Chapter 7 Auld Lang Syne

The morning after the winter solstice, Alastor opened the door of his personal room at the Hazbin Hotel and instead of the hallway walked into the private office of the King of Hell.

"Alastor, my boy," Lucifer said, leaning back in his throne-style office chair, his feet propped on his desk. "We need to talk."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Alastor replied. It was – disconcerting - to be teleported about by someone else's power, even the ruler of Hell. An odd sensation swept over him. He couldn't quite name it. "What do you want to talk about?"

Lucifer tossed a brilliant, multi-colored Bouncy Ball at the wall behind Alastor. It ricocheted and hit the ceiling. "Oh, a few things. This and that. Where you were last night, for one. Why, for another. With whom, for a third. And, of course…"

The ball zipped around the office like a missile, building up power and velocity, roaring like a miniature comet and shooting sparks. It halted a finger's-width from Alastor's face.

"WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

"Your Majesty – "

"Wait." Lucifer held up a hand. The Bouncy ball vanished. "Let's get you more comfortable. Sit down." Alastor was in an overstuffed wing chair. "Have some tea." A saucer and cup appeared on his lap.

"That's better." Lucifer smiled, and Alastor's odd sensation had a name.

Fear.

"Now. Explain." The King of Hell sipped from his own cup of coffee. "I'm all ears."

"I was fulfilling a secondary deal in one of my contracts."

"Ah? Spill the tea. Figuratively, of course."

Alastor kept to the facts of the matter. Lucifer listened, fingers steepled, the acme of tolerant patience, only once interrupting. "You agreed to - never mind. Go on." When Alastor finished, Lucifer sat back with a small frown.

"Why accept so a personal proposal when you have no interest in such things?"

"I was caught up in the moment, my King."

"You got greedy. Fair enough. Why not change the terms before sealing the deal?"

"I didn't… think it would matter."

"You were overconfident and too clever for your own good. Possibly lazy as well." Lucifer drank. "So. The deal commences, your signatory complains and calls out your fraud. Why didn't you cancel the contract? You didn't have to choose to complete it."

"My king, that is a personal matter."

Lucifer smiled. "Yes, it is. Tell me anyway."

"She spotted the flaws you did, and she had to guess at the end, but she bested me. Beat me at my own game."

"You traveled to Earth numerous times, something you weren't sanctioned for. You broke the rules about human disguises while on Earth numerous times. To fulfill your deal. Understandable. But.

"On one of the most spiritually powerful nights, you chased her across a swath of a national park like you were in autumn rut and later left your mess for cherubs – the biggest gossips in Heaven – to clean up.

"Why?"

That single word dredged the answer from him, giving weight to a truth Alastor had refused to acknowledge. "She humiliated me," he said in a low voice. "She mocked my prowess. I wanted revenge."

"Alastor," Lucifer said, shaking his head slowly, "you don't have any sexual prowess. What did you expect the poor girl to do, yodel 'SWEET MYSTERY OF LIFE AT LAST I'VE FOUND YOU!'?"

Alastor winced. The Ruler of Hell had literally yodeled.

Lucifer sighed.

"To top things off, your deer-form was caught chasing hers across a road on trail cams, according to the Weekly World News. Don't worry, your modesty was preserved. No bestiality uploads to the internet with you in the starring role.

"You're a prime example why moral souls can't leave the Pride ring, Alastor." He set aside his coffee and clasped his hands on the desk.

"We're nine days now from the next Extermination Day, and you attracted the Enemy's attention to you. Normally I wouldn't care – you're an Overlord, rough and tough and capable of tying your own shoelaces. If you make yourself a target to the rest of Hell because of your stupidity, that's not my business. But you invited yourself into my daughter's redemption project and that is my business.

"You will continue to defend the Hotel as you have done, during Extermination and beyond," Lucifer said. "You will finish out this contract. No cancellation. You'll be the Demon Lover requested with all that means. You won't kill this signatory, and you won't arrange for her to be killed, either- no deliberate hits, no little accidents, no waking up all dead one morning. Or there will be one less Overlord in Hell. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good. Oh. Just one more thing. Stay away from her until after the Extermination. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the penis harder."

Lucifer smiled and finished his coffee. "Good luck, my boy. You'll need it."

#

Jemma dreamed, and her dreams were cruel. Inhuman but gentle hands washed away the stains of the winter solstice's mad chase. Power as soothing as cool water on a hot day mended her wounds, and what couldn't be healed was treated by those same gentle hands with her own supplies. They dressed her in the lightest, softest nightshirt she owned and tucked her into bed. She felt at peace, secure…

..Until shadows roiled in and withthem his voice, shredding that peace. "Did you really believe you could protect her from me?" "Stay with me, chere. No hiding. You agreed." "Hello, darling. Playtime."

For the first two days after the solstice, the montage of his words and touch dominated every dream and made sleep practically impossible. She left all the lights on at night. She stayed home, kept contact with friends and family to a bare minimum, claiming she'd gotten a bad head cold a few days back. She ate when she had to, did what housework was necessary, otherwise she dozed on the couch or the recliner when she could.

By Christmas her normal dreamscape blotted out that montage. Parts remained, but they lacked the power to terrify; at most, they annoyed. Oddly enough, the succubus showed up a few times, part of the background scenery. Once or twice he seemed to be asking questions, but she couldn't remember about what.

On Boxing Day Jemma dressed in her favorite sweats, retrieved her soccer ball from her closet, and dribbled it up and down her floor's hallway: her favorite method of physical meditation, of thinking things through.

Jemma paced the hallway, the memory of the solstice in every step. And, gradually, inextricably, a revelation that refused to slink back to the shadowed places of her soul. No matter how she danced around it, squirmed to avoid it, the truth was inescapable.

She had enjoyed it.

Not their shape-changed forest chase and his mockery of her fear and confusion. His malicious pleasure at the chase's culmination and her terror when she realized what he had done to her. But the rest? Oh, yes.

Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?

She kicked the soccer ball off the stairwell door, tripped up the ball and began dribbling up back to her apartment.

She didn't like what that said about her. It didn't matter if it was an effect of their deal, or every single turn-on she possessed being pushed, or Stockholm Syndrome. She felt ashamed, because of that enjoyment.

Guilty.

She wished she could grab soap and a washrag and scrub the inside of herself clean.

But she couldn't, so she'd do the next best thing. The parking lot was clear of snow, and most of the building's tenants were either at work or away on vacation. Plenty of room for her to practice dribbling and kicks.

And every kick would have Alastor's name on it.

#

There was some truth to the old saw about returning to the scene of the crime.

After weeks of pulling in nearly every favor he was owed to track the merest whiff of rumor about the Radio Demon, Niko was desperate enough to go to the source. Valentino's queries were getting more and more blunt; the Overlord wasn't known for his patience.

Infiltrating Jemma's dreams was difficult. He didn't have his old contract as a passkey; the best he could do was lurk on the edge of her sleeping mind and to tumble into it, just like the old days. Unlike the old days or even nearly two months ago, her sleeping mind was currently a whirlpool of inner panic and chaos, locked up tighter than a Vestal Virgin.

Then luck or Lucifer himself smiled on Niko, and he was in.

She didn't resist him. Didn't attack him. Didn't seem to realize he was there, save the couple times he questioned her. The answers she gave were self-reflective, a code of sorts – same with her dreams. They weren't meant for outsiders, after all.

Piecing those answers into a coherent narrative took some time. When he was satisfied with his work, Niko asked to speak to his boss.

The response was an immediate summons to his office. Valentino was at his desk. Vox stood next to him, and gave Niko a friendly smile.

"Niko, baby." Valentino's own smile was welcoming and pleased and smooth." Come in, come in. So you heard something of interest? Get comfortable."

Niko slid into the chair in front of the desk. "Thank you, Mr. Valentino. Yes, finally, some news. Do you want the heart of the matter or all the details first?"

"The heart of the matter," Valentino said.

"Alastor made a fraudulent contract and the signatory found out. Called him on it. He hasn't reconciled to their satisfaction yet."

Vox whistled. "That explains a lot. No wonder he's off-frequency. He has to be getting pushback, even slightly."

Valentino rubbed his chin. "My special grapevine says he had a little chat with Luci right after the solstice. Wonder if they're connected, if it's true." He looked at Niko. "How did you find all this out, Nikocakes?"

"I went to his signatory, tapped into her dreams." When both Overlords raised eyebrows, he shrugged. "It's an incubus thing."

"Right, but you could do that? Go to his signatory?" Vox asked.

"Sure. I guess you'd say I was his …body double. Or stand-in."

"Niko, baby," Valentino said. "What exactly was this contract for?"

He'd dreaded this moment since his first "little chat" with Valentino. No more plausible deniability if Alastor found out. Nothing to do but go through with it.

"He was to be his signatory's demon lover for a year and a day."

Valentino and Vox exchanged incredulous looks.

A slow huffing noise rose from Valentino, a huffing noise that turned into a rumble. The moth Overlord leaned back in his chair and erupted into full-blown belly-laughs. He swung his feet up on the desk, gripping his gut with all his arms. Vox bent double, fist pounding on Valentino's desk, wheezing as if he were dying.

"Oh, Niko baby," gasped Valentino at last, wiping moisture from his eyes, "you've given Daddy Val not only his best news for today but his best laugh in ages. Expect a little something extra in your next check."

Niko blinked and managed a smile. He had no clue what had set them off about the Radio Demon's deal's specifics, and he really didn't care. "Hey, great! Thank you, Mr. Valentino."

Valentino relit his cigarette. "Don't wander too far from the studio, Niko baby," he went on. "Just in case we need you to go dream-diving again."

"I'll tell Velvet," Vox got out between wheezes. He straightened."And drop a couple hints in to some of my staff. Vark-walkers get around."

#

Sir Pentious considered the Curl Up and Dye Beauty Spa's lack of customers a bonus. A notable kingpin such as he shouldn't have to wait for attendants. It took quite some time to thoroughly masque a snake demon of his stature. Not to mention the placement of cucumbers on all his eyes, and the properly cut towel for his hood. Added expenses, of course… but he was a future Overlord. He was worth it.

So now he lounged at a nail-and-claw station in a satisfyingly soft fluffy bathrobe, sipping his favorite tea while the salon's best claw-girl worked on his left hand. She was a bit of a chatterbox, going on about everything and everyone, including everyones that simply weren't important. Pentious had learned to listen for the names that mattered, and give polite noncommittal answers to the rest.

"You would not BUH-LEEVE what my cousin, whose friend has a boyfriend with a sister who works at the Porn Studio as Vark's shark-walker, heard about the Radio Demon."

That name got Pentious' attention. He jerked upright. "What? What did she hear?" Anything that could give him an edge over that arrogant, crimson-coated smiling jackanapes was not to be overlooked.

The claw-girl leaned in, though there was no one else within twenty feet. "Well," she murmured, "seems he's got girl trouble – get my drift? And it's taking up too much of his time and energy. Some of his…business partners finding sudden wiggle-room nowadays."

"What business partners?"

The claw-girl waved her buffer board. "Do you think anyone's going to admit to that? Just have to keep your eyes out, I suppose. See who's getting cocky."

"This girl, then, " Sir Pentious demanded. "Who is she?"

"No one's seen her but I heard she's another deer-demon. Or that she's the Princess, which I guess is POSSIBLE, but I don't believe for an instant." The claw-girl leaned in even closer; her nose was a mere claw's-breadth from his snout. "I heard that maybe she's not even a demon at all, but a cherub. Or a human."

"You're joshing" Sir Pentious shot back. "Get me… " He started to rise, then sank back down. He was half-finished. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't rush out right now. Future Overlords had to be presentable. ".,,,another cup of tea. I just spilled mine." He knocked over the cup. The claw-girl rolled her eyes and hmphed, but headed for the spa's back area. Pentius drummed his right hand on the station table. Alastor was vulnerable, or at least his reputation was. Perhaps jabbing a few needles into the Radio Demon's ego wouldn't be as satisfying as coiling him up and squeezing until every joint popped, but it would do. An opportunity not to be missed.

"I couldn't believe it!" Pentious said to Monty and Arackniss. He fell in with the other snake demo and the spider demon after leaving the spa. They were on some business of their own, but it could wait for a good gloating session. "Best news I've had in ages!"

"But why?" Monty asked. "It's not like it's a secret weakness. So some girl's mad at him. So what?"

"If it's true, Penn." Arackniss stopped to light a cigarette. "For all we know the whole thing's bullshit made up by Vox."

"That works, too," Pent said. "Anything to bring him down a peg or three."

"Why do you have it in for him so much?" Arackniss slipped his lighter inside his jacket.

"He's in my way, alwayssss in my way," Pentious hissed. "Every time I turn around h—"

Pentious bared his fangs in a grin. "Oh, what luck." There he was, exiting some eatery or other, newspaper tucked under his arm. Pentious raised his voice.

"Oh, deer, what can the matter be? Dear, deer what can the matter be?"

Arackniss slapped his face – he caught the word play, at least. Monty just looked confused.

"You know, Monty," Pentious said. "I've heard tell of a deer who's been off his rut. Having bad luck with the blanket hornpipe."

Monty's eyes grew wide. "Penny, I think he heard you."

"Perhaps he keeps misplacing his poker," Pentious continued loudly. "Or perhaps his prowess isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Alastor stopped in mid-stride. He looked in their direction and casually strolled over. "Hello, gentlemen," he said, that infamous, ever-present smile on his face. "I couldn't help but overhear. Were you addressing me?"

"No," said Arackniss.

"Yes," said Sir Pentious. "I'm so sorry to hear about your …problems, Overlord."

"Are you sure you want to continue this conversation?"

"Penn, I really think we should move on," Arackniss muttered.

"Why not?" Monty suggested. "Penny and Nissy are both good at brainstorming. Maybe they can help you with your girl troubles."

"Really?" Alastor cocked his eyebrow. "How so?"

"Arackniss always has these two-steps-ahead plans and –

"Oh, I have suggestionsss." Pentius smiled again. "Have you tried giving her a green gown? Or is threading the needle the issssue? Then maybe you should try tipping the velvet." He tapped his chin slowly. "Or… does she want to ride St. George and that's a leetle too much for you, hmm?"

"Niss," Monty whispered, "do you know what he's saying?"

"I can guess, and it's not good. Penn, we really should –"

"What fascinating suggestions!" Alastor tucked the paper inside his jacket and threw wide his arms. "I have others." His smile narrowed.

"I suggest you keep your nose out of other people's business, before it gets burned." The air around him flared red, his eyes changing to radio dials. A ball of fire manifested in Alastor's right hand and flew straight at Sir Pentious; he ducked, gripping the brim of his hat.

"Or before you lose that tail of yours."

The ground shook The pavement below Sir Pentious split in two with a loud CRACK! His tail-tip tumbled into the opening. He barely yanked it free before the ground closed.

"PENNY!" Monty charged Alastor.

"Follow the six-foot rule, please!" The Radio Demon slammed his microphone cane lengthwise into Monty's middle, reversed it and jabbed it under his chin. Monty's head snapped back; another shove to his gut sent him sprawling.

Two things happened at once in Pentious' vision: Arackniss pulled out every gun he could, and Pentious' chain-whip coiled around Alastor, pinning his arms.

Pinning his arms.

For a heartbeat Hell's next Overlord stared in disbelief. His chain-whip had actually connected with the untouchable Alastor! Then, grinning, viciously, he yanked –

Only to go flying into the side of the eatery. The muffled thwump reverberated in his head. Plaster and drywall pattered around him like rain. The chain-whip loosened in his grasp. Alastor stepped out of it. He spun about to Arackniss.

"Little boys and their toys," he said through a smile as Arackniss opened fire, "should stay out of grown-up conversations."

Every bullet missed. The air around Alastor darkened to a reddish hue. All four of Arackniss' guns melted into puddles of slag.

"Playtime is over, children," Alastor said. "Run along."

Even a future Overlord, Hell's best assassin and a Pentagram Boxing champion knew when discretion was the better part of valor.

They ran.

#

"You've known Becky for a while, haven't you?"

Jemma nodded, taking a small sip of her daiquiri. Her interrogator was a friend of John's that she vaguely remembered from her undergrad years named Kevin. He'd just hung out his shingle. He was good-looking, had social skills, and though he'd said he'd needed a legal secretary, was obviously interested in something more than finding an employee.

While Jemma's thoughts circled around how Alastor would react to her dating someone else.

"Last year of junior high," Jemma said. Torn between the frivolous enjoyment of New Year's Eve and the desire to not to be noticed, she chose the classic Little Black Dress, heart-patterned tights, and flats, with her hair in a milkmaid's braid crown and light makeup. She should have gone full bib overalls and clodhoppers. Kevin was the third man to approach her tonight, and she'd only been here an hour.

A taken woman was somehow hotter, and men just… knew.

As much as her contract with Alastor implied she was taken. She didn't want to think about how to approach the topic with him.

"Going to miss her, I bet."

"Oh, absolutely. But there's the phone, and Twitter and email and Zoom and all, right?" It sounded like a list of excuses, not means of communication.

"Not to mention actual visiting," Kevin said.

Jemma smiled. "Right, right!"

"Damn, girl, when did you get here?" Anita sashayed up in a fuschia catsuit and glittered deely-boppers. "Excuse me, brotato, but I needs must sling some hash with my kemo sabe here." She reached down and hooked her arm through Jemma's without looking. "We'll be back soon. Toodles!" she sing-songed and guided Jemma through the other attendees and down to the basement until they had a block of space all to themselves.

"Riffing on Holly Golightly, huh?" Anita looked Jemma up and down. "Mmm mmm mmm… you sure you don't want to play for my team?"

"Not enough balls and no bats," Jemma said. "I appreciate the rescue, but he wasn't actually a bad guy – "

"This isn't a rescue, it's a warning." Anita lost all humor. "One I didn't want overheard by the masses, because sometimes it's a too fucking small world Watch your back, Jemma. Renee's doing some really bizarre shit. She's been keeping weird and downright bad company: her old ceremonial magic pals she had that huge feud with, the skeevy Thelemites kicking around Ann Arbor, even some of the Wiccans more into power than praising the Goddess. I don't know what she's planning, she's not broadcasting it, but it doesn't feel good.

"And Jemma? She has it in for you."

"What fucking for?" Jemma let all the frustration and hurt from over a month ago into that question.

"I don't know and I haven't asked. She cast me into the Outer Darkness – the Pete's Place meet-up was the first time talked after the Halloween party and we haven't since. Didn't even give me a nod when she was here. I'm glad she fucking left before you arrived. Me, in a week I'll be in Ohio with my mother's sister, taking care of my nieces and nephews while she recovers from back surgery."Anita paused. To her shock, Jemma saw tears in her eyes.

"And I'm not coming back, Jemma. I can't. Things are just too… insane."

"Insane, how? Anita, tell me!"

"No. No. You're safe, you're not involved. Becky's leaving with John soon. Forget her, forget all of us. Find a nice boy to waste that killer bod on. Ditch your lease, get the hell out of Dodge and don't look back."

Anita caught Jemma in a quick, fierce hug. "Good luck, McIntire." She ran up the basement steps.

Jemma followed, numb. The party was a cacophony of conversations that didn't make sense, a swirl of familiar strangers. She drank and chatted and danced, trying to capture the sense of normalcy that had slipped away when she wasn't looking.

"Jemma, hi!" Kirsten's happy, bouncy voice followed by Kirsten's happy, bouncy face. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Me, too. " Dennis was behind her. "I've missed you, Jem."

His voice, his eyes, his words said he meant it. Jemma clung to them like a lifeline, barely hearing Kirsten arrange their social calendars. They kissed when the neighbor's cannon boomed to greet the new year, and had sex in the spare bedroom after the other guests had gone. Dennis' body was familiar, once-beloved and knew how to talk to hers as an old friend… but it was pointless. Every touch, every movement, every sound, was wrong.

He wasn't Alastor.

She lay in the tangled sheets until the sun crept in through the blinds, then she dressed without turning on the light.

"Jemma? Jem, where're you going?"

"This was a mistake, Dennis." She scrambled for her flats, tugged them on. "I'm not in love with you anymore. I'm not interested in you. Goodbye."

She left the spare bedroom, grabbed her coat from the coat rack and fled Becky and John's house.

On her kitchen table was a calling card.

The Radio Demon wants the company

of his clever girl from 8 ;m this evening

until her endurance gives out.

Not the most romantic sentiment, but it made her pulse leap in her throat and her lower belly tighten.

Jemma rubbed her temples. Good thing or no, she liked sex with Alastor. The physical side of their deal worked just fine. But the emotional side, their mutual desire for each other?

That needed work.

His finger stroking her cheek. "Take care of my clever little lawyer. She's had a long night."

A touch of mockery, yes, but also honest affection and more of it. Something had changed between them, a slight bending from Alastor. A change that could benefit them both if permitted to grow. That growth could only happen if she focused her emotional attention on Alastor – and that was something she could do only if she surrendered anything resembling a normal life.

As, maybe, she had since she offered him a deal that Halloween night.

Jemma a pen from her purse and flipped the card over.

I accept

13