The women in Leslie's family - according to her mother, anyway - had a strange ability in situations that demanded it. Against the odds, when they should have snapped long ago, or perhaps had snapped already, they could ride the wave of crazy and do what needed to be done.

Leslie suspected it was a form of dissociation, and more universal than her mother claimed. She'd used it herself on occasion, as a waitress. On long nights at Hades, with horrid customers and too many tickets, Leslie pasted a deranged smile on her face. She addressed her tables with a too-cheerful "HoW cAn I hElP yOu?" customer-service voice, and somehow she survived another night.

Even so, she'd never had a breakdown quite like this.

After the spinning, Leslie knew there wasn't much time. She led herself and Angel Dust out through the side exit; past the area where she, Baxter and Niffty once took decon showers; and by way of a fire escape, they made it to her room unseen. When they got there, Angel asked why they took the scenic route.

"Just in case Charlie or Vaggie come knocking," she explained. "I'm, er… I'm going to deny that anything happened, and you're going to back me up."

"Ex-fuckin'-xcuse me?" said Angel. "A bunch of demons were forced out of that room, moments 'fore you screamed bloody moida!"

"He sound-seals his rooms," Leslie said, meaning Alastor, "plus, the guests leaving is sort of suspicious, but they won't say anything. It's Bambi. They're not stupid."

"But he dropped a 500lb musical instrument on my fuckin' head! I don't even know what he did ta you, I couldn't see… because he dropped a 500lb fuckin' instrument on my fuckin' head!"

Leslie pushed past him and flopped into her armchair, her right leg jiggling uncontrollably. "He didn't do much," she admitted. "Some spinning, that's all. He did the same thing to Niffty for that mummy-wrapping game; I was just in the wrong mood for it."

"Ya sound like a batt'red wife...So he wasn't makin' ya dance like a crazy dame off her tits on molly?"

She shook her head. "No. And I'm sorry he dropped a piano on you."

His expression loosened. "Well, I did pick the fight with him… but still! We should fuckin' report this. Vags already thinks he's up ta somethin' with ya."

"I seem to be the guest everyone has a problem with," she said bitterly. "Kain, Decider and now this. It'd be easier if I just left."

Angel fell to a crouch, holding down her leg to stop it jiggling. "No, Les, wait. What we gotta do is get ya outta this shit with Bambi. This contract… what, you're obliged ta do certain things with him 'fore it's over?"

Leslie stared at her dresser. It had a fascinating wood grain. She remembered staring at it when she was ill, to anchor her during the fever.

"Hey! Earth to Les!"

"What? Yeah, it only expires after the extermination." She sighed, covering her face. "I've come this far. I'll just get what he owes me, and then it'll be like this never happened."

"Dangerous game you're playin' there. There must be… What kinda bargaining power d'ya think ya got?"

"Well, he likes rabbit blood. But he could get that from me with or without my permiss-"

"Woah, back up. He likes what?"

She froze. "It was a joke."

"No it fuckin' wasn't. Oh my God," said Angel. "Les, I'm tryna help ya here, but…" He stopped, shifting the narrative in his head. "OK, I guess the threat is implied. Your thing ain't consensual, the amount of power he has. It fuckin' can't be."

Leslie laughed ironically. "Yeah. I'll tell my lawyer."

"You got any evidence of this mess? Somethin' that'd make Charlie kick the shit outta him?"

She didn't think so. Alastor never kept anything that would link them together, and he never gave her anything of his. Remembering the photo she took of him, Leslie searched her phone, but couldn't find it. The picture had died in 'Recently deleted', where she left it. She even checked her room for the letter she wrote to him, and it was missing, though she never threw it away. On top of that, the DVDs of her dancing were gone.

"For fuck's sake. Those were mine! I know I'm dead, but… still my property. I think."

"OK," Angel brainstormed, "what if I break inta his room?"

"No, that door is a closet most of the time. Either he lets you in, or…"

"What?"

She told Angel about the time Shadow Man brought her to the office. God knows why Alastor had allowed that; perhaps, in his pox-induced delirium, he couldn't tell what the shadow was doing. Either that, or he subconsciously wanted someone to drop in and feel sorry for him.

Angel nodded, dusting a piece of piano off his jacket. "A'right," he said, "uh… we'll think'a somethin', OK? This is one tricky fuckin' scenario, but I'm workin' on it. And Les?"

"Yes?"

"If ya think he'll listen to ya…" That sentence hung in the air for a good long moment. "God, I bet ya don't even wanna fuck him anymore," he said.

Forgive me, father, for I am about to sin… Sinking ashamedly back into the chair, Leslie repeated, "I'll get what he owes me."

o - o - o - o - o

Leslie wanted to stay away from Alastor, really she did, but of course the rufescent prick could appear wherever he wished. Next day, after she gave a lesson, Leslie (and the single remaining student, putting on his socks) saw the studio lights shatter overhead, plunging them into inky-blackness.

"Baaah, Jesus!" the student said, falling over.

Then Alastor's arms snaked around Leslie, and they moved to a balcony further up the hotel. She wriggled free, rubbing her bare arms. It was a cold night. They seemed to be very high up, somewhere between the library and the roof. The bright pink lights of Porn Studios twinkled in the distance, and a hellstorm had begun to break. Dark flashes moved through the sky.

"Hello, my dear!" Alastor smiled. "Good show yesterday! You were electric."

Leslie glowered at him. "I was not," she said. No reply from Alastor, but he backed up against the balcony railing, grinning strangely. She couldn't read him; what was it, condescension? Smugness? Anticipation? He was sitting on something, anyway. "You hurt my friend," Leslie said. "You hurt me."

"I didn't touch you."

"You hurt my mind."

"Oh, but I couldn't!" he replied. "Not in the same way. Isn't that what you said?"

Leslie recoiled as though she'd been slapped. "You-! It wasn't a challenge!" She charged forward and barely stopped herself from dealing Alastor a blow to the stomach; he could easily throw her over the railing if she tried. But to her surprise...

"Go on, hit me," he said, stepping down on one knee to make it easier. "I have it coming! Let it out, my pet." The word 'pet' did it for her, and she sank a hard punch into his abdomen. She hit him again, and again, and all he did was tut and make smart remarks. "Oh, that was a good one! Oof! You're stronger than you look!"

Her strikes grew less powerful as Alastor placed a hand on her head. Fuck you! she thought. Damn you to the deepest pits… His hand moved in slow strokes, and then all she could think was how much she wanted to crawl into someone's arms. How much she wanted her family. How much she wanted to be in love again, with anyone but Alastor. This time she did break into sobs, hiding her face in his coat. Leslie felt his other hand on her back. There, there. "Why did you do that?" she snuffled. "Why did you do that? It was so awful!"

He didn't answer at first, but the sky made horrible sounds, reminding Leslie of chalkboard-scrapes and vulture calls. "Darling," Alastor said in a low voice, "why did you dance like that in the first place?"

"I don't know."

"You injured yourself, silly girl," he said, arms circling round her again. "Do you think you deserve it?"

"I don't know. You do it to me all the time. Why'd you spin me?"

"Truthfully? I wanted to see what would happen," Alastor said. "Some people, pushed to their limits, will discover things about themselves. When I entered the room, you were far gone already. I thought you were aiming for that trance I saw in the vee-dee. Or, perhaps you lost your grip, and needed someone else to assume control. I'm always happy to do that, when it comes to you. But that was a mistake. I should have known you couldn't handle it."

Leslie looked up at him, and the reds of his eyes were gleaming. All she could say was, "Oh."

His hands interlocked at the small of her back. "Don't you want me to take over," he asked, "sometimes? Isn't it nice to go limp now and then?" Alastor's inner radio was going crazy; she heard it dial back and forth between stations, buzzing and whining. When he caught himself, he cracked a more genuine smile, showing the crow's feet.

"Al…"

"I can look out for you, you know," he told her, "make sure no-one fuels another of your nightmares. I'll reward your obedience when we play together, and I'll feed you when you're desperate. Just give me room to do so, forgive my wicked ways, and we'll be very happy, I think."

He was using all his tricks: the words, the expressions, touching her. Soon she gave up the fight, and wilted like a dying daffodil. As she relaxed her fists, Leslie felt her palms were covered in pinpricks from those needly claws of hers. She never knew they were so sharp.

Alastor sat her on the balcony with ease. Afraid of toppling over, she clung to his torso, and his arms moved to the railing on either side of her. He effectively boxed her in. Another flash of darkness made Leslie jump.

"No, wait, wait," she said. "Someone could see us."

So he scooped her up as the sky screeched (a shorter gap than last time; the storm was coming closer) and took her inside, carrying her under his arm like a lamb. This time, he came to rest in a hard-backed wooden chair, with Leslie in his lap. They both faced a painting of Eve, with the serpent Lucifer wrapped around her body, a painting that struck Leslie as being exceptionally dark, but for a brightly-painted upper-right corner.

"Well?" Alastor asked into her ear. "Why can't we be happy?"

"J-just don't spin me like that again," she said, "or I swear, I'll…" She trailed off. Not much you can do, she thought, and obviously he knew it. His hand came to her throat, to check her pulse, and oh God, she was so, so tired.

Leslie didn't know how long she sat listlessly with her back to him. For a while, he was content to stroke her arms, humming to himself. Then he leaned over to cover her in quick, sharp bites. It felt rather like she was being hole-punched, but Leslie allowed it. Whyever not? Alastor interspersed these bites with some of the worst jokes she'd ever heard. "One day, two drums and a cymbal fell from a cliff," he said. Then a noise from his soundboard. Ba-dum-tsh!

"Heard it," she muttered.

"I don't trust stairs," he said. "They're always up to something!"

"Oh God, no."

"Did you hear about the fight between 49 and 50?" he asked. "51!"

"Auuugh!"

Now he'd lifted Leslie from her gloomy state with god-awful puns, Alastor fell silent. He carefully pulled her head back by the ears, and set upon her neck. His nails ruined the buttons of a perfectly good shirt.

Leslie faced another dilemma. What could she do? Leaving now was out of the question. To present even token resistance would give Alastor what he wanted; he enjoyed the emotional ambivalence, after all. To submit immediately would set a precedent, and he'd expect it from her always. But it was only one more month.

Dangerous game.

Even through layers of clothes, she felt his radiating heat. Leslie gave a long, conflicted sigh, and melted against him like hot wax. "I hate you," she said.

He laughed. "Get off me, then!"

Not for all the ill-gotten money in Hell, she thought. Looking at the painting - this all-too-fitting portrait of sin - it seemed to Leslie that Eve wore an odd smirk, like she knew what she was getting into. Leslie raised her arm, just reaching the soft ends of Alastor's hair. What followed was a while of Alastor running his hands all over her, for she was very accessible in this new position. He formed circuits, moving from one sensitive spot to the next, onto the next, until she could hardly stand it.

"Ohh, fuck."

"Am I forgiven?" he asked, and Leslie nodded impatiently. He handed something to her, which turned out to be her underwear (that old trick of his) and guided her other hand downwards. "Now," he said, "show me again."