I won't make a deal with the Devil, but he'll make a deal with me.

Lilah had been sick of attending her parents’ lavish high society parties ever since she’d turned 19 and the notion of an unguarded open bar had lost its luster. 

Now at 25, entertaining New York City’s crème de la crème had become a promethean bore. She could have been in a karaoke bar with her friends right now if it weren’t for her parents bribing her with payments towards her post-grad education. So instead of drunken ABBA sing-alongs, tonight she was fulfilling her duty as a daughter and a student.

How was this night different from any other night like it? Trick question; it wan't. Tonight, and like many of her parents' parties before it, Lilah smiled at the guests wide enough to hurt her cheeks, shaking the hands of the wealthy and powerful with a crushing grip. She didn’t rub elbows with her parents’ associates so much as thrust those elbows into the ribs of passersby, using her charm, wit, and low cut dress to get away with it.

With grit as tough as aging sandpaper, she loomed in the small conversation circles, teetering in her stilettos, and trying to avoid the cigar breath coming from behind blinding veneers.

Her barbed responses were charming. Her blatant insults were daring. Lilah figured at that point, she could slap someone straight across the face and she would only be called avant garde. Frankly, she was getting close to that point; the next person to try and talk to her about an investment opportunity she just had to try, or tried to get her to agree that homeless shelters bring down real estate value, was going to get a punch in the throat. The only thing holding her back was her need to finish her Master’s; it was a hard life, but someone had to do it. 

Lilah had been present at this evening’s party for a full two hours before she was able to extract herself from the prying eyes and hands of the guests. Tonight had been a fundraiser for someone’s million dollar yacht after it had been destroyed in a hurricane. And won’t somebody please think of the poor yacht owner? Won’t anyone please think of the poor yacht owner?! 

That open bar was becoming more and more necessary for survival than for fun at that point, and at the two hour mark, Lilah could feel her pasted on smile chipping off her powdered face. Thankfully, the venue had a private roof garden, and Lilah knew exactly which bottle of champagne to steal away to accompany her and her hard-fought freedom.  

Slipping away through the stairwell, Lilah emerged into the crisp night air of the roof garden. It was quiet up there; the lights of the city twinkled in contrast to the gaudy sparkle of diamonds, rhinestones, and crystal chandeliers below. She sat down on a little marble bench next to the jasmine bushes, and slipped off her sky-high stilettos. With an incredible sigh of relief, Lilah relaxed into the bench, the air, and the peaceful atmosphere of the roof. Sometimes it was all worth it, just to feel that sigh. Granted a stolen bottle of $500 champagne certainly didn’t hurt the situation either.  

Lilah had drunk about half the bottle when she suddenly heard footsteps approaching her little bench. Shoving her feet back into her shoes, Lilah was only sober enough to make herself physically presentable to this stranger. Emotionally, her internal Pissed Off New Yorker™️ was winning in its fight to become external. She came up here to avoid people at the party, not to bring the party with her, dammit!

A man emerged from the corner, rounding the bushes that hid Lilah from the view of the roof entrance. The look on his face made Lilah think he somehow knew beforehand that she was up there. He didn’t say anything right away, instead just standing there, staring at Lilah. 

She was having none of that bullshit.

 Standing up to turn directly towards the mystery man, Lilah huffed out, “And who are you? It’s polite to announce yourself to a lady, you know.” Her tone seemed to knock some sense into him.

“Ah, I apologize. You are correct,” he replied, sounding mildly apologetic; his accent’s origin was indiscernible, but obvious in its class. “I was about to, but you looked so deep in thought. Are you quite alright?” He was handsome, young, and almost pleasant looking. As Lilah tried to make out the details of his visage in the dim light of the roof, she saw his suit was well tailored, his hair styled to look soft and natural instead of the severe gelled look like many of the other Wall Street bros downstairs (someone really needed to tell them that Gordon Gecko was the villain in Wall Street). He looked… nice. Inviting. But Lilah had gone to the roof to let out the ornery old bitch she truly was, and she had no desire to go through the effort of hiding it again in order to turn her own pleasant visage back on; she was done being nice, and if this guy didn’t like it? Tough titties. 

“I'm fine. What do you want?” She replied, more as a demand than a question. 

“Well,” he started, undeterred and even spurred on by Lilah’s continually sharp tone, “I saw you leave the party, and I thought that might be a good time to see the pretty young lady herself. Shall we take a walk?” The man was really slathering on the charm, his voice warm and melodic like honey. It was becoming obvious that he was a man who wasn't used to hearing ‘no’.

“Thanks, but no thanks, pal. I’m perfectly fine here. Alone.” Lilah sat back down, taking another swig of her bottle. 

“But I came all the way up here for the pleasure of your charming company and an invigorating walk together; I must insist.” He was irked at her comment, his own composure visibly slipping. As smart as Lilah appeared to occasionally be, sometimes she just liked poking the metaphorical bear more than listening to her own sense of self-preservation.

“Oy vey…” she sighed, “I said no thank you, buddy. Now, unless you want me to call security on your ass, you should really vamoose and get the hell out of here.” She took out her phone and started dialing the number for the venue’s head of security, hoping the strange man would take the threat seriously. At this final dismissal, the man lost it.

“How dare you refuse me!” he boomed, “I am the Devil himself!” The roof shook as it reverberated with his celestial anger. He was red faced, (or perhaps he had been this whole time?) and appeared to be growing horns from the top of his head. Though he remained the same height, the air around him felt like it was expanding, as though his current form could barely contain him. “And you shall obey me and my requests, lest I bring Hell down upon you!!” he commanded, ironically righteous in his anger. 

At his last announcement, Lilah couldn’t stop herself. She started to laugh. 

And laugh. 

And laugh.

Confused, and with his feelings slightly hurt, the Devil blurted out, “IS SOMETHING FUNNY TO YOU?!” He was obviously lashing out in confusion at this point; no one had ever been able to resist his charms, or his commands. Who did this woman think she was??

Lilah was now doubled over on her bench, pointing at the Devil’s head, “Holy shit, and you have HORNS! You absolute schmuck!” she was laughing at him mercilessly.

 “WHAT?” he sputtered.

“You're actually him! The horns, the red skin! Ah!” Lilah wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, careful of her mascara. “You absolute fucking schmuck!”

Finally pulling herself together after a few moments with a last hah, Lilah took another swig of her bottle. “You don't know who I am, do you? Or did you just see a random young woman off by herself and think of her as easy prey?” Lilah asked sardonically, “You absolute dumbass…” She laughed once more, shaking her head at him in pity.

The Devil was dumbfounded, but with his anger finally deflated by confusion and resignation, he was able to stop and think. There wasn't a being in this world who was immune to his charms. There was no one who could outmatch him, or outwit him, or outsmart him, unless…

He turned his head to Lilah, still horned but no longer red, add asked, “Do you happen to be Jewish?” It was surprisingly polite compared to the vitriol of only a minute ago. 

“Ding ding ding! You got it in one.” She winked, slapping her thigh. The Devil knew his powers didn't work on some people, but he was rusty on the rules and regulations after these long millenia going after easy targets.

“Fuck.” The Devil replied, summoning his own bottle of champagne from the ether. Now properly defeated, he asked meekly, “Mind if I sit down for a bit?”

 “Knock yourself out,” Lilah said between sips. Now that he wasn’t posturing and being all Devil-y, Lilah felt a little sorry for being so harsh with him; she may be a bitch, but she wasn't heartless. “I plan on knocking myself out soon anyway,” she continued, pointing at the bottle. She laughed again.

 “Yeah, laugh it up. It's not easy, you know,” he groaned, taking a mighty swig of his own bottle. “There's only so many people to tempt these days. No one takes my deals, and they all think they're lawyers 'cause they read something online. Pshh!”

 “Oh, yeah, I'm sure life is really hard for the devil,” she replied sarcastically. “Lord of all that is unholy and evil, master of the underworld. Yada yada yada,” she joked.

“I didn't have the best upbringing, you know,” he huffed, very much indignant in his tone, “I mean the daddy issues alone...” Lilah held up a hand to stop him.

 “Look Luci– can I call you Luci? You are Lucifer, right?”

“I have many names and many titles. The King of Hell! Beelzebub! Metist–”

“It’s a yes or no question. I’m trying to be nice here, dude.”

“Fine. Yes, I am Lucifer, and no, you may not call me Luci.”

“Cool, so anyway as I was saying, Luci–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“–we ALL got daddy issues. Doesn’t mean you need to wallow.”

“Wallow?! I think I’m allowed more than anyone to wallow! I was punished with an eternity in Hell!”

“And how is that my problem?? Work on yourself before lashing out at others, Luci. You’ll make better friends that way. Capisce?"

No one had spoken to him like that for centuries. Not since he had that fling with Joan of Arc and that was...fiery. There was something so intriguing about this strange woman on her bench.

 “What is your name, by the way?” he asked after a second.

“What, do you go after every random chick without learning their name?”

“Well, it doesn't usually matter,” he offered.

 “I'm Lilah.” She stuck out her hand, ready for the first friendly handshake of her evening. “Pleased to meet you properly.”

 “Well, everyone meets me in the end,” he said in jest, returning the handshake amicably.

“Well not really,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “Have you even read the Torah?”

“Is that one yours?” He asked. Lilah hummed in the affirmative. “I could never read all those religious texts, and the newer ones sound especially atrocious. Vile sorts of things,” he shuddered, “but I’ve gotten the gist over the centuries.”

“Well long story short, we Jews don't believe in you, you know. Well, we know you exist in our text, but the whole ‘hell’ thing?” Lilah put up her fingers to mock her own tone when saying ‘hell’, “Doesn't exist as far as we're concerned.” 

Lucifer didn’t reply to that last bit. Mostly silent now, he thought about Lilah’s response for a moment, humming softly in thought as his eyes looked out over the city lights. 

Though Lilah had started out the night thoroughly expecting to hate her evening, this strange little turn of events had been almost pleasant. Odd, for sure, but with the usual crowds at these parties, this had been the first conversation she found herself properly engaged in in years. 

“Well, then I believe we’ve found why exactly my wiles don’t work on you, Miss Lilah.” Lucifer finally said, looking back at her from his gaze over the skyline. Gingerly, he stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off of his suit. “It’s getting late. I figure it might be best if we bid each other adieu.” He said, sticking out his hand for a farewell shake. Lilah then stood up herself, able to look him in the eyes only due to her heels. 

Taking his hand in a firm but friendly grasp, Lilah replied, “Actually, I was wondering if you would make a deal with me, Luci.”

“Pardon me?” Lucifer replied, confused enough to not realize she’d used his new nickname again. “A deal with me won’t work on you. Did we not just have a whole conversation about this?”

Still holding his hand, Lilah continued as though he hadn't spoken, “Let’s make a deal to get coffee next week together. You’re right; you’re the Devil. And while I may not be affected by your powers, it doesn’t mean you aren’t the most interesting person I’ve ever met at one of these stupid functions. I actually want to get to know you better! And for my end of the deal, I’ll pay.”

Lucifer blinked at her, still confused. “So you…” he started, “You want to hang out?”

“Yes, but I figured it’d be funny if I positioned the offer like a deal.” Lilah replied with a wide, warm smile, the mirth clearly visible in her eyes.

 Lucifer hesitated for a moment, but soon any doubt about whether or not he would take the deal was quickly rid of by the sheer fact that they were still joined at the hands. Hands, which he was now shaking vigorously, as a smile spread across his handsome face.

“You know what, Lilah, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

—---------------------------------

A week later, Lucifer and Lilah were sitting at a cafe, enjoying the easy conversation and the lovely view of people watching in New York. During a moment of comfortable silence, Lilah was struck with a thought. 

“Say, Luci,” she said, swirling around the straw in her iced latte.

Lucifer took a big sip of his extra-large black coffee, “Yes?”

“What are you doing in New York City anyway? Why not somewhere else, anywhere else in the world?” 

“Well it’s always easy to get here, so why not?” Lucifer replied, then paused a moment before continuing, “I mean, I do live in Jersey.”