The meeting...

As he sat at the small, sidewalk table, quietly sipping a latte and watching the people hurry by, it struck Lucifer that this mundane, simple activity was one of his favorites. There was no influence to exert, no accidents to facilitate, not even a small animal to torture.

No, it was these kinds of moments, when he could get lost in the hustle and bustle of everyday human life that he could somehow find himself again.

Of course, he'd never tell any of his underlings — mostly demons, mind you — this, as their simple, single-minded psyches could never grasp the beauty of human nature. When they saw humans, all they could see was the meat and bones, the souls ready to be harvested.

However, Lucifer had learned long ago there was something beneath the fleshy exterior, something he tearned to understand and, possibly, even possess. It was something no angel had ever had or experienced, and it called to him much like the needle calls to a heroin addict.

He grinned to himself, amused at the thought of what would happen if he revealed himself, right here and now. He could imagine standing up and simply shedding his human vessel like a human might shuffle off his coat or jacket as he makes his way in the front door of his home. All humor aside, vessels were so confining, like a suit two sizes too small.

However, Lucifer would never expose himself in such a crude and meaningless manner. While demons might feed off human fear like a hummingbird darting at the heart of a blossom, he found the whole process empty and counterproductive. Besides, he had gone to great lengths during the past several thousand years to convince the world he didn't exist, quite possibly the most expansive — and successful, for that matter — public relations campaigns ever mounted.

Yes, there were still a few believers, but they were far and few between these days. And they were getting even rarer with each passing year, a fact Lucifer found both satisfying and humorous. As the fear continued to dissipate, humans became more and more brave, until, eventually, the believed neither he nor his Father existed.

And, what could possibly make him happier than to see his Father's believers chucking their belief to the wayside in favor of iPads and expensive cars? It was if karma were finally catching up to the old man for casting his child — his favorite child, for that matter — down into a sea of darkness.

“How can you drink that foul stuff?” asked Raphael as he pulled up a chair, blocking Lucifer's view of a couple of punk rockers wearing large, red pentagrams on their black T-shirts. He had toyed with the idea of having a cab plunge through them as they crossed the street, but decided against it. It infuriated him to see humans take symbols they knew nothing about and pervert them.

“I suppose it's an acquired taste,” Lucifer said. “How have you been, brother?”

Raphael stared at the fallen angel with his normal, emotionless stare. However, over the past few thousand years, Lucifer had seem a single emotion begin to creep onto his brother's face, a faint hint of despair. He wondered if Raphael felt this all the time — quite a possibility when you want your father's kingdom fall apart around you — or only when he was in his presence.

While the first possibility made Lucifer's heart leap, he figured it was likely the second, much like a brother visiting his sibling through a prison glass, feeling sorry for him but knowing he got what he deserved.

“Michael is worried about you,” Raphael said quietly.

“Ahh, Michael. Forever the big brother, worrying about us all,” Lucifer chuckled. “You know, if he took some of the energy he uses to worry and used it to fuel a search for our father, I bet he'd find him in the time it takes that man over there to step in front of a car.”

As the last syllable left Lucifer's lips, a horrible screeching sound cut through the air, followed by screams and shouts. Pretty much everyone on the block turned in shock to see a man had been hit by a speeding car, which had then spun off the roadway into a fire hydrant, which was now happily spraying water 30 feet in the air. Everyone, except Lucifer and Raphael, that is.

“That man had a wife and children,” Raphael said coldly.

“Oh, sweet brother. I never get tired of your reactions, even if they are as predictable as the damn sunrise,” Lucifer said. “You know I don't cause these accidents, humans do. I just get advance tickets and front row seating.”

“Should we expect any more interruptions, then?” Raphael asked.

“Unfortunately, no. Today is a pretty slow day, to be honest. I considered not even getting out of bed this morning, to tell you the truth,” he said.

“Ahh, the truth from the prince of lies,” Raphael said with a grin. It was the first time Lucifer had seen him smile in a very, very long time.

“Poor humans, if they only knew my lies were 95-percent truth,” Lucifer said with a smile in his eyes. “They might not be so quick to label me with such names.”

Several police officers and an ambulance had joined the scene down the block, as humans did what they do best … clean up the carnage with stoic, cattle-like faces. Oh, if they had any idea the devastation Lucifer would rain down on them if just given the chance. Sure, he put on a good show. Sometimes, it even seemed like he liked the humans. However, all he felt for them was loathing, a quiet contempt that smoldered just below the surface.

And how could he be expected not to hate humankind? Hadn't his father lifted them up above him and his brothers? Hadn't his disdain for them gotten him thrown into the basement?

“I know you're looking for the book, Lucifer,” Raphael said.

“So, that's what this little powwow is about, is it?” Lucifer said, shifting back in his chair. “I take it you're not here as my little brother, but representing ... upper management?”

“Stop now and there will be no action taken against you,” Raphael said quietly.

Oh, how his brothers loved to just twist the screw that was his banishment, Lucifer thought. No matter how much they loved him — and most of them still loved him — there was a certain amount of smug satisfaction in their voices when they reminded him who held the key to his cage.

“And?” Lucifer said, letting a grin creep slowly across his face.

“And what?” Raphael asked.

“Come on, Raphael. I mean, we've been at this long enough, you'd think you would learn the game by now,” Lucifer said with a chuckle, waiving a waitress over to order another latte. “You know, you really should try one of these. The epitome of indulgence, I tell you. There's more calories in one cup of this concoction than some poor children in Africa get in a week. It's exquisite.”

“Ever the humanitarian,” Raphael said, watching as Lucifer stirred copious amounts of sugar and cream into his drink.

“Obviously, this is the part of the conversation where you tell me if I don't lay off the book, you and the rest of the team are going to smack me around,” Lucifer said. “And, please tell me you guys have come up with a new kind of torture. The gags you've been using for the past 4,000 years are getting so boring.”

“This is your last warning,” Raphael said, rising gracefully from his seat.

“Oh, I think I just got chills,” Lucifer said defiantly. “You know, Raph, you used to be a lot more fun. I really mean that.”

Raphael adjusted his glasses.

“We're at war, Lucifer. That sort of takes the fun out of a heavenly creature. It was good seeing you, but I'd lay off the lattes. You're beginning to get a bit of a spare tire around the middle,” he said, turned and simply disappeared.

Lucifer chuckled under his breath.

“Oh, brother, you have so much to learn,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.