing through her when the last one was vacant.

At least he hadn't gone there. Michael’s presence in front of Lucifer, in Lucifer’s territory, would surely trigger the apocalypse.

Shaking her head, she breathed a deep sigh, and was about to leave again when the angry voice struck her, sharp like the blade of a knife.

"You have a lot of fucking nerve."

Serah froze as Lucifer appeared in the light, his nostrils flaring and body quaking. Dark and dangerous. "What?"

"You come here, smelling like that—like him—after I expressly told you not to. You think my word means nothing? You think I'm a joke? That you can just disregard what comes out of my mouth? Down here, my word is gold. Down here, I have the final say. You show up here, disrespecting my authority . . . if I could, I would tear you apart right now, piece-by-fucking-piece."

Serah felt something then, a lurching inside of her, a cold bitter sensation as her senses heightened. She took a step away, her stomach twisted in knots, her ashen face somehow whiter.

"What's the matter, angel?" he taunted. "Are you scared? Of little ol' me?"

"This was a mistake," she whispered, barely forcing the words past her trembling lips. "Michael was right about you."

"My loving brother, always right, isn't he? That's why he's the glorious prince."

"I took up for you," she said. "I upset him, and he left. I suggested maybe he was wrong about you, that maybe you weren't all evil. I thought he'd come here to prove me wrong."

He stared at her. "You took up for me?"

"I shouldn't have," she said. "I shouldn't have come here at all. He was right. It's pointless. Lucifer's dead. You're Satan."

The swing swayed slightly, a pale pink flower balanced across it, the delicate petals fluttering in the early morning breeze. It was a Sunday, and most of the inhabitants of Chorizon were still in bed, fast asleep. They'd awaken soon, some studiously making their way to church, while others spent the day with their families. The schoolyard would be deserted for at least a few more hours—nothing there except for Serah and the mysterious flower resting upon her usual seat.