Lucifer Morningstar was on the floor. And it wasn’t the good kind of on the floor where the sexual partner you’re with has just surprised you and jumped your bones and knocked you to the floor kind of thing. This was the tedious kind, the infuriating kind, where you’ve tripped over something or slipped on something and are now on the floor. To make matters worse, he’d flailed on the way down, knocking the contents of a nearby end table to the ground with him. It was embarrassing, really, and for once he was glad not to have any overnight guests. Something like this would surely ruin his reputation. Lucifer Morningstar did not trip over thin air and land on his Italian marble floor. He was the Devil, for crying out loud. This was just ludicrous. It was ridiculous. It was human.
Hang on, there’s a thought. Lucifer fished his phone out of his bathrobe pocket and hit speed dial number one.
“Detective, are you perchance in my penthouse?”
“Lucifer, it is 7:00 a.m. Why would I be in your penthouse?” the familiarly incredulous voice replied.
“I could think of a reason or two.” Or four or five, his mind provided before he made it shut up.
“I am not in your penthouse.”
“In my club, then?” he pressed.
“Standing right outside on the street?”
Chole Decker sighed. “No, Lucifer, I am not on the street in front of your club.”
This was getting worrisome. Lucifer knitted his brows. “How close to me are you right now?”
“It is 7:00 in the morning. I am at my house getting my daughter ready for school,” the Detective replied, her response more of a growl than anything else.
“That’s troublesome,” Lucifer muttered.
“Why? What’s going on?”
Now it was Lucifer’s turn to sigh. “I’m on the floor.”
“I’m on the bloody floor.”
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” The bite drained out of the Detective’s voice.
“I’m fine,” the Devil replied. And he was fine. It hadn’t even hurt; it was just the shock of it.
“Did you trip?”
Lucifer sighed again and sat up. Had he tripped? If so, he’d be sure to incinerate the offending object. Upon sitting up, he realized there was water on his floor and that the bottoms of his feet were wet. “No, I think I slipped.” That didn’t sound any better. He kind of wanted to punch himself right now for being so lame.
“On what? Trixie, you cannot take those to school,” the Detective whispered to her daughter. She really needed to get Lucifer through this “crisis” so she could back to her morning routine.
Lucifer stood up and looked down at the floor. There was a sizeable puddle of water, but where on earth had it come from? He didn’t remember incorporating an ice sculpture into last night’s hijinks. “Detective, there’s water on my floor. Why is there water on my floor?”
Chloe ran her hand over her face. Maybe she could change her number? “Are you in the bathroom?”
“No, I’m in the foyer, near the elevator.”
“Right, because your apartment has a foyer, I forgot.”
Lucifer looked behind the designer couch to spy even more water. “This is no good. Where is the water coming from?”
“Is your ceiling leaking?”
Lucifer looked up, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. He was the Lord of Hell, not a common day laborer. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you have a busted pipe in your wall?”
Lucifer grunted in exasperation. “But what am I supposed to do about it?”
Chole fought the urge to throw her phone in the trash. “Mop the water up and call a plumber?”
“Mop the water up?” Lucifer scoffed. “With what, my 900 GSM bath towels? I think not.”
“I literally did not understand a word you said.”
Lucifer noticed the items he’d knocked off the end table, the items that were now unceremoniously soaking in the water. “Oh, damn!” He reached down and righted the lamp.
“What? Did you find the problem?”
The Devil picked up a silver clock radio and dumped the water out of it. The clock was way out of place with the rest of his décor. “My favorite piece of kitsch,” he lamented, “I have very fond memories of this clock, and the shyster who was selling them. He’s having a fine time marketing his products in hell now, I assure you.” Lucifer shook the clock again and gave it a good smack. The red light inside flickered back to life. The clock read 7:18, or maybe it was 7:28? It was hard to make out one of those numbers. “Ha, I have resurrected it! Suck it, Amenadiel.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Detective, are you listening?” Another moment of silence. “Detective?”
“Lucifer, I have to get my daughter ready for school, and then I have to go to work. Just call a plumber.”
Lucifer set the clock back on the table. “Do you happen to know any?”
“You have a phone book.”
“A phone book? Have we met?”
Chloe took a deep breath through her nose. “You have the Internet, Google it.”
“But I don’t want some desperate miscreant in here with his crack hanging out for everyone to see.” Lucifer shuddered just thinking about it.
“Lucifer!” Chole snapped.
“Fine,” the Devil sighed. “I shall acquire a plumber.”
“Good.” Chloe was more than ready for this conversation to be over.
“But I really don’t have time for this today,” Lucifer droned on. “Tonight’s night six of my seven deadly decades party.”
Why hadn’t Chloe hung up? It would have been so easy to hit end. “I know, and the police have been called out to four of your six nights.”
“Yes, but you weren’t with them, sadly.”
Chole didn’t respond, but Lucifer pressed on, because hope springs eternal, even for the Devil. “Tonight’s the 80s, tomorrow is the 90s. There’s sure to be lots of slow jams, boy bands, Britney Spears. Not the actual Britney Spears, of course, but my Britney threesome, er trio, does a wonderful tribute.”
Chole bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t explain the slight twinge of guilt she felt for bailing on his parties. It wasn’t even her scene. “I really need to go, Lucifer.”
The Devil shifted his feet. “Me, too, these soirees take a lot of time to assemble.”
“I was surprised you called me this early. I thought you’d be sleeping until noon or later.”
“Don’t require much sleep to fire on all cylinders, Detective. It’s a gift.” Lucifer absentmindedly fiddled with the clock radio. One of its numbers still wasn’t reading clearly. “And I knew you’d answer, if I called.”
The Detective took a breath. She hoped it didn’t sound as shaky as it felt. “Goodbye, Lucifer.”
“Goodbye, Detective.” He kept the phone to his ear for a moment after she had hung up. Lucifer flexed his shoulders and looked back at the puddle on the floor. “Right, a plumber.” He dialed another number and waited for a response. “Detective Douche, do you know any plumbers?” He was greeted with an expletive and an abrupt end to the conversation. “Well, that was rude.”
Lucifer examined the puddle a little closer. It didn’t seem to be growing any. Maybe the incident was over? He did have a busy day and dealing with such trivial matters as a water leak really wasn’t on his list. Lucifer hurried into his bedroom. He grabbed his comforter and returned to the puddle. He spread the comforter out and covered the water. “I wanted a new one anyhow,” he remarked. Now he couldn’t even see the water. There, that was simple. On with the rest of his day.