"How the fuck would that've worked?" Husk was saying, after Angel filled him in. "This guy had two women at once? Two places to live, and he didn't get caught? Who has the fukken time? Guy deserves a medal."

Angel shrugged his four shoulders. "I dunno, cutey. My money's on the missus bein' a crackhead an' all." He led Husk into the reception hall, giving him a brief yet affectionate lower-back scratch. It was hard for Angel, keeping his hands to himself around Husk, but a cat-like growl made him withdraw. "Shit, sorry."

"Not in public," Husk reminded him. "So OK, maybe she didn't notice, but what about fukken Brighteyes? That's some wilful denial if I ever-"

"Ehhhh, shaddap a sec," said Angel, as he spotted Leslie sitting alone, at a table twenty feet away. "In italiano, eh?"

They switched. Husk's grasp on the language was decent, and his accent strongly dialectical. He must have picked it up from some fucker from Catania. "Seriously, I don't get how that happens fer more'n a couple months," he grouched. "Both sides share some blame fer this one. And if she does anything but cut and run from this guy, I'll have no fukken sympathy."

Leslie was nursing her drink, sadly tapping a finger in time to the piped-in jazz. She looked like death; Angel would have to go and cheer her up. "Fair point," he said to Husk. "Why don'tcha get us some drinks? I'd betta check on her."

Husk skulked away with a flick of his tail. As Angel walked over to Leslie, he smiled like a Labrador. "Hey there, lonely girl," he sang, once more in English. "Mind if I join ya?"

Maybe the song choice wasn't the best; she gave a hurt frown at first, but kicked the adjacent chair out for him to sit. "Hey, Angel."

"Just felt like hangin' out; maybe we'll see more idiots fuckin' with the pole," Angel said. He scanned the room, to see if nearby guests were giving them the stink-eye. Didn't look like it.

Leslie noticed. "Some of them are calling me Lellybean," she said.

"Figures."

"Yeah. Lesbo is almost preferable." She finished her gin. "I'm OK," she lied, but a smirk appeared on her face, "had something to distract me two nights ago."

Of course Angel knew what - or rather, who - she was talking about. He still wasn't wild about her fucking around with Al, but if it took her mind off things… He leaned in. "Oh yeah? Ya gonna share the details?"

"Not here."

"C'mon… ya gotta gimme a clue. You brought it up! No-one's lookin' at us." Unconvinced, Leslie glanced around slowly, twisting in her seat. Angel expected her nose to start twitching. No sign of Al anywhere, no shadows, and surely no reason for him to be invisible. Angel nodded, encouraging her to spill it. Then Leslie raised her hand to her face, lightly scratching at first, then sliding a finger into her mouth. Angel slapped the table. "Get the fuck outta here!"

"Nononono, no," she said with her hands raised, "take that extremely literally. And keep your fucking voice down!"

"Sorry," he muttered. "Uh, but that's it? Ya sucked his fingers?" Damn it, that was only kind of hot. He'd been expecting more. Angel imagined taking Al's clawed thumb in his own mouth up to the knucklebone, as a prelude to nicer activities.

"No, there was something else. He made me show him how I, you know."

"How ya what? Oh, never mind, I get it."

"My whole face was burning. I was so embarrassed."

"Can't relate," Angel shrugged, and lit a cigarette. "Was that the idea, ta make ya embarrassed, or was he like takin' notes?"

"Uh… both, I guess."

"And you're inta that?"

She faltered, scrunching one of her ears. "Well… I don't know. Right now it's a distraction. And compared to certain people, he's an imaginative, er…" She struggled to find the word.

"But he literally ain't giving ya any." Angel tapped the first hint of ash into her empty glass. Down here, the cigarettes burned up like blue touchpaper. Such a fucking scam. He was just feeling sour about it when he saw a flash of yellow by the bar: a demon, no longer hidden by a cluster of new friends. "Oh, ya gotta be kidding me. He's still here?"

Her face sagged when she saw him. "Shit."

"Why is he still here? I told 'em…!"

Leslie swung back around and rested her despairing head on crossed arms, the hood of her sweatshirt flopping over. In effect, it was a cotton-polyester burrow. "They put us in different groups," she said, speaking into the gap, "all that stuff, but they can't turn him away for stuff he did in life."

"Oh great! So they'd let fuckin' Hitler check in?" Angel ranted.

There was a pause. "I forgot Hitler would be down here," Leslie said, still in the burrow.

"Not anymore he ain't. We threw him ta the exterminators pretty toot sweet. Uh, Les? Your hubbie's comin' this way."

She stood and saw for herself. A strange look came over Leslie's face;: that unique style of determined female crazy he'd seen many times. Her eyes moved to the stage. "Hey, Angel," she said, "wanna bet I can do a human flag around that pole?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I think I can. Watch!"

Before Angel could ask what the fuck she was doing, she'd already bounced off. Ignoring the stairs, she pulled herself onstage, like a swimmer getting out of the pool. Decider went after her.

"Les? Can we talk, baby?"

Fucking couple drama, Angel thought, dragging on his cigarette. Human relationships were so complex in such tedious fucking ways. Sure, Angel was worried for his friend, but he sure didn't need to be involved in the bitching and quarreling. Meanwhile, Leslie stood stage left, psyching herself up for something, and she ignored Decider's pleas to talk.

"Do it!" someone yelled.

She seemed unaware of any possible audience. What has Leslie said? A human flag. That trick didn't need a run-up, unless she planned to take a flying leap and spin round the pole at a right angle. But that's exactly what Leslie did. She sprinted and flung herself polewards, and Angel bit through the filter on his cigarette; but she caught it, completing at least one revolution, before dismounting onto her fucking face.

"Oh, shit." Angel raised his voice slightly. "You OK?"

It was almost impressive, but for the crash landing. Angel realized she only pulled it off at all due to sheer recklessness. That carried through seconds later as she launched into some kind of dance. Frantic floor work, banging her knees and elbows and throwing herself around like a ragdoll. Whatever it was, it did not go with the jazz that floated through the air. She wouldn't look at Decider, no matter what he said.

Angel kept his distance, and used his now-unsmokeable cigarette to light the next one. Onstage, Leslie played with the pole some more - clumsy attempts at inside hooks and other spins. Then she cracked her head against it. A metallic clang rang out; some in the audience winced, others hooted in amusement. Next Leslie climbed the pole, as high as she could, and failed to execute a ball-drop, impacting the floor. THUD.

Decider hung back - concerned, it seemed to Angel, but resigned to being ignored. Soon, he gave up and left, and yet Leslie continued acting weird. More rough-and-tumble floor work, slamming her shoulder this time. Then an unhesitating slap across her face.

"Jesus."

Angel heard the scrape of chairs and the rumble of several footsteps. Behind him, the demonic throng took their leave, including Husk. Alastor stood facing the bar, in a black cloud of teleportation smoke. His finger pointed at the entrance, directing the others to Get Out. Even from behind, the bastard looked more dangerous than normal, with the air glitching around him, cutting that smoke into irregular squares. He rotated on his heel and gave Angel that same Get Out look, before turning to Leslie. Angel didn't like the look he gave her… like she was a kabob on some vertical rotisserie. So he marched over with his new cigarette, long and ashy from neglect, and put it out on Alastor's lapel. Angel was leagues less powerful than Al, but he was still the tallest demon in most any room.

" You makin' her do this?"

The Radio Demon kept his smile. "My pranks have more finesse, I'll have you know," he replied. "Run along."

"Don't fuck with her, OK? I mean it," Angel warned. "She's doin' bad enough as it is; she don't need you screwin' her over." The jazz music increased in volume. Alastor's doing, no doubt. "Hey, look at me when I'm talkin' to ya!"

The music stopped. Leslie landed one final time, in a heap. Now she was done, Alastor's eyes trained on Angel, and transformed into flickering radio dials.

"Be careful," he said.

Angel snickered. "Yeah, yeah, I've seen it before. Listen, bud, how 'bout we take this outside? No powers, just fists. Let's see how well ya do then."

For a moment, Al considered it. Then something fell from overhead, crushing Angel like a bug. Judging from the noise, it was another piano. Great.

o - o - o - o - o

The sound of her friend's yell brought Leslie back. She saw three of his arms splayed beneath the crumpled pile of wood. She was ready to jump offstage and throttle Alastor, but he held up a hand, stopping her.

His inner radio was playing.

It was the song she hated.

She stood still, shook her head. Begged him. Don't make me do this. But his eyes narrowed, and there was no choice. Leslie took a staggered breath, lifted her arms, and moved straight into it. She had to. Alastor was pushing her, staring hard. Before, Leslie danced just to get all those horrible feelings out of her. Now, she let new feelings in. Ancient, primal motions rang echoes through the chasm in her chest. Her body mopping, stretching, flailing, churning and bringing concept upon horrible concept to everything she did.

The more she moved, the greater her anxiety became. She felt taller. Her vitals were there, everything, in the flesh. Thudding. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Her spiritual apex was not supposed to come to her in Hell! She didn't belong here; the demon was not in the dance! She cried it over and over in her head, but it was no use. The demon was in the dance.

That song reached its midway point, rolling down to much-needed breaths by the singer, but Leslie was far from soothed. Her breathing increased in urgency, chest tightening, and she collapsed to her knees. He saw. Alastor was intrigued by the seize of terror. Drawn to her weakness.

The awful music was building again, building to a peak of extraordinary sound, and the dance would take her into darkness. Death. Certain death. And he wasn't helping. He watched her breathe, let her panic.

Shadows crept from the edges of the stage, flexed their claws at her. Leslie was rocking in place now, shaking her head. Let it stop, please let it stop.

And Alastor did the last thing a person was meant to do for someone panicking. With a flick of the wrist, he brought her several feet off the stage, held from the ribcage by invisible hooks. Leslie felt a cold flash over her skin, then a stab of terror, knowing what would happen a half-second before it did.

She spun.

He was spinning her quickly, tightly, her arms flattened to her body by centrifugal force, and the throat singing became a rasping, ragged animal cry. She lost control. Swinging through space on an axis, Leslie saw dark shapes, indigo against black. Red burning satellites made rings around her.

She shut her eyes but the music swept her up, faster still, faster, faster! Alastor felt the music's pause and slammed her to a halt, upside-down, her ears hanging. A momentary leer, snuffed out. Darkness again.

Leslie took off the opposite way, faster still, and finally the scream trapped in her throat found its release. She screamed like a wounded creature in its last moments, in the jaws of the beast. She screamed in a voice that wasn't hers. She fed Alastor with her scream. Shook the hotel. Begged. Despaired. STOP!

STOP!

PLEASE!

Finally, as her wayward form danced on the brink of what was surely the fatal heart attack, Alastor ceased everything. He let her down softly, onto the stage. That easy jazz played again. Leslie scuttled back, as far as she could. Too shaken now to do anything. No powers to throw. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Alastor did her the small decency of lifting the piano, and Angel Dust dragged himself free.

"Ow," he said as Alastor vanished.

"Are you OK?" Leslie asked. She crawled back across the stage.

"Mostly. Don't hug me for a while," Angel said, huffing as he got to his knees. "Fuck. I don't get his deal with droppin' piani."

"What did you do?"

"What did I do? Try to defend your honor, as it fuckin' happens! Thought he had ya under some voodoo hex bullshit."

"I'm sorry, Angel. I feel terrible."

Still wincing, he stood up completely. "Nah, don't feel terrible , Les. Just…" Angel took in the empty room. "Forget it, let's get the fuck outta here."