“Relax, Michael.” Lucifer passed drinks to the Harmonies first, Kate glaring at him with each step he made and staring at the wine he gave her as if it were radiating with chemicals. He handed one to Sara, who took it and sniffed the wine, her nose creasing. Once he gave everyone their glasses, Lucifer raised his drink and chugged his wine.

The Harmonies sipped their drink from politeness, Michael nodding, “Not bad.”

Vera, the maid, sliced huge portions of the cake, serving a plate to everyone. After the Galas praised her for the moist cake, she gathered the plates and left with the rolling tray.

“About that Gala,” said Lucifer, pouring hard liquor into his glass. “You tell me first about him, and then I’ll tell you what happened.”

Frowning at his brother playing a tactful game, Michael pursed his lips. His daughter had gone to do a puzzle of kittens, with Jackson and Elena clicking pieces with her. “Kate, tell him about the shapeshifter attacking you.”

The Prowler grudgingly started wearing a white jumpsuit and a golden necklace. She still refused to look at the Devil. “I was at a beach when, all of a sudden, a shapeshifter just onslaught at me.”

Kate muttered, trying to recall the details of her date night. She stood next to her friend’s seat, gripping the chair. “I felt he was taunting me and tossed me around for funnies, then vanishing together just to tell me that he said hi to Michael.”

Inhaling deeply, Kate shuttered out, despising to state this: “The Gala had lavender eyes and had the appearance of Thomas Pitch. Pitch is dead, so he has to be a shapeshifter, but he used extreme powers that a shapeshifter couldn’t manage.”

“Shapeshifters can only mimic an extent of someone’s powers,” Sara confirmed her friend’s suspension, finishing the puzzle with quick speed.

Curling his fists together, Michael debated, “Maybe it’s a new powerful race of shapeshifters that have emerged or evolved in ways we haven’t noticed.” His statement didn’t settle right in his stomach, but what could be the other explanation?

That Pitch could be alive.

He was the Archangel; he didn’t overlook or make mistakes. He had executed Thomas Pitch nine years ago, and nothing could change the High-warlock’s death.

Shaking his head, Lucifer said, “I highly doubt both of us would notice a change in the shapeshifters.” He smirked, nearly spitting out the words, “Be interesting if Pitch was alive; you did give me his ashes after all.”

“He’s not alive,” growled Michael, gritting down his teeth and piercing his golden eyes at his twin brother.

“The shapeshifter looked like Pitch, correct?” asked Lucifer, seeing the Harmony suck in her cheeks, not wanting to answer. He suspected she was afraid to give her leader a bad reputation. So he added, with a silk tone that matched the smooth liquid he drank, “Katerina, the honest answers you give will help us find this Gala sooner.”

Kate glanced at her boss, who gave her an encouraging nod. She said, “If Pitch wasn’t dead, I would pinpoint him completely. However, resurrection is impossible, so there’s no way. Yet, even though he claimed to be Thomas Pitch,

Was that a sly smirk from his evil twin brother Michael caught in the corner of his eyes?

“When the Gala came into Hell, what’s the first thing that crossed your mind about him?” queried Raphael, keeping a neutral expression with no emotions.

“When I first saw him, I thought he was indeed the shapeshifter you claim him to be. However, like your sidekick said, ‘shapeshifters mimic the extent of someone’s powers.’” The Devil responded, “But like Kate stated: ‘resurrection is impossible.’”

Lucifer asserted nonchalantly, but the corners of his lips twitched up: “Either way, shapeshifters evolving, Pitch being alive, or resurrection possible. None of it is good news.”

Glowering hatred at him, Kate wished to punch the smirk off the Devil’s face.

“Or humans have been experimenting with the shapeshifters under Harmonies' radars, which I expected more by now with you keeping the supernatural race away from harm,” shrugged Lucifer, leering at Michael. “That is your job, after all.”

The Archangel composed himself by sneering at Lucifer, for that was what he wanted. Instead, he glared down at him, since his brother was a few inches shorter than him. “I killed Pitch. I don’t need your permission to prove myself to you.”

“Or...the person is a Gala in disguise as Pitch to play a prank on Kate, and she’s just weak like her parents,” suggested Lucifer.

Snatching a dagger underneath her friend’s dress, Kate knew she could hide weapons under anything Sara wore, even her cloak. Sara jumped in her seat in surprise at being touched there.

Kate seethed, pointing the blade at the Devil. “I am not weak, you piece of shit!” She sneered, “Remember, I burned you.”

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The Infernals glanced at their boss, wondering if they should intervene.

“And I remember hearing your parents’ screams,” Lucifer grinned wickedly.

“Enough!” Michael ordered, staring in disbelief at Lucifer.

“Here we go again,” sighed Elena, letting Sara put in the last puzzle piece.

A rumble came from Sara’s stomach, and she clutched it, with Jackson and Elena raising their eyebrows. “I’m kind of alcohol intolerant; it never settles well with me.”

Michael grabbed his daughter’s arm; she looked strange, and he said, “This meeting has been pointless from the start.” He whirled on his feet, tugging for Sara to get up.

A chill ran down the Gala’s spine, and she spun with coldness. No one said anything because they thought it was just them. Before Michael took another step toward the door, the lights flickered off.

There was a sound of glass shattering and someone crumpling to the floor. The lights returned a second later, and everyone frozen in their spots—except Michael, who was unconscious on the floor.

The young Prowler leaped to her feet from her chair. “Father!” Sara rushed over to him, with Kate behind her. The girls shook Michael, painful seconds ticking by until he moved. They gasped in relief, but his blood stained the Persian decoder carpet.

Kate lurched up and swirled around angrily at the Devil. “You did this!”

Surprisingly to her, Lucifer was all over the bar, but he had a super speed that he could’ve easily hit his brother in the head and flashed back to where he was.

However, his shocked expression matched the rest of the Galas in the room. “That...that wasn’t me.” Although he didn’t dislike Michael getting beaten every once in a while, he hated not knowing who broke a vase on his brother’s head.

He had to ask his friends after the Harmonies left, but he highly doubted they had done that. Elena and Jackson were sitting at the table, not having been standing up. No residue from the vase was on their hands. Caliber was still in the corner.

His friends could turn off the lights, but what would be the point? It wasn’t in their character, and they didn’t do surprise elements unless he told them to.

That remained the Harmonies, but Raphael was too loyal and a good brother to do any such thing. To Lucifer’s knowledge, Katerina didn’t have the power to play with the lights, and Sara seemed like an ordinary girl.

Even more so, Sara calling Michael ‘Father’, nearly surprised Lucifer more than someone having the audacity to smack the Archangel unconscious. He glanced around the room; everyone hadn’t moved from their spots when the lights turned off and on.

Sara was the closest person to him, but the vase filled with roses was on the coffee table where the television was. He hadn’t sensed any frisson from her this whole time, but the room had gotten strangely chilly moments ago.

“Then who hit him?” yelled Kate, staring at the Infernals.

“I’m fine,” groaned Michael, touching his head and finding blood on his fingers.

“Dad—I mean, Michael, are you okay?” Sara asked, her face flushing as the Infernals gazed at her with narrowed brows.

With everything unraveling, with the Gala being a pain in the ass, the tension building up like a kettle boiling, and being hit on the head, Michael knew the Infernals were realizing Sara being his daughter was the worst.

Standing up while his daughter found a tablecloth where the vase had been, she dabbed it on his head to clear away the blood. He winced, “We are leaving.” Michael locked eyes with the Devil and warned, “If you know anything about this Gala or are hiding something, you better tell me, Lucifer.”

Lucifer wanted to mock: “Leaving so soon?” However, anyone in their right mind would wish to leave after being bashed in the head by someone in this room. The Harmonies followed Michael, and when they reached the doorway, the Devil inquired, “Michael, why did you neglect to tell me you had a daughter?” He smirked. “Who did you fuck?”

The Archangel’s daughter squirmed from his question, staring her wide eyes away from the Infernals; her cheeks rose in being in the spotlight.

Freezing in the doorway, Michael spat, “First, that’s none of your damn business, and second, she’s adopted.” With that, he whipped around and ordered the Harmonies to get their stuff in the closet while he finished up with his brother.

When the Harmonies were out of earshot, Michael faced his brother, threatening, “Having a daughter is none of your business, and don’t you think of laying a hand on her?”

Lucifer chaffed, “Afraid I might hurt your precious daughter?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it,” the Archangel snarled.

“Oh?” teased Lucifer. “Are you afraid that I might find you an incompetent father like you were a lousy brother?” A stunned expression bypassed his brother’s face: “You haven’t told her that you killed our sister. Wonder why she still loves you this far.”

Either from the harassment from Lucifer’s taunting manner, the unknown person knocking him unconscious, or Sara’s loose mouth calling him Father, Michael’s hands curled into fists, and he punched his twin brother’s smug face.

Lucifer’s teeth clamped down on his lower lip during the unexpected punch as Lucifer’s face was thrown back. However, he hadn’t moved an inch. Chuckling devilishly at the poor attempt at a blow, Lucifer licked the blood from his sliver of a cut, smiling, and a masochist look shone in his chocolate eyes. “Aw, being a protective father like you couldn’t as a brother? I see how it is. I can see right through you.”

Michael hissed between his teeth, “If the Gala screws with you, I am not coming to help!”

“I will never ask for your help; you came to me,” laughed Lucifer. He glowered. “You will never be a good father like you were as a brother.”

“Get over it!” yelled Michael, his fists shaking with rage. He had given into his brother’s tactic of what entertainment was for him, but he didn’t care anymore. He lashed out, “Her death was no more my fault than it was yours!”

A deep pang of regret ruptured through Michael, and he stormed out of the living room after inspecting the Infernals. Even with the eerie corridors where he felt the walls were shifting and changing to confuse an intruder, Michael found his way out.

He kept saying to himself that mistakes happened, even a horrible one that caused grief for both of the brothers. What else could he say about the tragic death of their sister, which had been nearly two decades ago?

Michael had overcome the grief and pain, but the rue remained like an indelible scar within him. Finding the Harmonies standing by on the lawn, there were worried stares from them. “I’m fine.” He wrapped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, who leaned her head against him. “Let’s go home.”

His heavenly wings burst from Michael’s back, and as he surrounded the Harmonies, he felt the watchful gaze of Lucifer from a window.

The Archangel glanced at Sara, his beautiful daughter, and Kate, his other kind of daughter, whom he also loved. Even with his brother continuously throwing a tantrum about the death of their sister, Michael had his girls to take care of and love them with all of his heart.

The Archangel smiled warmly and lovingly at his girls, vanishing into the night and knowing everything would be fine.

It had to be.