Leslie approached Angel Dust the next morning, right outside his room. Angel looked like he'd had four hours of sleep, and that was a generous estimation.
"Has Val ever sent you compromising photographs?" she asked outright.
His visage darkened so much and so quickly that Leslie took a fearful step back. "I should fuckin' slap ya for sayin' that," he said. "Jesus Christ, Les, it's seven in the mornin'. I am NOT in the mood."
Too late, Leslie realized how insensitive she sounded and backpedaled furiously. "No, no, I swear it's not…! I'm trying to help you! Look, I heard your argument in the lobby, and I was up all night trying to think of a plan."
Angel Dust shoved his way past her, unimpressed, trying to smack some life into his own face.
"You said Lucifer wouldn't go after Val because the porn thing is such a key industry," Leslie said, a little hurriedly as they walked toward the stairs, "and maybe you're right, and that's terrible… but if he thought Val was harassing Charlie, he'd want to shove a cane up his ass alright."
Angel stopped walking. "Wait, how… what?"
"The hard bit will be stealing Charlie's phone," she said, "but you're a great lock-picker. You can grab it off the nightstand while she's asleep, and I can do an impression of Charlie over the phone. After that, we just need to make the harassment story convincing. So, like, has Val ever sent you dick pics, that kind of thing?"
"Course he fuckin' has!" Angel cried, "but I didn't screenshot 'em! They had no sentimental value."
"OK, as long as we can give a description-"
"Les, no!" He spun, looming down to grasp her shoulders. "Fuckin' stop this. First of all, Charlie's gotta lock screen, and we don't know it. Second, ya think Lucifer is gonna be fooled by an impersonation of his kid? No fuckin' way. It's a stupid plan. 'Specially with your accent."
"I don't have-"
"Say 'Florida'."
"Florida. What? I don't… what was wrong with that?"
"You don't hear that?"
Leslie sighed. "I can be Charlie… I just need some practice. This is the best plan I could come up with."
They descended the stairs, both on foot. Leslie didn't feel like using the banister this time.
"Fuckin'... Look, I appreciate it, but it ain't gonna work. My problem's bigger 'n both of us. I'm pretty much a slave by contract. Plus, Val can get nasty. One time I said somethin' he didn't like. Know what he did? Got one of his cronies to knock me out, tie me to an X-frame in the porn dungeon, and then feed me strong magnets a day apart." He clapped his hands together to simulate the magnets meeting inside his body, and Leslie's mouth fell open.
"That's horrible!"
"Yeah, well, you're the one that wants ta talk about it. And he'll do it to you if ya piss him off."
He shrugged and stomped to the dining room, as Leslie tried to imagine the damage two swallowed magnets could wreak. Could it kill someone? Would they need surgery to remove them? What kind of monster could conceive of such a punishment?
She shook her head and walked aimlessly away. There had to be something. Surely she could think of something… God damn it, she wished she had more brains.
o - o - o - o - o
Leslie began to keep to herself outside of work hours (which included the dancing these days), thinking through her plan to call Lucifer, for it was still the best plan she had. What could the code be for unlocking Charlie's phone? Perhaps Vaggie's birthday, or their anniversary date. These were both things she could try to ask Charlie, in some inconspicuous way. As she turned things over in her head, Leslie avoided Alastor for a while. Since learning of Angel's plight, meeting him felt somehow wrong, whether it was her idea or not.
Alastor noticed the sudden cold front and refused to be forgotten.
Sometimes he would wink - once, not twice - from across a room when no-one was looking, and draw satisfaction from her annoyance. Sometimes, when Leslie was alone, his shadow crept up behind her and grabbed her wrist, or backed her into a corner with one stern look. Then, of course, he would disappear before she could get her hands on him. This approach piqued her curiosity a little better. The shadow seemed to function as an extension of Alastor, more comfortable in his sexuality, although there was no real knowing with him.
No, she told herself. Don't be distracted. They're all talk... even if one of them doesn't.
On one occasion, Leslie crossed paths with Alastor in the hallway, and she kept her head up as she passed by, maintaining the facade of mere acquaintance. In response, Alastor turned and aimed a hard smack at her backside.
"Yippp!"
She jumped half a foot in the air; her arms stiffened at her sides, and she landed like a dropped chess piece. Leslie froze, incapable of knowing which was worse, to under- or overreact. In the meantime, he kept walking and disappeared into another room.
"Pffft. Ha ha ha."
Charcoal and his friend had noticed, but that was their only response. Neither curiosity nor suspicion. Leslie remembered that as far as the world knew, Alastor was perpetually a personal-space-invader, and did not discriminate. Just walk it off, she told herself, you'll be fine. So she went on her merry way, with only a little residual sting from the flat of Alastor's hand.
o - o - o - o - o
Finally he caught her heading to bed one night, snatching Leslie from behind and teleporting them several floors up, to the rooftop.
"Fucking hell!" she said, slinking out of his grip. "Why?"
"Thought a change of scenery would be nice!" he said. "And I'll bet you've never had such a splendid view of the Pentagram."
Leslie rolled her eyes and didn't bother to explain she'd been here before. "Whatever," she said. "Look, I'm keeping my distance for a reason, OK? My friend is in trouble. Clearly you don't want to do anything about it, so I will."
He laughed as the breeze played with the lengths of his hair. "Oh my dear, what can you possibly do?"
"None of your business." Leslie huffed impatiently, rubbing her arms against the cold night air. "You know, I bet you could do something. You've toppled overlords before, haven't you?"
"In a word, yes. Did you ever see the broadcast?"
"No, and I don't want to."
She looked at him: tall, smiling as ever, and quite unaffected by the idea that Angel could be suffering. He would never help them… unless she made it worth his while. And so Leslie propositioned him, bargaining in the only way she could: Leslie would let Alastor do something particularly horrible to her, in exchange for his help in vanquishing Valentino. Even as he pointed out that he could do horrible things regardless, and Leslie had no power to stop him, she reminded him that a morsel of consent, grudging consent which guaranteed regret, would make the thing interesting for him.
It did seem to whet his whistle. Alastor began to circle her, sizing her up and down. At one point, he took out his cane and held it under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. The prolonged consideration made her nervous.
"And what kind of horrible thing would Leslie permit?"
She swallowed. Nothing else came to mind. "I'll let you feed me magnets," she said, "strong ones, a day apart."
He stood and imagined the consequences. "Hm," he said, his grin widening. "Well, it may take a while to formulate a plan. We shall keep this deal separate from our main contract."
"Sure."
"And just when should we be doing this? I presume you want to deliver your friend from his shackles sooner rather than later."
Leslie nodded, and her mind was consumed by the imagined pains of the magnet torture. Then she thought of Angel, and the tone of his voice whenever he talked about Valentino. "Sooner," she agreed.
"Good."
"One more thing," she added. "I don't want anyone to know about my part of the deal. Least of all Angel. That clear?"
"As crystal."
So Alastor extended his hand to shake, glowing green as a leprechaun's hat, and Leslie placed her clammy palm in his. It was settled. As Alastor whisked them back to the first floor and sent her away, she crossed her arms and repeated that mantra over and over again: You cannot die. You cannot die…. But every time, a small voice in her head responded: You can wish to die.
o - o - o - o - o
Across town, the overlord called Rosie took out her key and entered her emporium from the front. Today she was dressed simply, for ease of movement, and not to spoil a nicer garment through the course of business. The key turned and let her in. Apparently the blood soaking the hem of her dress had run dry, so she was not worried about the state of the floor. It would be nice to slip out of this outfit and into a warm bath.
She trip-trapped up their stairs, gloved hands trailing delicately along the stair rail, and strolled into her bedroom. First she removed the skirt and shirtwaist, the bust ruffle and corset-cover, and then on to the corset itself. This part was tricky without another demon to help her, but Rosie was just as fiercely independent now as she'd ever been. Nobody helped her out of clothes, not even her shadows.
Rosie untied the bow of the corset's threads and loosened the first few Xs, sighing as she found more room to breathe. Once that was finished, onto unhooking the studs at the front, and finally easing the damned thing from her torso. Sweet relief! The pain and effort of wearing this corset were almost enough to make her consider more contemporary fashion.
The telephone rang from her bedside table, and she marched over to answer it.
"Rosie's Emporium. Rosie speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hello, Turnip."
Rosie clapped a happy hand over her mouth and spun on the spot, wrapping herself in the phone's cord. Her dear, damned, awful friend had finally returned a call. All was forgiven.
"Ohhhh, you fiend! You utter fiend! I should be terribly cross," she scolded. "How long has it been? A month?"
"Yes, I do apologize. You know how it goes. Been rather tied up with this charity work I've been doing."
Rosie sat on her mattress, unclipping the garters from her stockings with one hand. "This so-called charity work makes you the subject of much gossip," she said. "Of course I understand it, but…"
"Yes, well, I'm delighted to say we are failing miserably," replied her friend. "Not a single sinner has been redeemed, and I have barely interfered. We even suffered an outbreak of hellpox, which had many guests storming out in droves. Of course I couldn't risk passing it onto you…"
"Excuses, excuses," she said. "I've heard them all before."
"Have someone read you the papers sometime!"
She dashed off the suggestion - no need to insist on it; she believed him. "So… you're happy?" Rosie asked, as nonchalantly as she could. He could not be allowed to know how much it pained her, that her friend might be happier from a distance.
"Yes, surprisingly," he said, and paraphrased one of the diarists they had used to love: "One cannot complain of life who has health and a pursuit. And there is something else: I've got myself a pet."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes! Small and cute… rather a challenge to train, but we're getting there. It's nice to own a creature that makes me work for it."
And what am I to you? Rosie thought. "That sounds lovely," she said. "Don't go giving it a name."
"Why not?"
"Mustn't grow attached," she joked - as if her friend got truly attached to anybody. "I know you; you'll eat it once it's full-grown."
"Perhaps. I hope you've been keeping well?" he asked, suddenly sounding tired, as if the act of checking in with her was physically exhausting. She ignored it and told him how she was - the state of the emporium, the adversary she reprimanded today. After that, he inquired after some special items, heavily implying that they were to be used for torture, and Rosie made a mental note to order them in. Of course she would. Would he pick them up himself, or send an associate? Probably the latter.
"Well, thank you for calling," she told him. "Take care, my sweetpea."
"Goodbye."
Rosie hung up with mingled emotions. It was a good sign that she could keep their conversation short and to the point. It would not do to appear desperate. But he did test her patience. All she wanted was a little consideration, a modicum of respect. One of these days, her friend would forget to call just one day too many, and Rosie would not be responsible for her actions.