Over the next few days, Leslie noticed a spike in hellpox cases at the Hazbin Hotel. Nobody was spared. It was almost like one of the infected had teleported to each guest's bedroom in turn and breathed all over them in their sleep.
Many guests checked out in protest, leaving Charlie distraught, and even worse, Channel 666 heard something was rotten at the hotel. Though most reporters merely called reception for the story, Tom Trench actually knocked on the door a few times. Perhaps he thought the gas mask ensured his immunity.
Leslie herself was doing better. The blisters had crusted over, which, according to Baxter, meant the window for contagion had passed. He'd had the pox decades ago, and was attempting to find a vaccine for it.
"Not really my field," he told her, "but someone has to try."
Having recovered somewhat, she volunteered to help around the hotel with laundry and room service. Rapier didn't yet need to know she was better, especially if he himself was sick. Angel Dust was much improved, so she took half an hour to go visit him.
"Look at this!" he said, pointing to the band of blue in his fur. "I'm gonna have to get this bleached out 'fore I'm fit to be seen. Fuck's sake!"
"It's not that bad," Leslie assured him. "Kind of goes well with the pale pink."
She planned to do something about her own hair. Alastor had suggested shaving it off, but Leslie was terrified of being even uglier without it, like a naked mole rat.
"A pity," he said, "it would be nice to really see the marks I leave on you."
The phrase rang in her brain as she finally ventured outside to get some hair dye. She found two boxes of the darkest shade, and returned to her room to apply it. The test swatch stung what remained of her pox, though, so she gave it a few more days before trying again.
When the time came, she stripped naked, mixed up the dye and brushed it onto her body, wherever she could reach. Her middle back was tricky, but she managed. Then she spent an awkward forty minutes standing in the centre of her room while the stuff worked its magic, and hoped the Shadow Man would not spontaneously walk in and see her like this. Then Leslie cursed, because she'd forgotten to grab a towel to wear. She wrapped herself in a bedsheet instead, checked the coast was clear and ran to the restroom to wash everything off. This time, she forced herself to keep the light on, watching as a pool of greyish water spread around her feet in the shower.
Afterwards, having wiped the fog from the mirror, she hopped on the spot to get a look at herself. It seemed the blue was concealed, and she actually looked better than before. Her darker pelt had a nice shine to it. Yeah! Fuck you, Dad, for never letting me do this as a teenager! What do you know?
o - o - o - o - o
Leslie came downstairs that night to raid the fridge, but heard an argument taking place in the lobby, and crouched on the stairs to eavesdrop. From here, she could see legs, and some of Charlie's gesticulating hands.
"You want to throw him out now? He's making a vaccine!"
"Oh, my dear naive girl… had it occurred to you that Baxter might have introduced the disease in the first place?"
"Why would he do that?
"A nice, controlled environment? A plethora of sinners to experiment on?"
There was a faint slapping noise as Charlie's head fell into her hands. "Do you have evidence though, Al? Do you have any basis for this? He's trying to help people, and you could have evicted him last time when- Oh, Angel, where are you going?"
Leslie heard his heels clicking against the floor. "I gotta go," he grouched, "Val wants me."
"No! I mean, no, please. I will… Look, forget the rent. I need you here! We're trying to redeem you."
"It ain't just the money. You think I'm happy suckin' off four guys at a time for that creep? I gotta go! He'll have my ass if I don't."
"Al, how would you resolve this?"
Alastor affected a casual tone. "I could force Angel to stay, but I don't think he wants that. Nor do I, frankly!"
"Oh, thanks, ya fuckin'... Deerface McGee."
"There's nothing you can do about Valentino?"
"Darling, he's head of one of the largest industries in Hell, with considerable means and innumerable lackies! Add onto that the legends of his hedonism, and I wouldn't touch the man with a bargepole half the length of the equator!"
Leslie's knees began to ache from crouching, so she carefully sat on the nearest step.
"Right," Angel scoffed, "ya don't gotta remind me. An' you, don't tell me your dad could get me outta this; my work stimulates his economy."
"Oh my God, this is a nightmare," Charlie wailed.
"Hey, Princess, I'm sorry your project ain't running so smooth," said Angel, and Leslie was shocked to hear such venom in his voice. "That just, oooh, it must really be terrible - shucks - but some of us got real problems, OK? I've bin here for, what eight months, and nothin's fuckin' happened yet! Oh, yeah, except I caught the literal plague! My wings are long overdue! Where's my fuckin' wings, huh?"
There was a horrible pause, and Charlie's voice returned in a quaver. "I don't know, Angel. I thought…"
"Yeah, you thought." His heels click-clacked again, growing fainter as he approached the entranceway. "I'm sicka lookin' at this fuckin' place. G'night!"
The door creaked open and slammed, and Leslie fought the inexplicable catch in her throat. She'd never heard Angel say anything so cruel. Had Leslie contributed to this, by not questioning the thing with Valentino? She'd thought he was a generic bad boss; she never asked probing questions.
Charlie gave a sniff.
"Al," she said, "can I have a hug?"
Leslie felt her ears prick up.
"I give terrible hugs," Alastor replied, before giving a grunt to suggest Charlie had flung her arms around him anyway. Barely thinking a coherent thought, Leslie got up, slid down the banister, and landed with a soft thud.
"Don't mind me," she said, padding around the corner as Charlie let Alastor go. Whatever the two said next, she didn't hear, as she headed to the kitchen and yanked a piece of fruit from the fridge.
What could be done about an abusive overlord pimp like Valentino? Leslie knew she couldn't do much personally, not without one of those black market exterminator weapons. For a moment, she imagined breaking into Val's lair, some tiny rabbit demon, a quarter of his size, and holding the blade to his neck, forcing him to let Angel go. She'd pull a Walter White, threaten him just enough to get what she wanted…
But it wouldn't go that way. Best case scenario, she'd pay through the nose for a weapon that turned out to be fake, and Valentino would laugh and throw her out the window.
Maybe there was a middle ground. If she got Alastor to help, invisible, behind the scenes… Val would still underestimate her at first, then think she wielded more power than she did, and not know how much of a threat she, a total stranger, posed…
"Coast is clear!"
Leslie turned. "Hello, Al."
She'd held the fridge door open all this time, and he stretched out an arm to close it, assuring her that Charlie was headed upstairs. His hair didn't have the distinctive blue band anywhere; she wondered how he'd got rid of it.
"You really think Baxter gave everyone hellpox?" she asked.
"So you were listening! It's possible he did. In any case, a vaccine would spoil the fun, don't you think?"
"Sometimes I forget how awful you are," she said, and walked away.
"You dropped something."
"Huh?"
Leslie swiveled and saw him delicately holding something out. It looked like a pair of women's briefs. In fact, it looked a lot like the pair she'd put on that morning.
"Did you…?" She slipped a hand down the side of her leggings and felt her hipbone, and nothing else! "Hey! How…?" He was laughing at her now, his eyes crinkling, as she marched back over. "How the fuck did you do that?"
"A magician never reveals his secrets!"
"Look, are you keeping them or giving them back?"
Apparently, Alastor thought it was more insulting not to want them, and returned the undergarment, which she pocketed. Somewhere on her mental list of his confirmed powers, she added the ability to change and remove clothing. She left the room with dignity, still pondering what she could do about Valentino.
o - o - o - o - o
Moxxie hated the song 'Closing Time'. No, that was a half-truth - he hated the way Blitzo sang it at the end of a working day. Often he'd jump onto a desk or two and theatrically kick office supplies across the room.
"Sir, we can't replace that if it breaks!" Moxxie complained over the ringing phone.
"If it breaks, it was shoddy workmanship!"
"Bliiiiiiiitzo."
"Yeeees, Loonie?"
"It's for you. Guy with the shit phone."
As the boss went to take the call, Millie swung around the desk to hug Moxxie.
"Closing time," she sang, "time for you to go back to-"
"Damn it, not you too!"
"-the places you will be from…!"
Moxxie gave up and joined his wife, harmonizing with her. "I know who I want to take me home… I know who I want to take me home…"
Loona threw an empty can at them to make them shut up, then jerked a thumb at Blitzo in the next room. They fell silent in order to snoop.
"Look, I'm as confused as you are," he said, sitting on the edge of a desk. Moxxie watched him kick his feet like a child. "Hey, it's not our fucking fault. She fits the description. Surname, age, occupation… Pretty sure she's been telling lies, then. … Look, what do you want us to do? One target's a dead end and the other doesn't exist!"
Millie sighed in bafflement.
"Uhhhh, lemme think," Blitzo continued. "Some stuff in storage, why?" There was a long pause as their boss took instructions. "Uh-huh. … What, now? But it's after… Ugh! Fine. Yes, sir." He hung up with a clatter.
"Everything alright, sir?"
"Uh, nope-aroonie," said Blitzo, kicking office supplies across the floor, closer to their original spot on the desk. "Client wants us to go back and steal some stuff from the target, for I guess corroboration purposes."
"Right now?"
Sarcastically: "Ohhhh, you betcha!" There was an unpleasant noise as everyone rolled their eyes at once. "We'll split it up. Loonie and Mill, you take the self-storage; Moxx, you come with me to mom's house."
"Fuck's sake!"
"Tell you what," Blitzo said, injecting some energy back into his voice, "our last stop in the living world's gonna be takeout pizza, because I am the best boss ever!" His stomach rumbled. "Yep," he decided, "the best boss ever!