Fic
Serpent & Sword
Fandom: AtS / Constantine crossover
Pairing: Lindsey/Balthazar
Rating: R
Beta: remember_nomore, who knows just how grateful I am. (And a definite shout out to ruric for her offer as well.)
Dedication: Last July, the admirable belleimani showed such generosity to me that I offered to write her something. Now that she knows exactly how long I take to fulfill requests, I'm sure she'll never make that mistake again. ;-D The twisted joy that is this pairing comes entirely from her mind.
* * *
The call comes in just before six. All pre-notified employees are to report to conference room B. Despite his longing for a healthy shot of caffeine just a moment before, Lindsey finds himself jittery with adrenaline as he locks up his office for the evening.
Euphemism is the lifeblood of Wolfram & Hart, the thing that keeps them on the right side of sanity. So when Lindsey is told that they’ve got someone coming up from the Deep South, he knows that they’re bound to be an important client. The kind that you can still smell the sulfur on, even under the expensive cologne.
He joins up with Lee and Lilah in the hallway and Lindsey’s done enough homework to indulge in a bit of gallows humor. “Remember when they brought that lawsuit against this guy two years ago?” he asks. Of course he doesn’t remember the story personally, but he buzzed through the file about half an hour ago in his search for some vital hint that might save his neck.
Lilah smirks, always ready to deliver the punch line. “He went through half of Litigations like a bag of Oreos.”
The usual game of ‘Let’s Watch Lee Turn Colors!’ becomes less fun as they near the door of the conference room.
The seemingly random selection of staff members already inside catches Lindsey off guard. There are a few nervously smiling first-year attorneys, still new enough not to realize the high mortality rate of their position, and that leggy redhead from the corner office who looks mad enough to spit nails. Lindsey thinks he might recognize one or two mailroom clerks in the mix.
“What kind of project is this again?” Lindsey asks quietly, prickling with sudden unease. Damned if he knows precisely what it is that’s got his hackles up, but something is wrong here.
“They didn’t say,” Lilah answers, taking in the eclectic crowd with a slight frown. “Isn’t freckle-face over there with Security?” Lindsey opens his mouth to reply just as Holland strides in. The quiet hum of conversation dies like a snuffed candle.
“Excellent, excellent!” Holland is practically beaming at them as he looks around the room, and that alone is enough to kick another dose of adrenaline through Lindsey’s system. There’s no consistency, nothing here is adding up. Even the newbies are picking up on it now, drifting closer together like schoolchildren, instinctively trying to blend into the crowd.
“Now, if I could please have you form a line along the wall here. Yes, like that, thank you…” Holland directs them into a single line like a slave auction, or an execution by firing squad. Lindsey doesn’t particularly like the connotations of either metaphor at the moment.
Sandwiched shoulder to shoulder between Lilah and Lee, Lindsey’s eyes are trained on the open door. There’s someone waiting just outside. He can see their shadow sliding over the carpet. It’s someone human-shaped, who obviously appreciates the value of a dramatic entrance.
“What the hell is this?” Lee mutters from his left. “This is getting weird.”
It’s worse than ‘weird’. It’s dangerous. For the first time since he moved to L.A., Lindsey finds himself longing for the open country, for somewhere to run. Holland catches Lindsey’s eye and raises his eyebrows with a mechanical smile … Isn’t this exciting! … before clapping his hands once for attention.
“Wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so pleased to have this opportunity to introduce you to one of Wolfram & Hart’s most illustrious business partners, Mr. Balthazar.”
For a second, Lindsey is taken aback by the sheer normality of the man who walks through the door. No horns, no tail; cloven hooves wouldn’t fit into dressy shoes like that. With his slicked-back hair and smart crimson tie, he looks like money. It’s almost comforting.
But there’s something about the way he moves as he heads towards the far end of the line, the way that pinstripe suit doesn’t crease normally like there’s a real person inside of it. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, smiling and friendly as he moves towards the herd.
“Pretty, pretty,” Balthazar murmurs, strolling along the line, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. “Holland, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself.” From his post by the door, Holland gives a simpering smile.
And Lindsey understands. In that moment, he gets it and he thinks he might be sick right there on the conference room floor. This isn’t about a job. It’s a sacrifice.
Lilah figures it out just as Lindsey does and their eyes meet in a brief horrified glance. Lindsey forces himself to stare straight ahead as Balthazar saunters past, and beside him, Lilah is taking careful measured breaths. Their composure is rewarded when Balthazar doesn’t give either of them a second glance, drifting past to stop in front of Lee.
“My goodness,” he remarks lightly, the hint of a British accent making his words smooth, “Are you always this nervous?” Lee has enough sense not to answer him, but flinches and shuts his eyes like a kid when Balthazar suddenly leans in close to whisper something in his ear.
Lindsey’s just allowed himself to start breathing again when Balthazar straightens up and shoots him a playful wink, before heading back to stand next to Holland.
“You’ve chosen already?” Holland asks. “Please, take as much time as you like.”
Balthazar shakes his head with a hungry smile and Lindsey can almost see Holland mentally restraining himself from taking a step back. Trapped and terrified, nothing would please Lindsey more at the moment than to see this thing go rampant on them, to wash that self-assured smirk off of Holland’s face in a torrent of blood. It’d be no less than any of them deserved.
“That won’t be necessary,” Balthazar says, rocking back on his heels. “Just a simple matter of…” He raises his index finger in a dramatic gesture and shoots them a teasing smile when a few people can’t quite stifle their gasps.
He points to Lee, who makes a quiet choked noise. “…eeny…”
“…meeny…” Somewhere down the line to the right.
“…miney…” Back to Lee again.
“…him.”
Fuck.
Lindsey swallows the urge to scream, forcing a smile like he’s just won something other than certain death. Holland beckons him forward and Lindsey hardly registers Lilah’s whispered ‘Good luck’ as he steps out of the safety of the line.
He hesitates when he reaches them, not sure where to stand, where to look. Is there specific etiquette when it comes to the behavior of sacrificial lambs? Balthazar smiles absently at him before heading out the door, clearly expecting Lindsey to follow. Lindsey takes an automatic step after him like he’s been leashed, before turned desperately to Holland.
“Sir, I’m honored to be chosen for this…”
“As you should be!”
“…but you know how busy I am right now with the … with the Oslov papers and…”
“Lindsey,” Holland warns, his expression turning closed off and cold.
“Sir, please,” Lindsey begs through clenched teeth. Holland’s gaze slips away to the remaining employees who’ve set up a quietly relieved buzz again now that Balthazar is out of the room.
“Balthazar is an extremely valuable partner of this firm. Of course we’ll all have to pull some extra weight around here to keep up while you’re … occupied with this client. But these are the sacrifices that we must make,” Holland tells him. Lindsey shakes his head, ready to go down fighting. But this isn’t a barroom and Holland’s gesturing him towards the door. “He’s waiting, Lindsey.”
Defeated, Lindsey steps out of the room to find Balthazar leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze tracks a blatant course over Lindsey’s body, hiding his intent about as well as a starved vampire. “Lindsey, is it? Come on, we’ve got places to be, people to see, you and I.”
When he turns and strides down the hallway, Lindsey follows him. He’d kind of hoped that it would end differently than this; that he’d go out with a bang, not a whimper. But it’s probably what he deserves. Lindsey’s always had a strong sense of justice.
*
If Balthazar chooses cars with the same eye that he chooses attorneys, Lindsey finds grim amusement in the fact that he must have something in common with a Dodge Viper.
In the heavy evening traffic Balthazar maneuvers the car around slower vehicles with confident abandon while Lindsey fiddles with his seatbelt. The feeling of quiet claustrophobia is starting to get to him.
“Why so glum, chum?” Balthazar asks, sparing him a sideways glance. “I picked you because you were the best in that line up.”
“I was in that line up because I was expendable,” Lindsey spits back. Balthazar’s laughter rings loud in the close space. He drags his fingers through the air in Lindsey’s direction with a feline hiss.
“Mmm, pretty kitty’s got teeth, does he?” His tongue darts out to touch his lower lip and Lindsey’s stomach drops at the sight. It’s forked. “Knew I chose you for a reason.”
Lindsey stares out the front window, mentally reviewing his will. It takes a full minute for him to gather the courage to speak up again. “Where are we going?” He flinches violently when Balthazar’s hand snakes onto his knee, immediately cursing himself for letting his nerves show and forcing himself not to react as those slim fingers skim up his thigh.
“Just sniffing out a bit of fun, taking my newest pet for friendly drink.” His tone makes it clear that Lindsey does not have a say in the matter. “You’ll like Midnite’s.”
Lindsey nods numbly; thoughts whirling with escape plans that won’t possibly work. He spends the rest of the drive in silent desperation while Balthazar hums Rolling Stones and toys idly with the crease of Lindsey’s slacks.
From the outside, Club Midnite looks like any other club in this part of town, and Lindsey almost allows himself the luxury of hope. Maybe it is just a normal drink with a new business partner. But the valet that drifts out of the shadows to take Balthazar’s keys looks Lindsey up and down with a smirk and eyes that briefly flash blood-red. Lindsey swallows hard. So much for normal.
Heading down the shadowy stairs into the club, Balthazar breezes past the burly doorman with a cryptic comment (“Serpent and sword. My personal favorite.”) and his hand firmly around Lindsey’s wrist.
“Stay close, kitten,” he whispers. His breath against Lindsey’s ear is cool and unexpected. “Never can tell who’s on the prowl for a snack at Midnite.” Lindsey follows Balthazar’s gaze to a silver-haired young woman poised at the bar, her features so supernaturally perfect that it’s almost obscene. He looks away, his eyes smarting as though he’s been staring at the sun, before drawing closer to Balthazar as they make their way through the throng.
He never expected that the ‘devil he knew’ would turn out to be an actual demon. But life’s ironic like that. He’s beginning to think of Balthazar as his only safety in here. The air is thick and cloying, confusing his thoughts.
“New pet, Balthazar?” Hunched at the bar, a scrawny figure in a rumpled silk shirt sneers over his shoulder at them, fidgeting like a bird. “Heard they last longer if you’re gentle with ‘em.” There’s something off about the angle he holds his head when he turns to face them and the scaly texture of his face can’t be explained away by a skin condition, but the signs of a guy trying to pick a fight are universal.
Balthazar scoffs, apparently unimpressed, and continues towing Lindsey towards the back of the club. The smaller creature slips off his stool to stand in front of them, sharp little teeth showing in a grimace. “You’d show your treacherous face in here, shedim?” His voice is unusually sibilant, and he twitches like he’s uncomfortable in his skin. “Take your pet and get out.”
Lindsey can hardly draw breath in the heavy air and his heart is pounding with the throb of the music. “Not his pet,” he corrects. The demon’s gaze slides over to him and Lindsey suddenly feels cold, even in the heated frenzy of the club. “I’m his attorney. And unless it’s an assault charge you’re after, I’d advise you to back off.”
“Do you think that I’m afraid of your human law, mortal?” The demon’s laughter sounds an awful lot like an ice cube dropped into a frying pan.
“No, not really,” Lindsey admits with a smile. “I just kind of want to see what happens when they ask you to swear in on the Bible.”
The demon’s smile turns sour and he seems to melt in on himself as he slithers away into the crowd. For a brief instant, Lindsey allows himself the hot thrill of success when Balthazar’s arm goes around his shoulders, until he realizes that he’s probably being protected. His stomach drops further at the realization that he’d been vying for Balthazar’s approval. God, just like the fucking pet he’d been called. He flinches out of the half-embrace, glaring at Balthazar, the hot atmosphere of the club making him brave.
“I’m not thirsty,” Lindsey insists, stumbling back when Balthazar goes for his wrist again. “This isn’t really my scene.” He steps on someone’s heel, provoking a baritone growl. “I want to leave.” That said, he turns and runs.
Two steps later, Balthazar has him by his collar, purring in Lindsey’s ear, his hand sliding up to caress his face with the liberty of the blind.
“Ah, precious… but I want to stay.” The cool wetness of Balthazar’s tongue slides up the side of Lindsey’s throat and he shudders involuntarily. Balthazar whirls him around by the arm, smiling manically and dragging Lindsey towards the doors at the back of the club. The music reaches a frantic, screaming crescendo of electric guitars as Lindsey fights Balthazar’s iron grasp, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to stop their inevitable progress. I’m going to die! He’s going to kill me and nobody will even know how I went…
One of the doors along the back wall swings open for them before Balthazar even touches it. He’s pulled bodily into the room, the noise of the club becoming a muted rhythmic thud through the heavy door that Balthazar shuts behind them. Lindsey has just enough time to register the low red lights, plush furniture, and the fact that his ears are ringing from the music before Balthazar’s hand is flat against his chest, pressing him against the wall and preventing his escape.
“Let go!”
Balthazar shushes him theatrically with a fingertip against Lindsey’s lips. “I promise this won’t hurt a bit.” Lindsey glowers at the condescending tone, and Balthazar presses a quick rough kiss to his lips, muffling Lindsey’s yelp of protest and surprise. “You might even enjoy yourself,” he murmurs with a smile. Lindsey knows Balthazar can feel his heart pounding under the palm of his hand and hates himself for it.
‘Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,’ his mother used to tell them, after he or one of his siblings had been caught doing something less than pious. But this is a different level of temptation than resisting the urge to steal crabapples from the Foster’s orchard. And this devil isn’t fleeing. Lindsey feels a bit betrayed.
“Stop fighting it,” Balthazar coaxes him gently, taking something small from his pocket that glints in the half-light. Lindsey frowns in confusion as Balthazar holds his hand up, letting the little gold coin tumble between his fingers like a street magician. Now what the hell is that supposed to…
Reality splits down the middle.
Lindsey can feel every drop of blood as it courses through his body and the earth making its slow rotation under his feet. The light from the lamps is dim compared to the radiant light surrounding Balthazar, pulsing around him and making Lindsey’s eyes water as it blinds him. There are thousands of voices in the air around them, pleading and wailing and sobbing and screaming, and the only thing keeping Lindsey from drowning in the intensity of that awful sound is the light.
Balthazar raises a hand and the noise stops as completely as if he’d flicked an invisible switch and the blinding light fades to a bearable glow, but Lindsey can still feel the power. He goes to his knees.
“God,” he gasps, broken.
“Bite your tongue, boy,” Balthazar laughs. “You think He’d let you see this? As for me, I’ve always been an advocate of free will for mankind.” He slips his fingers under Lindsey’s chin, tilting his head up to him. “Look at me, lovely.” When Balthazar looks into his eyes, Lindsey feels like he’s falling from a terrible height. There are memories whirling through his mind and… something dark that feels like destiny. If he listens hard enough, he can still hear those voices wailing, and his heart is going to pound right out of his chest.
Balthazar makes a disappointed little hum and pats Lindsey’s cheek.
“They’ve got you scrambling around, terrified of all those little words. Such little words,” Balthazar muses. “God. Sin. Hell. I’ll tell you a secret, Lindsey.” He leans down with a smile, and Lindsey reaches up to touch his face with trembling fingers like he’s a holy relic. “None of it matters. All these pitiful creatures throwing money into collection plates and hoping He hears the clatter. God doesn’t keep score, and neither does the Devil.” Balthazar shakes his head with a low chuckle, and Lindsey shakes his head in mindless imitation, not even paying attention to the words anymore. He just needs Balthazar to be near him - to touch him.
But Balthazar straightens up again. He strokes Lindsey’s hair absently as he slips the coin back into his pocket. “Sorry for the razzle-dazzle,” he explains lightly. “Just needed a quick peek, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“You’re not… you’re letting me go?” Lindsey asks, crushed. He didn’t even know that there had been a test, let alone that he’d somehow managed to fail it.
“You’re not ripe yet. There’s still so much farther for you to fall.”
Lindsey doesn’t understand the words, but the sentiment sounds like rejection and he presses Balthazar’s cool hand to his cheek feverishly. “I’m ready,” he pleads. “I can be good enough.” Balthazar’s smile is fond.
“You’re too good already, kitten! But once you’ve been washed clean in blood, to borrow a phrase, you will be magnificent. Get up.”
Lindsey stumbles obediently to his feet, his limbs as numb as if he’d downed half a bottle of whiskey in one sitting. The desire to put his arms around Balthazar is overwhelming. It’s too hot in here; his knees are going to buckle. Balthazar puts a hand out to steady Lindsey when he sways.
“I’m in love with you,” Lindsey tells him, and Balthazar laughs and laughs.
In the shadows outside the club, he lets Lindsey kiss him, graciously accepting his frantic schoolboy passion and returning it with heat of his own until his hands pressing Lindsey against the brick wall are the only thing holding him up. It’s the purest moment that Lindsey’s ever felt.
*
Lindsey wakes up in stages, listening to Mick Jagger chanting at him from the clock radio until he summons the energy to shut the alarm off. His memory is a patchy mess; firing squad, thick incense, a girl he couldn’t look at, and the intense ache of loss.
The details aren’t clear in his mind, but he knows that he was supposed to die yesterday. Had he … escaped? Been unworthy? There’s a small purpling bruise around his wrist that he can’t explain. Maybe he’d struggled and gotten away.
Whatever the case, he’s positive that they won’t be expecting him at the office this morning.
Lindsey crawls out of bed anyway.
*
He runs into Holland just past the front desk. A lightening strike of sudden rage hits Lindsey when Holland’s gaze sweeps over him, critical and concerned. It makes Lindsey wonder if they’ll have to scramble to get the brass nameplate back on his door before he gets up to his office.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, excellent!” The enthusiasm forced into the words doesn’t quite fit and Lindsey levels him with a stare until Holland’s smile devolves into something more like a grimace. “It really is, Lindsey. I was just reviewing a case that would be perfect for you to take.”
“Sir?”
And so the dance begins again. Lindsey finds himself missing the cool simplicity of a coin manipulated in agile fingers.
“I’ll have the file sent over to you,” Holland tells him, clapping him on the back as they make their way towards the elevators. “Quite a unique young lady … her name’s Vanessa Brewer, and you’re going to show the jury precisely what an upstanding citizen she is.”
*
Epilogue
It’s time.
It’s been a five-year wait, and it couldn’t have come at a better moment. John’s grown noisier than usual lately in his pathetic scrabbling against the inevitable darkness. But Balthazar can be patient when it suits him. He has the feeling that this one will be worth the wait.
His very favorite kitten is ready for him now, cleansed and perfected by the idiotic forces of Light. They pretend to be all sunbeams and smiles, but the ‘good guys’ really do turn out some delectably twisted souls.
Balthazar hadn’t even had to lift a finger. One cruel lie, two bullets, and really it’s no wonder that lucky bastard Judas gets to hang with the Boss all the time. Betrayal is a beautiful thing.
He picks up the discarded sword, admiring the dripping blade. It’s a good weapon; traditional, Biblical, deadly. He’s positive John would approve of the imagery. Twirling it idly, he moves to stand in front of the body.
“Hello, Lindsey.”
The man looks up at him from his death-slouch against the brick wall, his blue eyes hollowed out with rage.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Balthazar tells him with a smile.
~Fin~
Fandom: AtS / Constantine crossover
Pairing: Lindsey/Balthazar
Rating: R
Beta: remember_nomore, who knows just how grateful I am. (And a definite shout out to ruric for her offer as well.)
Dedication: Last July, the admirable belleimani showed such generosity to me that I offered to write her something. Now that she knows exactly how long I take to fulfill requests, I'm sure she'll never make that mistake again. ;-D The twisted joy that is this pairing comes entirely from her mind.
* * *
The call comes in just before six. All pre-notified employees are to report to conference room B. Despite his longing for a healthy shot of caffeine just a moment before, Lindsey finds himself jittery with adrenaline as he locks up his office for the evening.
Euphemism is the lifeblood of Wolfram & Hart, the thing that keeps them on the right side of sanity. So when Lindsey is told that they’ve got someone coming up from the Deep South, he knows that they’re bound to be an important client. The kind that you can still smell the sulfur on, even under the expensive cologne.
He joins up with Lee and Lilah in the hallway and Lindsey’s done enough homework to indulge in a bit of gallows humor. “Remember when they brought that lawsuit against this guy two years ago?” he asks. Of course he doesn’t remember the story personally, but he buzzed through the file about half an hour ago in his search for some vital hint that might save his neck.
Lilah smirks, always ready to deliver the punch line. “He went through half of Litigations like a bag of Oreos.”
The usual game of ‘Let’s Watch Lee Turn Colors!’ becomes less fun as they near the door of the conference room.
The seemingly random selection of staff members already inside catches Lindsey off guard. There are a few nervously smiling first-year attorneys, still new enough not to realize the high mortality rate of their position, and that leggy redhead from the corner office who looks mad enough to spit nails. Lindsey thinks he might recognize one or two mailroom clerks in the mix.
“What kind of project is this again?” Lindsey asks quietly, prickling with sudden unease. Damned if he knows precisely what it is that’s got his hackles up, but something is wrong here.
“They didn’t say,” Lilah answers, taking in the eclectic crowd with a slight frown. “Isn’t freckle-face over there with Security?” Lindsey opens his mouth to reply just as Holland strides in. The quiet hum of conversation dies like a snuffed candle.
“Excellent, excellent!” Holland is practically beaming at them as he looks around the room, and that alone is enough to kick another dose of adrenaline through Lindsey’s system. There’s no consistency, nothing here is adding up. Even the newbies are picking up on it now, drifting closer together like schoolchildren, instinctively trying to blend into the crowd.
“Now, if I could please have you form a line along the wall here. Yes, like that, thank you…” Holland directs them into a single line like a slave auction, or an execution by firing squad. Lindsey doesn’t particularly like the connotations of either metaphor at the moment.
Sandwiched shoulder to shoulder between Lilah and Lee, Lindsey’s eyes are trained on the open door. There’s someone waiting just outside. He can see their shadow sliding over the carpet. It’s someone human-shaped, who obviously appreciates the value of a dramatic entrance.
“What the hell is this?” Lee mutters from his left. “This is getting weird.”
It’s worse than ‘weird’. It’s dangerous. For the first time since he moved to L.A., Lindsey finds himself longing for the open country, for somewhere to run. Holland catches Lindsey’s eye and raises his eyebrows with a mechanical smile … Isn’t this exciting! … before clapping his hands once for attention.
“Wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so pleased to have this opportunity to introduce you to one of Wolfram & Hart’s most illustrious business partners, Mr. Balthazar.”
For a second, Lindsey is taken aback by the sheer normality of the man who walks through the door. No horns, no tail; cloven hooves wouldn’t fit into dressy shoes like that. With his slicked-back hair and smart crimson tie, he looks like money. It’s almost comforting.
But there’s something about the way he moves as he heads towards the far end of the line, the way that pinstripe suit doesn’t crease normally like there’s a real person inside of it. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, smiling and friendly as he moves towards the herd.
“Pretty, pretty,” Balthazar murmurs, strolling along the line, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. “Holland, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself.” From his post by the door, Holland gives a simpering smile.
And Lindsey understands. In that moment, he gets it and he thinks he might be sick right there on the conference room floor. This isn’t about a job. It’s a sacrifice.
Lilah figures it out just as Lindsey does and their eyes meet in a brief horrified glance. Lindsey forces himself to stare straight ahead as Balthazar saunters past, and beside him, Lilah is taking careful measured breaths. Their composure is rewarded when Balthazar doesn’t give either of them a second glance, drifting past to stop in front of Lee.
“My goodness,” he remarks lightly, the hint of a British accent making his words smooth, “Are you always this nervous?” Lee has enough sense not to answer him, but flinches and shuts his eyes like a kid when Balthazar suddenly leans in close to whisper something in his ear.
Lindsey’s just allowed himself to start breathing again when Balthazar straightens up and shoots him a playful wink, before heading back to stand next to Holland.
“You’ve chosen already?” Holland asks. “Please, take as much time as you like.”
Balthazar shakes his head with a hungry smile and Lindsey can almost see Holland mentally restraining himself from taking a step back. Trapped and terrified, nothing would please Lindsey more at the moment than to see this thing go rampant on them, to wash that self-assured smirk off of Holland’s face in a torrent of blood. It’d be no less than any of them deserved.
“That won’t be necessary,” Balthazar says, rocking back on his heels. “Just a simple matter of…” He raises his index finger in a dramatic gesture and shoots them a teasing smile when a few people can’t quite stifle their gasps.
He points to Lee, who makes a quiet choked noise. “…eeny…”
“…meeny…” Somewhere down the line to the right.
“…miney…” Back to Lee again.
“…him.”
Fuck.
Lindsey swallows the urge to scream, forcing a smile like he’s just won something other than certain death. Holland beckons him forward and Lindsey hardly registers Lilah’s whispered ‘Good luck’ as he steps out of the safety of the line.
He hesitates when he reaches them, not sure where to stand, where to look. Is there specific etiquette when it comes to the behavior of sacrificial lambs? Balthazar smiles absently at him before heading out the door, clearly expecting Lindsey to follow. Lindsey takes an automatic step after him like he’s been leashed, before turned desperately to Holland.
“Sir, I’m honored to be chosen for this…”
“As you should be!”
“…but you know how busy I am right now with the … with the Oslov papers and…”
“Lindsey,” Holland warns, his expression turning closed off and cold.
“Sir, please,” Lindsey begs through clenched teeth. Holland’s gaze slips away to the remaining employees who’ve set up a quietly relieved buzz again now that Balthazar is out of the room.
“Balthazar is an extremely valuable partner of this firm. Of course we’ll all have to pull some extra weight around here to keep up while you’re … occupied with this client. But these are the sacrifices that we must make,” Holland tells him. Lindsey shakes his head, ready to go down fighting. But this isn’t a barroom and Holland’s gesturing him towards the door. “He’s waiting, Lindsey.”
Defeated, Lindsey steps out of the room to find Balthazar leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze tracks a blatant course over Lindsey’s body, hiding his intent about as well as a starved vampire. “Lindsey, is it? Come on, we’ve got places to be, people to see, you and I.”
When he turns and strides down the hallway, Lindsey follows him. He’d kind of hoped that it would end differently than this; that he’d go out with a bang, not a whimper. But it’s probably what he deserves. Lindsey’s always had a strong sense of justice.
*
If Balthazar chooses cars with the same eye that he chooses attorneys, Lindsey finds grim amusement in the fact that he must have something in common with a Dodge Viper.
In the heavy evening traffic Balthazar maneuvers the car around slower vehicles with confident abandon while Lindsey fiddles with his seatbelt. The feeling of quiet claustrophobia is starting to get to him.
“Why so glum, chum?” Balthazar asks, sparing him a sideways glance. “I picked you because you were the best in that line up.”
“I was in that line up because I was expendable,” Lindsey spits back. Balthazar’s laughter rings loud in the close space. He drags his fingers through the air in Lindsey’s direction with a feline hiss.
“Mmm, pretty kitty’s got teeth, does he?” His tongue darts out to touch his lower lip and Lindsey’s stomach drops at the sight. It’s forked. “Knew I chose you for a reason.”
Lindsey stares out the front window, mentally reviewing his will. It takes a full minute for him to gather the courage to speak up again. “Where are we going?” He flinches violently when Balthazar’s hand snakes onto his knee, immediately cursing himself for letting his nerves show and forcing himself not to react as those slim fingers skim up his thigh.
“Just sniffing out a bit of fun, taking my newest pet for friendly drink.” His tone makes it clear that Lindsey does not have a say in the matter. “You’ll like Midnite’s.”
Lindsey nods numbly; thoughts whirling with escape plans that won’t possibly work. He spends the rest of the drive in silent desperation while Balthazar hums Rolling Stones and toys idly with the crease of Lindsey’s slacks.
From the outside, Club Midnite looks like any other club in this part of town, and Lindsey almost allows himself the luxury of hope. Maybe it is just a normal drink with a new business partner. But the valet that drifts out of the shadows to take Balthazar’s keys looks Lindsey up and down with a smirk and eyes that briefly flash blood-red. Lindsey swallows hard. So much for normal.
Heading down the shadowy stairs into the club, Balthazar breezes past the burly doorman with a cryptic comment (“Serpent and sword. My personal favorite.”) and his hand firmly around Lindsey’s wrist.
“Stay close, kitten,” he whispers. His breath against Lindsey’s ear is cool and unexpected. “Never can tell who’s on the prowl for a snack at Midnite.” Lindsey follows Balthazar’s gaze to a silver-haired young woman poised at the bar, her features so supernaturally perfect that it’s almost obscene. He looks away, his eyes smarting as though he’s been staring at the sun, before drawing closer to Balthazar as they make their way through the throng.
He never expected that the ‘devil he knew’ would turn out to be an actual demon. But life’s ironic like that. He’s beginning to think of Balthazar as his only safety in here. The air is thick and cloying, confusing his thoughts.
“New pet, Balthazar?” Hunched at the bar, a scrawny figure in a rumpled silk shirt sneers over his shoulder at them, fidgeting like a bird. “Heard they last longer if you’re gentle with ‘em.” There’s something off about the angle he holds his head when he turns to face them and the scaly texture of his face can’t be explained away by a skin condition, but the signs of a guy trying to pick a fight are universal.
Balthazar scoffs, apparently unimpressed, and continues towing Lindsey towards the back of the club. The smaller creature slips off his stool to stand in front of them, sharp little teeth showing in a grimace. “You’d show your treacherous face in here, shedim?” His voice is unusually sibilant, and he twitches like he’s uncomfortable in his skin. “Take your pet and get out.”
Lindsey can hardly draw breath in the heavy air and his heart is pounding with the throb of the music. “Not his pet,” he corrects. The demon’s gaze slides over to him and Lindsey suddenly feels cold, even in the heated frenzy of the club. “I’m his attorney. And unless it’s an assault charge you’re after, I’d advise you to back off.”
“Do you think that I’m afraid of your human law, mortal?” The demon’s laughter sounds an awful lot like an ice cube dropped into a frying pan.
“No, not really,” Lindsey admits with a smile. “I just kind of want to see what happens when they ask you to swear in on the Bible.”
The demon’s smile turns sour and he seems to melt in on himself as he slithers away into the crowd. For a brief instant, Lindsey allows himself the hot thrill of success when Balthazar’s arm goes around his shoulders, until he realizes that he’s probably being protected. His stomach drops further at the realization that he’d been vying for Balthazar’s approval. God, just like the fucking pet he’d been called. He flinches out of the half-embrace, glaring at Balthazar, the hot atmosphere of the club making him brave.
“I’m not thirsty,” Lindsey insists, stumbling back when Balthazar goes for his wrist again. “This isn’t really my scene.” He steps on someone’s heel, provoking a baritone growl. “I want to leave.” That said, he turns and runs.
Two steps later, Balthazar has him by his collar, purring in Lindsey’s ear, his hand sliding up to caress his face with the liberty of the blind.
“Ah, precious… but I want to stay.” The cool wetness of Balthazar’s tongue slides up the side of Lindsey’s throat and he shudders involuntarily. Balthazar whirls him around by the arm, smiling manically and dragging Lindsey towards the doors at the back of the club. The music reaches a frantic, screaming crescendo of electric guitars as Lindsey fights Balthazar’s iron grasp, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to stop their inevitable progress. I’m going to die! He’s going to kill me and nobody will even know how I went…
One of the doors along the back wall swings open for them before Balthazar even touches it. He’s pulled bodily into the room, the noise of the club becoming a muted rhythmic thud through the heavy door that Balthazar shuts behind them. Lindsey has just enough time to register the low red lights, plush furniture, and the fact that his ears are ringing from the music before Balthazar’s hand is flat against his chest, pressing him against the wall and preventing his escape.
“Let go!”
Balthazar shushes him theatrically with a fingertip against Lindsey’s lips. “I promise this won’t hurt a bit.” Lindsey glowers at the condescending tone, and Balthazar presses a quick rough kiss to his lips, muffling Lindsey’s yelp of protest and surprise. “You might even enjoy yourself,” he murmurs with a smile. Lindsey knows Balthazar can feel his heart pounding under the palm of his hand and hates himself for it.
‘Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,’ his mother used to tell them, after he or one of his siblings had been caught doing something less than pious. But this is a different level of temptation than resisting the urge to steal crabapples from the Foster’s orchard. And this devil isn’t fleeing. Lindsey feels a bit betrayed.
“Stop fighting it,” Balthazar coaxes him gently, taking something small from his pocket that glints in the half-light. Lindsey frowns in confusion as Balthazar holds his hand up, letting the little gold coin tumble between his fingers like a street magician. Now what the hell is that supposed to…
Reality splits down the middle.
Lindsey can feel every drop of blood as it courses through his body and the earth making its slow rotation under his feet. The light from the lamps is dim compared to the radiant light surrounding Balthazar, pulsing around him and making Lindsey’s eyes water as it blinds him. There are thousands of voices in the air around them, pleading and wailing and sobbing and screaming, and the only thing keeping Lindsey from drowning in the intensity of that awful sound is the light.
Balthazar raises a hand and the noise stops as completely as if he’d flicked an invisible switch and the blinding light fades to a bearable glow, but Lindsey can still feel the power. He goes to his knees.
“God,” he gasps, broken.
“Bite your tongue, boy,” Balthazar laughs. “You think He’d let you see this? As for me, I’ve always been an advocate of free will for mankind.” He slips his fingers under Lindsey’s chin, tilting his head up to him. “Look at me, lovely.” When Balthazar looks into his eyes, Lindsey feels like he’s falling from a terrible height. There are memories whirling through his mind and… something dark that feels like destiny. If he listens hard enough, he can still hear those voices wailing, and his heart is going to pound right out of his chest.
Balthazar makes a disappointed little hum and pats Lindsey’s cheek.
“They’ve got you scrambling around, terrified of all those little words. Such little words,” Balthazar muses. “God. Sin. Hell. I’ll tell you a secret, Lindsey.” He leans down with a smile, and Lindsey reaches up to touch his face with trembling fingers like he’s a holy relic. “None of it matters. All these pitiful creatures throwing money into collection plates and hoping He hears the clatter. God doesn’t keep score, and neither does the Devil.” Balthazar shakes his head with a low chuckle, and Lindsey shakes his head in mindless imitation, not even paying attention to the words anymore. He just needs Balthazar to be near him - to touch him.
But Balthazar straightens up again. He strokes Lindsey’s hair absently as he slips the coin back into his pocket. “Sorry for the razzle-dazzle,” he explains lightly. “Just needed a quick peek, you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“You’re not… you’re letting me go?” Lindsey asks, crushed. He didn’t even know that there had been a test, let alone that he’d somehow managed to fail it.
“You’re not ripe yet. There’s still so much farther for you to fall.”
Lindsey doesn’t understand the words, but the sentiment sounds like rejection and he presses Balthazar’s cool hand to his cheek feverishly. “I’m ready,” he pleads. “I can be good enough.” Balthazar’s smile is fond.
“You’re too good already, kitten! But once you’ve been washed clean in blood, to borrow a phrase, you will be magnificent. Get up.”
Lindsey stumbles obediently to his feet, his limbs as numb as if he’d downed half a bottle of whiskey in one sitting. The desire to put his arms around Balthazar is overwhelming. It’s too hot in here; his knees are going to buckle. Balthazar puts a hand out to steady Lindsey when he sways.
“I’m in love with you,” Lindsey tells him, and Balthazar laughs and laughs.
In the shadows outside the club, he lets Lindsey kiss him, graciously accepting his frantic schoolboy passion and returning it with heat of his own until his hands pressing Lindsey against the brick wall are the only thing holding him up. It’s the purest moment that Lindsey’s ever felt.
*
Lindsey wakes up in stages, listening to Mick Jagger chanting at him from the clock radio until he summons the energy to shut the alarm off. His memory is a patchy mess; firing squad, thick incense, a girl he couldn’t look at, and the intense ache of loss.
The details aren’t clear in his mind, but he knows that he was supposed to die yesterday. Had he … escaped? Been unworthy? There’s a small purpling bruise around his wrist that he can’t explain. Maybe he’d struggled and gotten away.
Whatever the case, he’s positive that they won’t be expecting him at the office this morning.
Lindsey crawls out of bed anyway.
*
He runs into Holland just past the front desk. A lightening strike of sudden rage hits Lindsey when Holland’s gaze sweeps over him, critical and concerned. It makes Lindsey wonder if they’ll have to scramble to get the brass nameplate back on his door before he gets up to his office.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, excellent!” The enthusiasm forced into the words doesn’t quite fit and Lindsey levels him with a stare until Holland’s smile devolves into something more like a grimace. “It really is, Lindsey. I was just reviewing a case that would be perfect for you to take.”
“Sir?”
And so the dance begins again. Lindsey finds himself missing the cool simplicity of a coin manipulated in agile fingers.
“I’ll have the file sent over to you,” Holland tells him, clapping him on the back as they make their way towards the elevators. “Quite a unique young lady … her name’s Vanessa Brewer, and you’re going to show the jury precisely what an upstanding citizen she is.”
*
Epilogue
It’s time.
It’s been a five-year wait, and it couldn’t have come at a better moment. John’s grown noisier than usual lately in his pathetic scrabbling against the inevitable darkness. But Balthazar can be patient when it suits him. He has the feeling that this one will be worth the wait.
His very favorite kitten is ready for him now, cleansed and perfected by the idiotic forces of Light. They pretend to be all sunbeams and smiles, but the ‘good guys’ really do turn out some delectably twisted souls.
Balthazar hadn’t even had to lift a finger. One cruel lie, two bullets, and really it’s no wonder that lucky bastard Judas gets to hang with the Boss all the time. Betrayal is a beautiful thing.
He picks up the discarded sword, admiring the dripping blade. It’s a good weapon; traditional, Biblical, deadly. He’s positive John would approve of the imagery. Twirling it idly, he moves to stand in front of the body.
“Hello, Lindsey.”
The man looks up at him from his death-slouch against the brick wall, his blue eyes hollowed out with rage.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Balthazar tells him with a smile.
~Fin~