Leslie passed another sleepless night. The last meeting was a game changer. Alastor's play had moved past the point of suggestion, and she'd got to touch him, really touch him. God, Leslie couldn't stop thinking about it. He was right; they were onto a good thing.
The whole day, she was distracted, trying to relive what had gone before. She bit her knuckles. She cradled cups of coffee, relishing their heat against her palms. Around midday, she skipped to the studio, got on the floor and re-enacted the sit-up hold, feeling the burn in her stomach. This maelstrom of emotion was almost too much, and she wished something would come along to make her think like a human again.
Two days later, she got her wish.
Leslie was in a teaching session, led by Vaggie, and doodled in the margins of her notebook, mostly woodland creatures. Rabbits. Deer.
"Alternatives to violence," said Vaggie to the assembled demons. "Has anyone heard the phrase 'kill them with kindness'?"
"Well, yeah," said Ginerva, three seats over from Leslie. They'd been placed in the same teaching group due to similar work schedules. "It means to, er, annoy someone by being nice to them."
"Yes, and why might it annoy them?"
Ginerva shrugged. Someone at the back coughed loudly.
"'Cause it shows ya can't be easily provoked," said Angel Dust, "right? Turnin' the other cheek. I mean, yeah, that's annoyin'. Makes ya seem like a sanctimonious shit."
"OK, well, we can debate the usefulness of this," Vaggie said fairly. "I'll concede that in Hell, trying to come off as 'the better person' seems fruitless, right?" The group agreed. "But it could still resolve conflicts - like, if the other person gives up in confusion, or disgust." She turned her gaze to the back of the room, frowning. "Something the matter, Kain?"
Kain's voice was unusually strained. "I've got a fucking rash or something."
The group turned to look at him, including Leslie, and he was sitting in one of the middle rows with the sleeves of his leather jacket rolled up, scratching furiously. He looked even bluer in the face than usual, with a fine mist of perspiration on his brow.
Vaggie strolled over to inspect. She saw the raised blisters on his arms.
"Oh shit," she said. "That looks like hellpox." She jumped back. "You're contagious. Everybody, other side of the room, quickly."
No-one had to be told twice; most got up at the word 'contagious'.
"What the fuck is hellpox?" Kain exclaimed, and coughed again. "Is this a fucking joke?"
"No, it's not," said Vaggie from a safe distance. "You're going to have that rash for a few days, and a fever if you haven't already. You should go to your room. Uh…" She deliberated, looking at the class. "You guys too. We need to find out who's infected before we do anything else."
"Wait, what?" Angel Dust cried. "There's a hotel plague going around now?"
"Fuck that, man! I'm not getting sick!"
Leslie joined most of the group in vacating the room, notebook under her arm. She hadn't known there were diseases in Hell; and wouldn't the demonic healing factor take care of them anyway?
"Not so much," Angel said when she asked. "I mean, STIs are a thing, so…"
"They are?!"
"Yeah! Part of the eternal torment package," he said. "FYI, my boss has herpes. Don't ask me how I know that."
"Oh, Jesus Christ."
Vaggie convened with Charlie in the hallway, and the two did their best to corral nearby demons for further instructions. They'd email a list of symptoms to each guest; anyone who showed signs of the virus was told to notify staff.
"This thing is very catching," Charlie explained. "We don't want the whole hotel getting it, so it's important to self-isolate. We can have meals brought to you, calamine, all that good stuff." She gave the thumbs up.
"What about Alastor?" Leslie said. "He doesn't use email, does he?"
Vaggie gave her a look of faint disgust before telling her girlfriend, "Don't tell him, for fuck's sake. He'll infect people on purpose, given the chance."
Charlie dithered. "Would he really want to get sick just to infect people?"
Vaggie shrugged, then gave a rare laugh as they walked away. "Just imagine him with blue spots all over his face… Ha!"
"Did she say blue spots?" Leslie said to Angel.
"Sounds like it. I mean, Kain's that color anyway. I just assumed…" he trailed off. "Well, I'm gonna split. See ya, Les." He turned to the stairway, realized she was coming with, and grinned awkwardly. "Heh. Oh yeah."
Leslie locked herself in her room and called her boss to notify him of the situation; he wanted her to come in anyway, claiming she was calling in sick too often… which only included (as far as she remembered) the time she'd feigned sickness to decontaminate the reception hall. Of course. Why would Mr. Rapier be humane, even for a day?
Well, fuck it. She felt fine for now. Together with Ginerva, she put in a solid shift at Hades, taking home some leftover kebab meat in a takeout box (taken when Rapier wasn't looking).
That night, she was uncomfortable. The air was warmer than usual, balmy almost. Perhaps there was a tickle in her throat, but that could have been anything. Dehydration? She was quite thirsty.
Then her thigh began to itch. She threw off the blanket, parted the fur there with one hand and shone her phone light on the affected area. Sure enough, there was a faint speck of azure.
"Nooooo." Leslie fell back with a sob. "Nooooooooo."
o - o - o - o - o
She woke up coughing. The itch had spread from her legs to her arms, chest and even her ears. It was hard to see those blue spots due to the fur, but they made their presence known, and she was able to send some convincing photographs to Rapier. This time, he took her seriously. Maybe she'd already had her chance to pass the hellpox to him. Good. Served him right for making her come in.
Fucking Kain.
As instructed, Leslie told the hotel owners that she was sick. She wasn't the only one. There were already a few cases, and Vaggie herself wasn't very well.
So began her isolation. Leslie stayed in her room, only occasionally leaving to use the bathroom, and did her best to clean any surfaces she touched. She experienced frequent coughing, hot-and-cold flashes, and intense itching; so as not to hurt herself, she placed a sock over one hand and scrubbed at her spots with that. Most of the time, she distracted herself with videos on DoomTube as she lay there, too weary to do anything else. Three times that day, she found a tray of food outside her door, and left a couple hellar bills tucked under the empty plate that evening, to thank whoever delivered it.
On the second day, Angel Dust called her.
"Guess who's got the plague!" he said in a crusty voice.
"You too, huh?"
"You got it, toots. Hey, least I don't gotta go to the studio. Be relieved if I wasn't so furious!"
Three days into Leslie's illness, Niffty got hellpox. She'd been doing her best to sanitize common areas and assist in general, which hadn't ended well for her. Reportedly, Husk was also under the weather, but no word yet about Alastor.
On the fourth day, Leslie noticed a strange and unsightly development; her fur was growing in blue at the roots. She called Angel to tell him, asking him to check himself.
"Shit, you're right!" he said. "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!"
Leslie kept the call short; her fever was making her delirious. Her body ached. The blisters were raised and painful from scratching; her sock barrier hadn't helped much. There was really no comfortable position she could lie in.
"Not good," she croaked to herself. "Not good."
o - o - o - o - o
Leslie woke at dusk from a nasty dream about crawling insects and nearly screamed, seeing a shadow leaning over her. Scrambling against her pillows, she recognized it as Shadow Man - the shadow she'd danced with onstage.
"Oh," she said. "Hello."
He blinked his wide eyes at her.
"I don't know if shadows can catch hellpox," she said, "but maybe you shouldn't stand so close." Her throat was sore, but getting better. She peered at him. "Can you talk? Are you even allowed?"
He shrugged and sat down, tilting his head at her. So like Alastor, yet so different. She felt his hand on her knee, over the bedcovers. Surely he wasn't here to put the moves on her? His timing was just impeccable, she thought miserably.
"How's Al?" she asked.
Shadow Man gave the so-so hand gesture. Interested, Leslie sat up properly. Perhaps he was sick. Well, he'd never let her into the office in that case. Unless…
"Hey, think we can go see him?"
The shadow raised that same hand to stroke her chin, then found one of her blisters and gave it a good scratch. Oh, that wasn't terrible. It'd hurt like a bitch later, but for now it felt terrific.
"Thanks. But hey, we should go see Al."
He stood, and Leslie threw off the sheets, following him to her door. Shadow Man swiped at the wood with one long finger; this was sufficient to both link their rooms and allow him access to the office. Nice power to have, Leslie thought, as they walked through. They saw Alastor, lying with his back to them on an unfamiliar rug, before a fireplace which definitely hadn't been there before. Its embers were dying; he must have lit it during a cold flash.
"Hey," she said, "you OK?"
"Who let you in?" he rasped; his radio voice was experiencing some technical difficulties.
"One of your shadows," she said, turning back to Shadow Man - but he'd vanished while she wasn't looking. Leslie stepped closer. "So… got the pox?"
"Hm. Saving my strength. I feel like inflicting this wretched disease on the remainder of the guests."
Huh, she thought, Vaggie was right.
"You think that's funny?"
"It would be," he said, "if I didn't have the damn thing."
"Hey, language," she joked, and knelt beside him. "But I'm sorry you're not well. I've got the thing; it sucks. My hair's turning blue."
This seemed to interest Alastor enough to turn and look at her. His smile continued to hang on for dear life, but his face was blighted with the blue specks, which clashed horribly with his hair. Leslie guessed the spots prevented him from shaving, as he had the beginnings of a beard, also blue, which he tried to cover with his hand.
"Oh, good lord," she said, "look at the state of you."
He pushed her over. Leslie fell back with a grunt, which did make him laugh.
"I can get rid of this," he said. "You're stuck with yours until it grows out." He had a point. Maybe she could find some dye when all this was over. In response, Leslie rolled him onto his side again and scratched his back through his clothes. Either he'd give her another shove, or-
"Higher."
Leslie grinned weakly, rubbing between his shoulders as he gave a grateful sigh. The new privilege of being allowed to touch Alastor was still conditional, but this seemed to be one of those situations. It was odd to see him like this. She preferred him when he wasn't sick; did that make her a bad person? Perhaps she was just afraid of feeling sorry for him. He didn't really deserve it.
"This counts as a meeting," he told her, "so you can forget telling tales about me."
"Your secret's safe with me, Bluebeard."
Water fell into the hearth, extinguishing the last of the dying fire. She saw a section of wall pull slowly across, sealing this secret fireplace away again. Leslie wondered what else was hiding in this room. Trapdoors? A hammock that fell from the ceiling? Alastor began to mutter something about a lemon-garlic marinade, slipping back into a fever.
"I'm gonna go," she said, "unless you need me for something."
"No thank you, dear. Goodbye," said Alastor, and he laid where he was as Leslie saw herself out.