“It came out over ten years ago! There is a time limit. Sorry. You can no longer cry spoiler.”

“But there’s no cable television in Hell,” he shot back.

“He has a point,” Zayne murmured from where he stood behind me.

I sent him a glare that should’ve fried him on the spot. “Look, Lucifer comes back again and again. Okay? There’s plenty more seasons for you to watch. I won’t tell you what happens if you just answer our questions.” I drew in a deep breath. “Please.”

“I’m starting to regret saving your life earlier.” Lucifer sighed heavily. “Do any of you even know what happens when you kill an angel?”

“No. Sorry,” I said. “We don’t make a habit of killing angels.”

“Well, my familiar ate two of them once,” Roth chimed in. “Nothing really happened.”

“Nothing that you were aware of. When an angel dies, their Glory will return to its source.”

“God?” I guessed.

He nodded. “Just like a kid returning home to Daddy Dearest.”

I blinked.

“Okay. So is that a problem?” Zayne asked.

“Is that a problem?” Lucifer chuckled. “Not normally, but what’s inside Gabriel is a festering taint. His Glory and his grace are corrupted. Probably more so than mine, and it would be like launching napalm at the Heavens. God isn’t going to allow that to return home.” Lucifer glanced at the TV, and yep, he was sucked right back in. He grinned as he unwrapped yet another Pop-Tart. “I like this portrayal. Though Sam and Dean really need to start communicating better.”

I took a deep breath and tried to count to ten.

Roth leaned forward, impatience crowding his features. I half expected him to snap his fingers. “So what does that mean exactly?”

“What does what mean?” Lucifer asked around a mouthful of pastry.

“I think he has that thing you have. You know, being unable to pay attention,” Cayman whispered from where he collapsed on the couch beside me, and I nodded in agreement. There wasn’t enough amphetamine in the world to treat Lucifer.

Roth briefly closed his eyes. “What will happen if God doesn’t let it return home?”

“Oh. That.” Lucifer stretched back, sweeping away a dusting of crumbs from his chest as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Knowing God like I do? He’s going to punt-kick that shit back down to Earth. All that nastiness is going to explode all over His most treasured creations—How many seasons are there of this?”

“A lot,” I answered. “What’s that going to do? All that...nastiness?”