Chapter 19

Ace of Hearts

After a stern talking-to from Charlie and a new order from Eliza, Fizz was forced to moderate his comedy skits. Alastor and Vaggie both voted to have him banned from the event entirely, but the overwhelming support he received from the guests saved him. This fact would haunt them for days from his constant pestering, but he was right about one thing that first night: the guests loved his jokes, and he was delighted to hear that he could continue roasting his audience every week just for kicks.

The following Monday was Eliza's next writing session, and she carried down her usual assortment of pen and paper. Now that she was getting into the rhythm of things, she wondered if she should start some writing exercises.

"There you are, my dear!" Alastor greeted when she strolled into the room. Two plates of gumbo sat on the table, steam billowing off them in a most enticing way. "Ready to begin?"

The two sat at the table and went over the basics while they ate, followed up with Eliza expressing a desire to move forward into something more difficult.

"Yes, I think it's a good time," he agreed, a plan already forming in his mind. He could use this to his advantage, if he could ease her into a sense of comfort. "Perhaps timed writing projects? I could offer a subject, and you can write until the timer runs out."

Eliza, however, immediately became suspicious. "Oh? And what topics would you be suggesting during this time, hm?"

He narrowed his eyes, playfully. "Nervous, my dear? Afraid I'll ask for something beyond your scope of understanding?"

That damnable polite smile overtook her face. He didn't react, but internally he began to feel frustrated with that look. That wall of sweetness was something he saw far too often, and it kept him from seeing what she was really thinking. It bothered him far more than it should. "Fine. Give me a topic. I'll see what I can come up with."

"Something simple to start," he chimed. "Ten minutes to write your thoughts on the taste of the gumbo. Starting… now!"

She instantly began writing. It was slow, and he watched as her eyes narrowed from time to time, but she committed to the task. He couldn't help but admire her tenacity at times; there was no greater reason for her to pursue this type of writing over any other except that she wished to accomplish something for her own sake. Still, the fact that she held such a strong opinion that everyone should pursue such things for themselves and no one else…

"Time's up!" he announced. She froze mid-word and blinked, as though her brain was still completing the thought he had interrupted. "Let me see, if you please." She handed him the paper, and he felt rather pleased that she no longer flinched when he prepared to look over her work. Finally, she was becoming more comfortable with his assistance.

She hadn't gotten far into her description, but what she had written was very different from what he anticipated.

It's evident that he puts a lot of work into his cooking, it began. It has both strength and depth of flavor, implying a passion for the craft. The spice and ingredients are both to be expected, given his place of origin is Louisiana of all states, but to put so much time into perfecting the dish shows that his cooking originates from a place of reverence, suggesting an extreme closeness with his mother, who mentored him at the beginning of h- He reached the end of what was written.

His eyes narrowed as he processed it all. "Eliza. What is this?" He felt a spike of anger. What had been a simple task of describing taste had somehow turned into a breakdown of his character and cooking experience, and he hadn't been prepared for that.

She heard him shifting, but didn't flinch. "You asked for my opinion of the taste. There it is."

"This is not what I meant," he growled. He felt his anger rising as she simply stared at him passively. Even now she chooses to hide herself behind that blasted mask!

"That is how I think, Alastor," she sighed. "When I eat your food, that's often what I think of it. Food is a passion for you, and it comes across in every dish you make. I don't think of things in terms of flavor." She looked off to the side for a moment, her expression carefully blank. "If it bothers you, then don't ask my opinion on things."

He heard a break in her voice. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Hurt. The barely exposed emotion calmed him somewhat, allowing him to reign in his own emotions once more. "You seem so impressed by my ability to read into a person's character from their writing, but you can do the same by taste?"

"It's a mix of what I already know and how the dish reflects your passion for cooking," she shrugged. "Are you really that upset by it?"

His eye crinkled as his smile widened. "I supposed I was expecting something akin to the common complaint: 'It needs more salt!'"

She suppressed a snort. "I understand, but I really have no complaints about the flavor. If anything, I'm impressed; I normally hate gumbo!"

"You've just never had a real gumbo before," he beamed. "Home-made is the only way to have it, after all!"

Her neutral expression softened significantly, revealing the first true smile he'd ever seen her share. He felt a flutter in his chest, a sensation he pointedly chose to ignore. "After eating that, I can't disagree!"

"Shall we try another exercise?" he suggested with a grin. "I promise not to react so harshly this time." She looked unsure for a moment, so he added "If you don't want to, we can wait until our next meeting. I'm a patient man, my dear."

"No, I'm fine," she assured him. "One or two more should be just fine."

"Wonderful!" he cheered. "Then I would like you to write about our topic from last time. What is my preferred victim to hunt?"

To his surprise, she didn't hesitate to start writing when he gave the signal. He gave her fifteen minutes this time, as he wanted her to have time to explain the answer she came to. He knew she wasn't one to keep details to herself, and he was honestly excited to see if she discovered the truth.

She did not disappoint. When time came to an end, she had already finished a few seconds early, and so he took the paper, grinning with anticipation. This time, he read it out loud.

"Over our four short months of acquaintance, one thing stands out above all; an extreme disdain for impropriety." Not the introduction he expected, and he cocked an eyebrow before continuing on. "During his youth, his strong connection with his mother as well as the southern mentality he was raised with has instilled in his mind the importance of the classic double standard of respecting the fairer sex. It also means that women are not the target, as even a woman who pushes him too far is likely to be forgiven, or else Erpa would have died when picking Niffty's pocket." He laughed out loud, turning to Eliza with a deeply amused expression. "That is very true!" He returned his attention to the page in his hands. "So, while this leaves men as the primary victims, I can only conclude that he is a reactionary killer. Basically, he kills any man he has witnessed abusing women and, possibly, children. If I had to guess…" he paused again, feeling something violent stir in him.

"You promised," Eliza reminded him.

He took a calming breath. "I haven't forgotten," he soothed before finishing reading the page. No, the anger wasn't directed at her at all. "If I had to guess, the template he uses to choose a target is based off of his father or a father-figure that abused both him and his mother, though the latter was most likely murdered as well." He chuckled darkly as he put the paper down. "You don't pull your punches, do you?"

"I prefer to not be misunderstood, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten that, either" he repeated cheekily. "But following the theme of honesty, I have one more topic for you, if you're interested." She didn't quite look like she trusted him right now, but she agreed to at least hear what he picked, and he cocked his head in an innocent fashion. "Why do you pursue the ideal of honesty?"

She blushed slightly. "Excuse me?"

"The first night I offered to help you, I offended you by calling you a liar." She bristled slightly at the memory, but did not interrupt his explanation. "That, and I wrote something that I think bothered you as well." He summoned the paper. "Do not deny yourself for an ideal." The paper disappeared into the ether once more. "I would like you to tell me, in detail, what it is about honesty that drives you into such a relentless pursuit."

She nodded slowly, processing his request, but did not look particularly comfortable about it. "Why bring it up now?"

"Curiosity, my dear girl!" he exclaimed excitedly, standing up. "You hide your emotions and your goals, but everyone opens up to you in the pursuit of self-acceptance and understanding." He walked around, moving his arms in a rather animated fashion before stopping directly behind her, leaning over her shoulder and whispering, "Is that not just a terrible double-standard, my dear?"

While the air shifted with her mood as usual, he found it was reacting differently this time. Whereas normally he would feel a chill, this time warm air grazed his face, and he found himself inhaling the scent of smoke. At first, he thought something was on fire, but when he pulled away to straighten his posture, the smell weakened considerably.

"I think," she began in a firm voice, "that I'm done for the evening. We'll continue this discussion next time." She got up, forcing him to back away slightly or else she would have backed straight into his chest; a thought that made him incredibly uncomfortable. When she turned to face him, he literally watched the mask fall over her expression, and the heat he had been so surprised by was quickly replaced with the much more familiar chill. "Good night, Alastor."

As she walked away, he felt as though a fire had been lit in his chest. Anger flooded his mind, but also a strange sense of hunger. He put a hand up to his face, biting down on his little-finger as the mere memory of that smell made him ravenous. She had so briefly smelled of wildfire, but the stirring effect on his senses lingered even as the chill she left behind took hold.

He returned to the kitchen; he needed more gumbo or else he was going to lose his mind. However, as he passed the microwave (a piece of equipment that deeply offended his food-loving soul), he noticed something in the reflection and paused. He reached up to confirm what he was seeing and blinked in surprise. The antlers on his head were larger than usual, despite the fact that he was not currently hunting. Taking a moment to shrink them back to size, he nodded approvingly before returning to the task of getting more food. He didn't need his body acting on its own accord.


The Next Day:

"There you are! I was beginning to think we'd never be able to get out of work at the same time. So glad to get out of the damn studio tonight."

Vox swirled a glass of wine, sitting back in his chair and enjoying the wealthy venue. It had been a while since he had a reason to come here, and enjoying the glamor alone was not his preference. Valentino never really enjoyed this joint, saying that it reeked of posturing and pretension. He preferred a club that didn't try to pretend everyone lived in a better place.

But Vox was a 40's and 50's man. Posturing and pretension felt like home, and he loved the feeling of opulence in the Golden Grande, an exclusive club that served only the elite and their guests.

Tonight, he saw fit to invite Eliza.

"You certainly have extravagant taste," she marveled. "I've never been somewhere this upscale." The Golden Grande was almost overwhelming when the therapist entered the venue, taking Vox's offered arm. He talked her into joining him because he needed an excuse to go somewhere nice, but upon entry she immediately confirmed with him that she had no intention of this becoming a date, to which he laughed and reassured her. Still, taking someone who's barely an acquaintance of yours to a place like this was flattering, to say the least.

It was, as the name would suggest, decorated with gold in many places. Red carpets and bannisters decorated the dark tiled floors and white-grey marble walls. Portraits of various patrons, one of which was none other than Vox himself, decorated the walls between the bannisters, and white-grey marble pillars lined the areas underneath the open second floor, where they currently sat to overlook the main section. Tables up here were more sparse and finely decorated, suggesting that these were probably the most expensive public seats. She wondered briefly if there were private seating arrangements, and felt beyond thankful that Vox had not thought to book one if there were.

"Men like me don't get where they are by thinking small," he boasted with a laugh. "Besides, you fit right in! A skirt suits you."

She felt a little annoyed at that statement. She may wear it for work, but the dancing skirt still made her feel exposed and irritable at times. But he informed her over the phone that he wanted to take her somewhere classy, so she wore it in spite of her less-than-flattering opinion on the matter. "Thank you," she said, hiding the negative feelings his praise evoked. She couldn't fight the sneaking suspicion that he was buttering her up, but she wanted to give him a chance to prove her wrong. "Is there a particular reason you like this place?"

"It feels more like home," he explained, looking out at the large room. "I used to come to places like this all the time when I was alive. Business Execs, CEOs, Producers, Managers… I had a wealthy circle around me. I do down here, too, but my partners have more… provocative tastes."

The waiter came by for their order, and Eliza felt a little intimidated by the prices. She made sure Vox was OK with it, and he laughed at her modesty.

"You've really never been spoiled by a man?" he laughed. "Damn girl, are all the men up there fuckin' morons?"

"I wasn't particularly beautiful," she stated. At the very least, she never found herself to be so.

He eyed her up and down for a moment. Sure, down here people looked different than in life, heaven knows he did, but he could hardly believe that coming to Hell led to some massive improvement upon her appearance. "Bullshit."

"It's the truth," she droned. "That, and I was very focused on my career."

"Now that I believe," he teased, taking a sip of his wine. "You seem rather single-minded at times. Tell me something: do you see your own clients, too?"

"I'm focused on the hotel for now, but I can see my own clientele, yes."

"You have a card?" he inquired, reaching out his hand. "I know a couple people who might be interested."

She summoned a card and handed it to him. She kept her fingers at the edge to prevent touching, but Vox was not so inclined. He extended his index finger out slightly, momentarily caressing her own, before taking the card and pulling away. She suppressed a shiver that was both a rise of irritation and slight arousal.

'Gotta pop your cherry at some point,' Id tormented.

Although she mentally strangled her darker half, she decided not to say anything against the action, which Vox found interesting. For being so outspoken about this not becoming a date when they first arrived, she didn't seem to mind his attention. Perhaps she only backpedals when she's overwhelmed by big surprises? She did seem rather intimidated by the location; perhaps he should have started smaller.

When their food arrived, they took a break from the conversation and focused instead on enjoying the meal. She ordered a filet mignon with mashed potatoes and carrots. Rather simple, in his opinion, but if she truly wasn't used to a place like this, he could at least understand trying to normalize the situation. He wondered if someone like her could ever actually get used to a more opulent lifestyle.

When she took her first bite of the steak, she froze. At first he was worried that it wasn't any good, which would be a first time for him. This place always serves delicious food. Anything less and the kitchen staff was flogged on stage. It certainly made for great entertainment, though anyone caught making it up just for the show was flogged instead to prevent false accusations.

Then her eyes started glistening. "It's delicious!" She looked down at the filet like it was some alien entity, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. She looked like such a child at that moment.

The chef was passionate, she would give him that. There was also a touch of fear, as though everything was meticulous because it had to be, but the obsession with flavor and delight in detail was astounding. This was the major difference between Alastor and a career chef: For one, it's a beloved hobby, but for the other, it's their life's work.

Thinking of Alastor during an outing with his rival almost made her snort. She held it back with every ounce of control she possessed.

She wasn't the only person thinking about Alastor at that moment. She and Vox sat near the railing, allowing them to see everything and everyone underneath, which of course meant that they were in open view for all others to see as well. On the opposite side of the venue's ground floor, a pair of eyes caught sight of the therapist sharing a meal with the TV Demon.

"Well, well," Rosie cooed, her grin widening. "Now that is interesting! I wonder if he knows?" She thought for a moment, fanning herself. "No, I doubt it. He'd hound her for it if he did. Tell him and ruin her peace, or keep it from my good friend. Oh, the decisions a lady has to make."

Either way, she would be very entertained.


Husk dealt out the cards to Angel, Curio, Erpa and Matiu. Eliza had passed once again, and he felt a little miffed. She hasn't gambled again since her first game, and it was a shame. She was such a natural when it came to bluffing.

This was not his first time robbing Curio blind, but with both Angel and Erpa at the table, it was at least interesting. Matiu rage-quits regularly. He would scratch his arm whenever he'd get nervous, so everyone knew when he was bluffing. Erpa had a sharp eye, but she was easily distracted by Husk's flashy shuffling tricks and Angel's clever innuendos.

In the end, Husk and Angel were each others' worst enemies.

The cat-demon did one of his favorite shuffle mash-ups: He switched between overhand and Hindu styles, taking the deck apart, and performing a one-handed Faro shuffle.

A shiver travelled up Angel's spine. "Oh, Kitty, handle me that well and I'll neva leave ya," he crooned.

"Handle yourself somewhere else," he growled. He dealt out two cards each, placing the deck just off-center of the table.

The two took a peek at their cards before Husk picked a card off the top of the deck and flipped it. A ten of clubs.

Angel smiled and leaned back. "You sure you don't want to do the handling?" He used his bottom set of hands to fluff up his chest when he saw Husk glance at him.

"Fuck off," he grumbled, ready to grab the next card to flip over. Angel reached out and put a finger on the back of Husk's paw, causing the cat to freeze for a moment. He dragged it up towards the man's elbow, creating a tiny wake in his fur, and Husk pulled back with a jolt. His fur stuck up slightly as he shivered, his nerves shorting out from the unexpected contact.

"Allow me," Angel moaned, reaching for the top card of the deck. "How about another bet, Kitty?"

"What?" Husk asked, against what little better judgement he possessed.

"If I guess what this top card is," he said, gently caressing it but otherwise leaving it be, "you have to kiss me."

"That's a bold fuckin' gamble," Husk admitted, slightly impressed. "And if you guess wrong?"

"No more sexual harassment for a week," Angel promised.

"Month," Husk countered.

"Ooo, hard bargain," Angel teased. "I won't budge from two weeks. Final offer, Kitty."

Two weeks of no harassment for what is most likely a sure thing. He gave a smug grin. "You're on, pretty boy."

Angel rotated a finger over the card repeatedly, making a low, humming noise. "Mama always said I had good intuition," he murmured, holding his gaze on Husk's face as he molested the card. "Said I always seemed to see what was good for me."

"Then why're you flirtin' with me?" Husk countered, poking Angel's face with his claw. "Rather stupid if ya ask me."

"Oh, Kitty, Kitty," Angel purred, moving closer. "You have no idea how much you drive me crazy. Your voice, your sexy as fuck body, your tricks…"

"Just fuckin' guess already," Husk protested, shrinking into his chair in an attempt to put even the slightest bit of distance between himself and the horny spider.

He gently slipped the card off the top, dragging it up his chin to give the very top lining a kiss. His eyes never left Husk's, and there was no way from that angle for him to see the card. "This card is proof that we belong together." He held it to his chest-fluff before flipping it, smiling devilishly at his opponent. It was…

"Ace of Hearts."

Fuck.

"OK," Husk jumped back, unable to believe it. "How the fuck did you know that?!"

"Intuition," he repeated slyly.

"Bullshit," Husk challenged. "There's no way that was just a guess."

Angel's eyes were half-lidded as he cooed at the retreating veteran. "You ain't got proof otherwise, do ya?" Husk stared at him, unable to contest his victory. "Then that means…" He slid his body across the table, knocking all cards and chips out of his way without a care. Money could burn; he had more important pursuits at the moment. "Time to pay up, Kitty."

Husk's fur stood up in all places as the spider slid up close. The two were nose and nose, but he didn't move any closer. Husk sat there, unable to move as the spider practically pinned him to the chair. "The fuck are you waiting for?" he demanded.

"Impatient?" Angel teased. When Husk snarled, he chuckled. "I said you had to kiss me, remember?"

"Oh for the love of-" Angel put a finger over his lips to shush him.

"Just let it happen," he whispered seductively. He puckered up slightly and closed his eyes. If ever there was a time to escape, it was now.

For the love of all that is holy, Husk could not explain why he didn't. 'I took the bet,' he told himself, taking a deep breath. 'I had to take the fucking bet!'

He gave Angel a peck on the cheek.

"Da fuck was that?" Angel demanded, pouting slightly.

"A kiss," Husk grumbled. "Now let me up."

"But-"

Husk pushed the spider off him, letting him land on the floor while he stomped away. "Ya didn't get fuckin' specific."

Angel folded his arms and grimaced. "Fuckin' cat," he grumbled. Still, he rubbed his cheek where the kiss was planted and smiled. "Eh, I'll take it." He stood up and dusted himself off. "Get better kisses from Nuggy, though," he called as he walked by the front desk. Husk just flipped him off, and Angel returned the rude gesture with a wink and a blow-kiss. "I still love ya; don't worry."

"God dammit," Husk growled, scratching his cheek before deciding to drown himself in a bottle. He had to drink away the memory of that kiss, and the fact that it wasn't entirely unpleasant.


Author's Note:

Between my two boys, I barely slept last night, so for some reason that makes me feel like being Santa Clause today. So here ya go: Two chapters. Because why not, am I right?