The quietness of the hospital was shy of absolute. The occasional cough, squeak of un-oiled gurney wheel, pierced the black granite corridors. Quite different from the usual ear-splitting sounds that rang out on a day-to-day basis. But, three overlords walking in, one the head physician wearing a scowl, you try to stay unnoticed. The malingers vanished without protest, and potential trouble-makers reassessed their plans. Seeing Thorne angry was rare. Annoying him further, suicide.

Thorne's lip curled in a snarl. Why wouldn't Husk listen to him? Couldn't he see the self-harm he was engaging in? This wasn't the first time they had 'discussed' it, and not the first tempestuous ending either. So why did it always upset him?

Thorne's shoes tapped against the dark stone floor, making his way to his receptionist. Alastor and Rosie taking off to dance a waltz in the foyer. Confusing and frightening the remaining patients. The only noise being the occasional giggle from the seamstress during a spin.

The doctor took the clipboard and pencil from his receptionist's slight manicured fingers. Ready for his final sign-off of the day and snorted. Could do with some heroin to take the edge off.

Thorne gripped the pencil, his claws marking the wood. How could he make Husk see what he was doing to himself? Bring him to the hospital and wait till Ivan appeared? No. Ivan was... a law unto himself. No way of knowing when he'd turn up.

"Ivan," Thorne muttered to himself.

"He isn't here sir," Persephone answered, her face contorting in confusion as it so often did. "He hasn't been in for months."

"No, Persephone," continued the doctor. "I was thinking about a friend of mine and how I want to introduce him to... damn it!"

Thorne grunted as his pencil broke. The alligator demoness quick to give a replacement.

Persephone with one hand smoothed out a wrinkle in her black dress. Twirling her hair round the fingers of the other, lost in contemplation. An angry Thorne meant no more asking for days off and no more pay rises. She had to do something.

"I've just realised something sir," she beamed.

"What's that?" Thorne snorted, not looking up from his clipboard.

"Birthday parties are really Satanic aren't they?"

Thorne's eyes narrowed. Angel would say his babe was doing that 'Beautiful Mind' thing he did. Charlie would say that the cogs were turning. Thorne would say, confused.

Peering over the top of the board, eyebrow cocked, mouth ajar. Thorne locked eyes with his receptionist.

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"It's obvious," she insisted. "A ceremony where you set something on fire, chant a song, wait for the fire to go out before stabbing it with a knife?"

A gentle smile softened Thorne's tired, drawn face.

"Thank you, Persephone. Knowledge is power, and all that."

"And France is full of pigs."

"Pardon?"

"France is bacon?" Persephone shrugged.

"Oh, Francis Bacon" Thorne chuckled, "I needed that."

"You're welcome, sir," She replied. "I'm so happy you and Val are friends now."

"Who said we were?" Thorne growled in reply. His brow crinkling with concern.

"Well, Vel..."

"Sir!" Corvus cried, rounding the corner in a sprint. "We've got a problem."

Thorne's shoulders slumped. "What is it now?"

Corvus rushed pass, his claws clicking on the floor, "There's someone on the roof!"

The roof was off limits, that was the rule. Yet, in practice the staff used it as an unofficial smoking area. It was one of the only parts of the hospital without skulls protruding from the walls. The other was Thorne's office, but you couldn't get in there without invitation. Thorne sometimes broke his own rule and would go up for the view. It was spectacular.

Far removed from the street bound screams, gun shots, and viscera. It was beautiful, lights from across the river, were fireflies in the water. Thorne loved it, because if you caught the faint smell of fish from the docks, you could pretend you were by the ocean. He often came up here to think, never did it occur to him that he would soon be talking someone down.

The iron door creaked and slammed against the granite wall. Thorne, Corvus, a few orderlies emerged from the black maw, followed by Alastor and Rosie. The pair not there to help but rather assuage their boredom.

"It isn't Montgomery, is it?" Thorne inquired, shooting a concerned look at his assistant.

"No sir," the crow replied. "Dr Djall signed him out a few days ago, Mr Python said he was going to get money."

"Money? He knows I didn't charge him," Thorne's face darkened. "And as for Djall, bring her to my office. I need to remind her that she does not sign any psychiatric patient out of MY hospital without approval."

"Will do sir, I did tell Mr Python that he didn't owe you anything but he kept insisting. No boyo," Corvus stated, putting on an Irish accent. "I gotta go find me penny."

"Ah," Thorne realised, "Track him down, and bring him back all the same. Still need to have a word with him."

Corvus nodded at the request.

"Still can't see anyone," Thorne huffed.

"They're here sir," Lawrence called from round the corner.

Rounding the corner, Thorne and his trainee were soon eye to chest with a lumbering bear demon.

Towering over the assembled demons before him, the bear scratched his head. What the fuck was going on? He remembered crossing the street, and then there was the car. But then nothing. Where was he and who were all these... creatures? He shivered in the strong breeze. His black fur standing all over his naked body. Shallow breaths fogging the air.

"A new arrival, I trust you can handle this Lawrence," Thorne stated, his ire rising.

"Where am I?" The bear insisted, looking around frantically. His deep voice booming through the crowd. Thorne thought of Henroin.

Thorne sighed and pointed up to the pentagram with his trembling hand.

The bear looked up and still confused, scratched his chin.

"Umm."

"You're in Hell," Thorne growled, "Can you handle this?" He repeated to Lawrence, the young imp picking at his nails as he bit his bottom lip.

"I think so sir."

"Excellent, I'm off party..."

"What about m'dog?" The bear interrupting as Thorne went to leave.

"Pardon?" Came the doctor's reply.

"Barkamedies." The bear nodded, "He can't be left on his own. What 'bout him? Who's gunna feed him? What'm I gunna do now? Can I leave? Where's my... are you listening?"

Thorne blinked before locking eyes with the new arrival.

"Nope," he smiled, "I stopped listening when you said your dog's name was Barkamedies. Have fun Lawrence. Oh, and Corvus. Never attempt an Irish accent again."

Thorne took off before another word could be said. Alastor and Rosie in pursuit. Eager to get their revelries started.

Lawrence, Corvus, and the two orderlies stood. Apprehensive. Tonight, was gonna be a long one.

"Is it supposed to be so dead in here?" Thorne inquired, looking around at the trembling patrons.

The three of them had entered the jazz hall a while ago, the large dimly lit room hazed in a fog of cigarette smoke.

"Perhaps we make them nervous," Rosie purred, lit cigarette in holder balanced between her index and middle finger.

It was true. The hall had died down as soon as they arrived. Several patrons paying their tabs and leaving early. Some performers, too nervous to go on stage.

"Maybe disguises are in order," Alastor suggested, reaching into his breast pocket, pulling out a moustache.

Thorne chuckled, been too long since he had a good reason to laugh. Abigail could always make him smile, he thought. Especially when she drew… wait. That moustache looked really well put together. Very life like. Thorne saw the lip it was still attached to and realised.

"Alastor," Thorne chirped.

"Yes, Thorne."

"Where did you get that moustache?"

"I found it," the radio demon replied innocently.

"Where?"

"On a face."

Thorne frowned, Charlie would want him to try and put an end to this sort of behaviour. But trying to reason with Alastor. You might as well try to stop the ocean tides. Screw this, he wanted to unwind. And if that meant dealing with the deer's murderous eccentricities then so be it.

"You're right my dear," Rosie sighed, putting her cigarette out on the table cloth. "The atmosphere isn't as lively as I'd like."

Rosie stood to leave.

"Bloodshed," Alastor cried out. "That always livens a place up."

"But think about Charlotte," Thorne said. "You upset her, you won't be able to stay at the hotel and see the scum of the world try to climb up the hill of betterment."

Alastor's eyes narrowed.

"Do you have a suggestion Thorne?"

"A contest," Thorne grinned, "Who can scare the most demons, without the use of violence."

They each had a street. And 5 mins to scare as many people as possible. Rosie had gone first and chose to fire her revolver into a crowd. Thorne would have insisted that was cheating, but since no one got hurt he let it slide.

Next was Alastor, turned into his full demon form and bellowed, scattering most of his street's occupants in all directions. A few had also defecated, which he insisted counted for more.

"So, I have to beat self-defecation?" Thorne asked. Getting a sniggering from the remaining pair.

The doctor rolled his eyes and entered his street alone. The residents there were muttering amongst themselves, they had heard Alastor's cry and were concerned.

Thorne approached the nearest demon, a stocky shark in a dark blue suit.

He towered over Thorne, but then he towered over everyone. His mismatched red eyes darted, searching for prey.

"Did y'hear that shit?" the shark grumbled nervously.

"I did," Thorne nodded, "not sure what it was though."

"Righ', well what you… wait," the shark thundered, his voice shaking Thorne's chest. "You're that doc."

"Am I?"

The shark surged forward, his gargantuan hands closing round Thorne's middle. Lifting him into the air.

"You stopped m'boys from ending that scumbag who stole from us," he snarled, squeezing Thorne's middle.

"Those… are the… rules… of my hospital," Thorne wheezed, his chest compressing, the air leaving his body. "Why not just bite my head off?"

"Don't want pussy in my mouth," the mob boss sneered back.

"Sounds pretty homo to me," Thorne rasped, the corners of his vision going dark.

The shark brought his face closer, his rancid breath, invading the doctor's sensitive nose.

"Say that again."

"I said," Thorne continued, widening his eyes, their glow mesmerising the shark. "Put me down and go get your friends, I want to show them something."

"Put you down," the shark slurred, lowering Thorne to the floor and turning around, "go get my friends, y'need to show them somethin'."

Thorne smirked as the mob boss went back inside. He darted from demon to demon on the street, hypnotising each of them to get as many people as they could and bring them to the middle of the road.

He soon had a mass of demons before him, standing on a chair, eyes aglow, Thorne gave his instruction.

"You are terrified, run away."

The ensuing chaos, beckoned the seamstress and the radio demon to emerge from their hiding place. They had watched with some interest, and had both loved the mob boss trying to kill Thorne. They made their way over to him, revelling in the panic.

"Nicely done," Rosie commended, giving a small curtsy.

"Bravo indeed, mon petit chat," Alastor continued. "If only we were so talented."

"My kitty senses are picking up condescension," Thorne grumbled.

"Only a little," Rosie smiled.

"Well, that's better than a lot." Thorne shrugged, dismounting his chair, he felt his pocket shudder. His phone.

Thorne scowled, if that was Corvus, he'd swear to Satan he'd…

The text wasn't from Corvus, it was from Sir Pentious.

"In crisis, please help."

It wasn't hard to abandon Rosie and Alastor. They were more than happy to continue partying via mayhem and destruction. It was weird that Pentious had contacted him at all, the British gentleman was usually so reserved.

Thorne approached Arackniss' apartment. He'd met the snake there on numerous occasions, usually for tea tasting or the odd game of chess.

He rang the door bell and waited patiently, the ball of tension in his stomach tightening with every second.

It seemed an age before the door opened. Pentious was wearing an apron and sporting two oven-gloves.

"Doctor Thorne?" The English snake queried. Confused as to why the doctor had turned up.

"Yes, Sir Pentious," the doctor replied, "you said you needed my help."

The snake beamed in realisation. "Ah, yes, yes, please come in."

Thorne entered the spacious apartment, shutting the door behind him. Pentious was clearly alright, perhaps the problem was with Arackniss.

"So, how can I…" Thorne began, before a tray of misshapen yellow blobs was presented to him, by a very distraught serpent.

"My muffins aren't rising."

"Pentious, when I said that you could call me, I meant in an emergency."

"But this is an emergency," Pentious insisted, "I'm entering the Infernal Bake-Off and; my Spinach puffs are gooey, my bread is burnt, and now my muffins aren't rising."

Thorne sighed, actually this was exactly what he needed. Sure, causing a little chaos was fine once-in-a-while. But this was a problem he could solve with ease. All baking was, was chemistry. And he'd aced that while alive. He took his suit jacket off.

"You're right Pentious," Thorne nodded, rolling up his sleeves. "This is an emergency, now step back, the doctor is in."

"So, where's Arackniss?" Thorne asked, the food had been baked, masterfully if Thorne did say so himself. Now the pair of them sat sipping white Darjeeling, as the dishwasher rumbled in the background.

"In his room," Pentious tapped the side of his teacup with a claw, "he's been in there all day."

Thorne lowered a trembling cup into his saucer. "Is he unwell?"

"I'm not sure," the snake continued. Lowering his own cup and picking at his nails. "He's been twitchy and restless all day."

Thorne rose from his chair. "Want me to see him?"

A nod was all the confirmation he got, and all the confirmation he needed.

Thorne approached the bedroom door and knocked. "Arackniss, are you alright? It's Doctor Thorne."

"Vaffanculo, stronzo," Arackniss snarled from the other side, "non me lo porterai via."

"Nissy!" Pentious cried out, trying the door handle, finding it locked.

"Penn," came the weak reply, "make them stop, I don't want to do it."

Pentious became more frantic, "Open the door, Sal!"

Thorne went on one knee. Lengthening his claw, like he'd done for Husk's room, he inserted it into the lock. Of course, Arackniss being the paranoid MacGyver that he was, had installed very sophisticated locks on all rooms. It would take longer.

"What's he going to do?" Pentious sobbed.

"No idea, keep him talking." Thorne insisted, in a few minutes he'd have this.

"Sal," the snake babbled, the tears freely flowing down his face. "Talk to me love."

"Got it," Thorne declared, turning the lock with a click.

The pair burst into the room, and was met by a trembling Arackniss with a gun.

The spider took aim, "Perdonami."

And fired.