I knew when I saw the letter slip under my door, the golden wax seal glinting in the pale light. It had been years since I had seen that mark, and I couldn't help the smile that passed over my lips.

I had been expecting his letter. There had been whispers throughout the streets for weeks now.

So here I sat, playing with the little wooden stick in my latte, as I awaited his arrival. Bit of a power move, showing up early like this, but that was how we did things, him and I, one always trying to upstage the other.

The air of the small cafe shifted, weighing heavier than before, signaling his arrival.

“Large vanilla latte, soy, no cinnamon.” I pushed the mug of coffee I had ordered for him across the table, not looking up from my own drink. I heard him chuckle as he accepted his drink, leaning back in his chair.

“I'm flattered you remember my order. It's been a long time.”

“Yes, well, you are the only man I have ever met that doesn't take cinnamon on his vanilla latte.” The other man hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of his drink. We settled back, enjoying our lattes and basking in the sounds of the busy humans around us.

“So,” the silence had become too heavy for me, “the rumors are true, then?”

“What have you heard?” A laugh escaped my chest at his question. I hadn't exchanged gossip since my years as a high school student.
“That the big boss man wants something of yours, and he claims to have something you want in exchange.”

“That is the long and short of it.”

“And how does this affect me?” The man across from me chuckled again, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit, finally drawing my eyes to meet his.

He was attractive, as he always was, the exact fulfillment of every individual’s ideal man. Sometimes, I could see through the facade, could see the truth behind the veil of lies, but that was only when he allowed it.

His pale eyes glinted red as he withdrew a small, achingly familiar vial from his pocket, placing it before me. A part of my chest burned at the sight of the glowing vial, a reminder of my past choices.

“You kept it.”

“Of course, I always keep my trophies, a reminder of the victories I have won.”

“You? The victor? If I recall correctly, it was I who bested you, old friend.” The man laughed, spinning the vial absently.

“A discussion for another time, perhaps.” I smiled, watching the glowing glass container spin between his fingers.

“Why are you, the great Lucifer Morningstar, asking me for help?” The man froze, a sly smirk pulling at his lips as he glanced at me through his lashes.

“A small task, one that I myself cannot accomplish.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“Your soul, returned.” Alarm bells sounded in my mind, I had nearly fallen prey to his games before. “Do not give me that look, old friend,” his amused laugh did nothing to calm the creeping feeling of dread in my chest, “your contract will not be terminated. You will get your soul back, and continue to live on for eternity, or until you summon Death herself to retrieve you.”

It had been centuries since the night he had taken my soul from me, exchanging the last shred of my humanity in exchange for an endless life. My final attempt to escape the charges that had been placed on my head after I had killed the queen.

Life with no soul was interesting, but how different would I really be with it back? I had been called soulless before I sold it all those years ago, would I even see a difference?

“What do you want me to do?” The man grinned, leaning in and sliding the vial closer to me.”

“I need you to kill God.”