Chapter 6: Shadow

Moonchild sat, staring vacantly into a cup of cocoa as Niffty pat him on the back. Angel sat nearby, all six arms still at work on his embroidery. Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk stood off to the side, warily observing the innocuous demon.

"What the fuck was that about?!" Vaggie whispered. "Did he tell you anything?"

Charlie shook her head. "No. He won't talk about it. It was like… I don't know, a hallucination?"

"A flashback," said Husk, soberly.

"What?"

Husk shrugged and shook his head. "I dunno. It just looked a lot like what some guys in my platoon came down with after 'Nam. They'd be goin' along, perfectly fine then BAM! Something sets 'em off and suddenly they think they're back in the jungle, shootin' at Charlie."

"At me?"

"Figure a'speech."

Vaggie crossed her arms. "What? You're saying the kid has PTSD?"

Husk snorted. "Wuzzat? Some kinda sex-bug?"

Across the room, Angel sneezed.

"No, no, it's a trauma-induced mental disorder…" Charlie pondered this for a moment, rubbing her chin. "That's something I hadn't considered, actually."

"What?"

Charlie looked over at Moonchild, who was examining Angel's embroidery, a furious blush forming in his cheeks at the doubtlessly lurid image. "What if he has some kind of mental illness? He's clearly suppressing a lot of unhealthy emotions, and his memory of his past seems to be patchy at best."

Husk raised an eyebrow. "What, you sayin' the kid's nuts or somethin'?"

"No, no! I'm saying that he might have suffered a traumatic event early in life and has dissociative episodes where he represses memories. Maybe something he did in some these episodes is what got him sent here? It would also explain why he's so passive, he's trying to wall himself off from further trauma." Charlie sighed and set a hand over her heart. "Poor guy. I can only imagine how confusing this must be for him."

"Well, that's the theory, anyway," said Vaggie. "He could just be lying or playing it up."

"Helluva an act," Husk said, pointing to Charlie. "What's the plan, Princess?"

"I understand your skepticism, Vaggie, but I have to rule out every possibility. As for what's next…" Charlie looked over at Alastor, who was watching Moonchild with peculiar interest. "You're not gonna like it."

Octavia walked into her father's office, two tall cups in her hands. "Hey, Moonie. Is my dad in?"

"Just missed him, Octavia," said Moonchild, that practiced little smile on his face. "He had me clear his schedule and left in a hurry. Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool," she said, sitting on his now empty desk, handing him a cup. "I figured he'd be out."

"He's very busy nowadays."

"You don't know the half of it," Octavia grumbled, a smiling spreading across her face. "Hey. You said he had you clear his schedule? That means you're free, right?"

Moonchild nodded. "Yes, I'll just be reorganizing the files for the rest of the day."

"Right, okay…" Octavia tapped her talons on the desk. "Nah. You're hanging out with me, now."

"Oh? Well, I can't really take the day off without requesting it ahead of time," said Moonchild, sheepishly. "Sorry."

Octavia smirked and cleared her throat. "Moonchild. As a member of the Goetia family, daughter of Prince Stolas and Princess Stella, and heir to their estate and responsibilities,

I hereby order you to come hang out with me… or something."

Moonchild gave an overdramatic sigh and rose to his feet. "If your Highness insists…?"

"Oh, I insist," Octavia said, gesturing to herself in a grandiose manner. "Your Princess commands it!"

Moonchild bowed floridly. "It would be this humble servant's honor to 'hang out'."

A pause passed between them, their stern, stoic miens cracking as restrained laughter snuck out. Octavia broke first, giggling as she pat Moonchild on the shoulder. "You're too good at that, Moonie."

He chuckled and stood up straight. "Lots of practice."

Moonchild stood before the entered Octavia's room, coffee in hand. It was large and had all the potential to be lavishly decorated, but everywhere one might expect tapestries and swathes of silk, there was bare corners and walls. The furniture, while high quality, was restrained and austere. In fact, the only thing in the room he could classify as properly royal was her bookcase; it was a grand, affair, several meters high and spanning the entire wall, replete with all manner of book, tome, volume, and grimoire.

Moonchild was gawping up at the book case when a hand tapped his shoulder, he turned around to see the gaping, snarling face of a taxidermied chupacabra. He gasped and started away.

Octavia giggled, holding up the stuffed creature. "You like it?"

"It's ghastly!" Moonchild sputtered, clasping his heart.

"Thanks!" She admired the horrid thing and smiled "I ordered it from the spring catalogue of Stylish Occult, it's supposed to be authentic."

"Chupacabras exist?"

"Pssh!" The demonic owl princess scoffed, levitating the statue away with her magic. "Of course not, don't be silly!"

They sat down on her bed and she summoned a large orbuculum. "What would you like to watch?"

"Oh, I don't know," Moonchild said, sipping his coffee. "I don't really watch much of anything. Anything you'd like to catch?"

"Hmmm…" Octavia tapped her beak in thought before she snapped her fingers. "Oh! I know! One of my favorite book series as a chick just got an adaptation. Let's watch that!"

"Okay!"

The adaptation left a lot to be desired, apparently.

"Oh… Bellphoebe…" said Bacchus.

"Oh… Bacchus…" said Bellephoebe.

"I want you…" droned Bacchus. "…To… blow me."

"Oh…" Bellphoebe said, blinking as rapidly as possible. "…Bacc-GLRK! UHK-Ughk... Mmm..."

"Oh… Bellephoebe…"

Octavia lay on her bed, head hanging over the side of her bed, on her belly a bowl of popcorn. "The books were better."

Moonchild glanced at her, a wry smile on his face. "Really?"

"No."

Moonchild turned back to the orbuculum, his expression dreamy. "I rather like it, but then I've always had a weakness for romance."

Octavia giggled and rolled onto her stomach. "Brave of you to admit that. Y'know, you'd get along great with my uncle. He loves rom-coms and those awful Harlequin romance novels!"

"Uncle Sally?" Moonchild said, baffled that such a universally dreaded being had such interests.

"Oof!" Octavia reached out and slapped his knee. "Don't ever call him that to his face, or he'll probably rip yours off!"

"I wasn't planning on it!" Moonchild chuckled, before sighing. "Your family, uh, scares me."

"Good." Octavia swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Ach, well… Uncle Sally's a sweetheart, and Uncle Vual is a great big softy, but they have to put up a face, you know, decorum and whatever."

"What was he–" Moonchild began to ask, before shutting himself up. "Never mind."

"Oh?" Octavia smirked, playfully; it held a hint of that predatory smile that was her family's calling-card, of a predator with cornered prey. "Bit nosy of you, Moonie."

"I-I'm sorry, Highness!" Moonchild shot to his feet and bowed. "That was improper of me!"

"Shush, Moonie. I was just playing." Octavia said, patting the bed next to her. "C'mere. At least I can talk to you about this."

Moonchild sat next to her and she told him of her pleasant lunch with Uncle Sally, one of the most feared demons in Hell. He sensed she was leaving out certain details, but was interested nonetheless.

"…and now we're all in danger! All because my dad had to go play boyfriends with some gun-toting dickhead! All Hell could literally break loose and I don't have anyone to talk to about it! Mum won't hear it, and any of the other royals will probably chop off my head and leave it in my dad's bed!"

"You can always talk to me, Octavia," said Moonchild, a sympathetic smile on his face. "I won't tell anyone. And I'd never even think about decapitating you!"

"I know, Moonie." Octavia giggled and cupped his pale, creamy cheek. "You know… I'm lucky to have you as a friend."

Moonchild's face lit up in a smile, his webbed ears perking up in a way they didn't when he faked a smile. "I'm your friend?"

Octavia felt her heart skip a beat; usually her tastes veered towards the macabre, the unconventional, but not even a connoisseur of counter-culture such herself could deny that this creature was utterly adorable. She blushed and giggled, grabbing his face in both her hands, squishing his cheeks. "Shut up! Of course you are!"

Moonchild smiled like a kid on Christmas and Octavia leaned back, still laughing. She looked down and noticed something strange, a whitish residue staining her palm. She took a moment to sample the substance between her finger.

"Uh, Moonie?"

"Yes, Octavia?"

"Does dad make you, uh, pretty yourself up for work, now?"

Moonchild cocked his head in confusion. "No? Why?"

She held up her hand, revealing the cream-white smudge. "Then, why are you wearing foundation?"

"Oh!" Moonchild turned away, blushing. "Um, well, a f-friend put it on me, you see, and he–"

"A friend?" Octavia said, interested. "You have friends?"

"Well, don't sound that surprised…" Moonchild grumbled.

"Well? Spill it! Is he a special friend?"

He wrung his hands, glancing away, nervously. "No, he's, uh, not really a 'friend'…"

Octavia eyed him up for a moment. "Moonie, what are you hiding?"

"N-nothing! Nothing!" Moonchild exclaimed, shaking his head. "Not me! Not hiding anything! No ma'am!"

"Never play poker, Moonie," Octavia said rolling her eyes. "C'mon! I told you all that just now, didn't I?"

Moonchild drummed his fingers on his thighs, his face scrunched up in consternation.

Octavia sighed pat him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Moonie. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"No, no, I…" Moonchild took a deep breath and appeared to summon every last ounce of gumption in his slender body. "I'm staying at the Happy Hotel!"

Octavia blinked in surprise. "What?"

"The Happy Hotel," he repeated. "It's this place where sinners go to get reformed. See, hotels are these places that people check into and, uh, leave… so, uh, it's like a–"

"I know what it is. But, like, what are you doing there?"

"…Trying to redeem myself?" Moonchild said, shrugging.

"Like, to get out of Hell?"

"Well, yeah?"

"You want to leave?" She said, her voice quiet.

Moonchild's face… changed for a moment. His eyes flashed green as something alarmingly close to a snarl crept across his features.

He balled up his fists and shot to his feet. "Yes, dammit!"

Octavia flinched away at his outburst. "Moonie…"

"This, all this!" He gestured at her room. "Look at where you live! This isn't Hell! Out there, in the city! That's not Hell, either! But in here…" He tapped his chest. "Here! This. Is. Hell! I don't belong here, Via! I'm not right for this place! I go to bed every night scared, not to die, but to wake up! To wake up and hide from cannibals in the garbage! To wake up worrying I won't be a pretty enough pet for your father! Afraid that your mother will rape me again!"

"She what?!"

"I'm tired, Via…" Moonchild sighed and deflated, seeming to lose all his will and anger with it, leaving only total exhaustion as tears rolled down his cheeks unrestrained. "I'm tired of being scared, and weak, and-and-and–"

Her hand flashed out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him down and into a tight hug. She gently stroked the back of his head as he sobbed into her shoulder. "Moonie… I'm sorry."

"I'm tired of being me," he sniffled.

"Shh shh shh…" Octavia ran her hand down the back of his neck. "It's okay. I'm sorry, for everything. You want to leave, I support you. You're my friend, Moonie, and I want you to be happy."

"I know. Thank you, Via." He said, pushing away from her, his pink eyes wide and bloodshot. "Uhm… Can I ask you not to tell your father about this…?"

"Oh, God!" Octavia laughed, rolling her eyes. "If he found out Lucifer's kid was trying to steal his favorite secretary. Hah! He'd burn that hotel to the ground."

"Ha ha, yeah…" Moonchild laughed, uncertainly. "Would he?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, reaching up and stroking his cheek. "Don't worry. I won't say a word."

She pulled him into another hug and he whispered in her ear. "Thanks, Via."

He lay back down on the bed and sighed, smiling again. "Phew! Feels good to let that out! I've been so worried someone might find out, I just… Feels good, anyway."

"So, how long has all this been going on, Moonie?" She said, laying beside him with the bowl of popcorn.

He rolled on his side to face her. "About a week. Feels longer, though."

"And when'd you get it into your pretty head to go and redeem yourself?" Octavia popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chewed. "Actually, what made you think it'd even work?"

I didn't, not really," said Moonchild, embarrassed. "Uh… see, the Princess kinda, maybe, hit me with her limo and took me home. By accident! But, well, there it is."

Octavia laughed and offered him the bowl. "Getting picked up and taken home by royalty happens to you a lot, huh?"

Moonchild reached out and took a handful. "Seems to be the trend, yes."

"Is it working?" She said, genuinely curious. "Do you feel more redeemed now than last week?"

"It's, uh, it sure is doing something!"

He smiled and laughed in that insincere way that told her something was eating at him.

"Well, if you think it's helping…" she said, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Okay, Via. Thank you."

The train-ride home was more of the same. Fights, murder, drugs, unidentifiable puddles of sticky liquid, but Moonchild felt different.

He felt real.

He was real.

He had a friend.

Now all he needed was a hobby! Look out, Charlie, Moonie's on the market!

Just… not embroidery.

His smile vanished as the shrill, bleating cry of a cellphone split the polluted air of the train. It was almost painful in its sharpness, harsh and grating and urgent. He felt his heart begin to pound a steady beat in his ears, his breathing became shallow and rapid. Moonchild's head whipped around, eyes scanning and ears swiveling in a desperate attempt to locate the sound.

He turned his head and stared at a demon sitting next to him, his pocket illuminated by the screen of his screeching phone. The demon, a muscular, tattooed monstrosity of horns and scales, sat with his arms folded across his barrel chest, his expression sour and irritable.

He took notice of Moonchild out the side of his eye. "Yeah? What?"

"Are you going to answer your phone?" Moonchild said, his voice low.

"Nah," the big demon snorted, smiling toothily. "It's probably my cunt-wife lookin' to nag my ear off!"
The little fish-demon's expression hardened, his face shifted, changed, something in his jade-green eyes made the bigger demon's heart skip. "What if it's your boss?"

The big demon didn't like the vibe he was getting and moved to cave the little shit's face in when the content of his question landed. He fumbled for his screeching phone and answered.

"Hello? Who–Hey boss! I–Yes. Yes, sorry, I was–No, no excuses. No. No. No, I don't want you to do that. Sorry, boss. Won't happen again, boss. Right. Yep. Right up my ass, yep. That–No, that's right, I deserve it. Thank you, boss, you're very merciful. Can I help you in some way, boss? …Count Chocula cereal? Boss, that's a seasonal cereal, its May, I–Yes, sir. Yep. Right up my ass, I know. I'll do my best. Will, uh, Cocoa Puffs do if I can't? Yeah… right, I could get some Lucky Charms, pick the marshmallows outta that and–Yeah. That'd do in a pinch? Okay, I'll try and get you them Count Choculas, though. Okay, yep, yep. Right up my ass, I understand. Thank you, sir. Goodbye. …I love you, too."

The demon hung up and exhaled, much paler now; he looked over at the little fish. "Uh, thanks."

Moonchild glanced at him, not a whit of that weird, scary energy from before. "Excuse me?"

Moonchild stepped out of the cab and approached the hotel, feeling lighter, freer, ready to face whatever absurd, twee thing Lucifer's Daughter had in store for him.

At that moment he felt as though nothing bring him down.

He opened the door and a wall of shadows spilled out, enveloping him in total blackness. He stumbled backwards and looked around for any frame of reference, finding none. Something shifted in the blackness over his head. He looked up as the void split to reveal a crooked, yellowed lunette of sharp teeth. Above it, two red, glowing radio dials flickered to life and glowered down at him.

"H̴̶̶̵̷̵̶̴̡̡̙̺̫̞̱̥̘̖̗̜̠̜̗̲͆͢͝ͅe̴̷̵̶̷̷̶̷̢̨̢͍͙̩̯̰͓̘̱̲̺̟̪̟͙̫͆͢l̶̶̶̶̶̴̶̴̨̢̨̹̙̯͈̘̝̙̫̪̠̙̰̠̜͢͜͜l̷̴̶̶̵̴̵̵̡͚̞̞̗͕̮̯̰̻͇͙̹͓̬̞̣͛͢͝o̴̴̵̶̷̵̷̵̧̰̦̙̩̻̗̖͚͈̙̙͚̪̩̣̬̙͛͞,̶̴̵̴̶̶̴̴̧̠̜͓͈̭̜̣̜̗̪̖̜̗̭̺̻̱͜͞ l̵̶̴̴̵̴̶̵̢̨̜̟͙̭̜̭̭̘͚̦̘̫̺͔͛͛͜ͅi̵̷̴̴̶̵̴̴̧̜̮͚̫̜͕̞̗̙̰̲͔̣̲͍̬̭͆͞t̵̷̶̵̵̵̴̶̨͙̪̣̹̞̺͚͔̞̱̱̘̪̰͔̭͛͆͝t̷̶̶̶̶̷̶̴̢̡̨̢̖͇̞̟̫͙͈̟̠̙̘̪̭͇̯̫l̶̶̴̴̷̶̶̴̡͍̭͎̻͙̝̥̟͔̺͕̗̟͙͙̠͆͛͛e̷̵̴̵̷̷̷̴̡̬̤̥͓̺̱̱̟̯̤͇̠̲̗̥̬͆͛͝ s̴̶̶̶̴̶̴̴̢̗̺̪͈̟̠̩̙͇̪̯̙̮̱͆͢͢͞͞ę̷̶̵̶̷̵̷̴̨̧̞͕̹̻̖̜̠͎̙̙͍̮̭͈̮̻̝c̴̷̷̴̶̶̷̵̡̧̢̡̢͕͚͔̮͔̩̹̻̰͓̬̲̫͔ͅr̷̶̶̷̵̵̶̵̨̨̨̠̜̦̖͔̜̖̥̰͎̺̺̰̟̯̥͆e̶̴̵̶̴̶̷̵̡̧̠̤̭̬̰͚̩̗̗̰̟̗̱̩̠͛͛͞t̴̷̷̴̷̷̵̷̡̢̨̲̙̻̭͚͕͇̤͚̪͚̘͔̝͜͞ͅa̶̷̵̵̵̶̵̴̢̧̡̬̖͚͇̤̹͈̫̻͎̺̹̗͈̹͛ͅr̷̴̵̶̴̴̵̴̢̨̢̡͎̟̫̩͙̰͇͚̭̭̙̲̭͎̠͞y̵̶̶̴̵̷̷̵̨͈̠̰̹̺̺̞̙͕͍̠͇̺̭̖̠͓͜ͅ" Alastor crooned.

"You were right." Vaggie leaned against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. "I don't like this plan."

"He was supposed to wait until I could get his consent!" Charlie shouted at the door as lights flashed and eldritch voices murmured from within the room. "You asshole!"

"Him? An asshole?" Husk said, clapping his hands to his face in faux-shock. "Say it ain't so, Chuck!"

"Well, I don't really have much of a choice here," said Charlie, pacing in the hall nervously. "Besides, he… probably won't try anything."

"Charlie," said Vaggie, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Are you sure about this? Maybe we can, I dunno, try more hobbies or something? Anything!"

"We can't help him until we know more. Moonchild wants to get better, but I don't think he knows what we need, not consciously."

"So, yer gonna let Alastor of all demons root around in his head?!" Husk said incredulously. "I'm with Vaggie here, Chuck, this has 'last resort' written all over it. We should at least try something else first!"

"Moonchild will be perfectly safe," said Charlie turning away from them. "I made a deal with Alastor, he can't harm any of our patients. The Pact will hold him to that."

"Ya don't know him like I do, Chuck. These deals of his have a tendency to backfire on the people who make 'em. Alastor gets a kick out of people wrapping a noose around their own neck!"

When Charlie didn't answer, Vaggie's expression hardened, she approached her. "Is this even about helping him?"

Charlie flinched and turned around. "What do you mean?"

"You heard me. Sure, this could help you understand what his deal is, but is it worth the risk? Seems to me like you just to know something. Seems like you're just impatient. Seems to me like you've got something else on your mind and you're taking dangerous shortcuts to get there!"

Charlie said nothing, her expression set and stern. Husk's eyes darted back and forth between them, the air crackled with intensity. The arcane chanting within the room ceased and the door creaked open. Saying nothing, Charlie turned away from them and set off towards the door.

"Charlie, wait." Vaggie followed after Charlie, when she didn't answer, Vaggie reached out and grabbed her arm. "Charlie!"

Charlie stood in the doorway, not turning back to look at her. "I need to know. If he's connected to the Duke's investigation, if we're in danger. I need to know."

The door swung shut before Vaggie could respond.

She stood in the hallway, silent.

Charlie locked the door and turned around to see a grinning Alastor standing next to an entranced Moonchild, a look of mocking concern on his face. "Trouble with the worker drones?"

"They're just concerned," she said, walking up to Moonchild, examining his placid face. "They don't trust you."

"Do you?"

"No, but I know you can help. And I don't think you would have told us about Duke Sallos if it wasn't a threat to you, so helping me is helping you. Self-interest can be just as good as altruism if only the results matter."

Alastor's eyes flashed, his smile now much less mocking. "Why, Miss Magne, that sounded downright Luciferian."

"This… thing you did to him–"

"I used my powers to induce an altered state in his soul. It's similar to hypnotism on earth, but without all that meat getting in the way." Alastor clenched his fist, causing a pinkish glow to emanate from Moonchild. "I call it vegan hypnosis! Ha ha ha!"

"You would…" Charlie waved her hand in font of Moonchild's placid face. "Can he hear us?"

"Yes, I can hear you," said Moonchild, his voice flat and calm, free of the friendliness or warmth, the low-key nervousness; Charlie was struck my just how much weight the fish-demon carried in his voice all the time.

"How do you feel, Moonchild?"

"I feel…" he paused, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Calm. Alastor made it so I can't feel any other way. It's wonderful. I wish I could always feel like this."

"Good, Moonchild." Charlie sat down next to him and gave his hand a squeeze. "I want to help you. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you," said Moonchild, smiling. "And I believe you can, too."

"Thank you, Moonie."

"But that's not why we're doing this, is it?" Moonchild said, a twinge of something like resignation in his voice. "Not just that, anyway."

Charlie frowned and averted her gaze. "No… Moonchild, you're Prince Stolas' secretary, he trusts you. Does he tell you anything? Do you know anything about what's happening right now?"

"He doesn't tell me anything. But yes." Moonchild nodded. "I try to ignore all the things I see and hear in his office. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things. But I never forget. The Prince is in some very bad trouble. My Lord was involved with a heist. Something was stolen from earth, something dangerous, using his grimoire. According to Octavia, the Prince's daughter, the petition for an official investigation was rejected, and the Prince and his family are likely to face some manner of unofficial reprisal from the others. They are all in terrible danger."

"Are you in any danger, Moonchild?" Charlie said, leaning in. "Do you need protection?"

Moonchild shook his head before shrugging. "The Prince values me, but his lovers and family members are more tempting targets." Moonchild turned to Charlie, an uncharacteristically sardonic smile on his face. "Don't worry. The Hotel is… probably safe."

"That wasn't…" Charlie began to say before shaking her head. "Alright. That's very good. Thank you, Moonchild."

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Alastor broke in. "You've got the ear of the little owlet? Any embarrassing family secrets?"

"Alastor!"

"She calls Duke Sallos 'Uncle Sally', and he enjoys Rom-Coms and romance novels."

"Oh, that's fantastic."

"Right, okay," Charlie said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, for the other reason we're here. Moonchild, do you know what happened yesterday? With the embroidery? Something frightened you very badly. Can you tell me what happened?"

Moonchild shook his head. "I don't know what happened. It was like I was dreaming. One second I was embroidering, the next I was sewing…"

"What was the dream of, Moonchild?" Charlie said, leaning in. "You were sewing?"

"It was… my first memory," said Moonchild, his brow furrowing. "Yes. The first thing I ever remember doing."

"Your earliest memory?" Charlie said, looking at Alastor, smiling. "What is it?"

Moonchild turned to her, his voice calm and even. "I was sewing my mother's mouth shut with a fishing hook. I then buried her alive under the foundation of that house."

Charlie's eyes went wide, she drew back from the placid-faced demon, behind her Alastor cocked an eyebrow and leaned in, fascinated.

"Th-that's your first memory?" Charlie said, aghast.

He nodded. "I don't like that memory very much. It frightens me. So I put it in the dark place and don't think about it, like everything else. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things."

'The dark place. He's been suppressing that all this time… what else has he done?'

"Why did you do that, Moonchild?"

"It was my punishment, you see, for stopping him. He would have killed her, he wanted to kill her, but I stopped him. So he forced me to do it. It broke me, I couldn't resist him anymore. After that, he was in control."

"That was a lot to take in…" Charlie leaned back, focusing her thoughts. "Who… who is 'he'?"

"The Boss. The Boss of Passione." Moonchild reached up and tapped his head. "We shared a body in life. He'd let me out when he needed to travel, but I was asleep most of the time. I never let myself realize this. I let him take over because resisting him would mean knowing what I'd done. I'm very good at ignoring uncomfortable things."

"A split personality…" she whispered, amazed. "Were you always like this? Two minds in one body?"

Moonchild shook his head. "No. We were already a young man when we became us. We were one person before, I presume."

Charlie smiled, now they were getting somewhere! "Can you remember anything from those years, Moonie? Any memories of your childhood?"

Moonchild shook his head again, sighing deeply. "No. He has all those memories. He's obsessed with them."

"Miss Magne…" Alastor said, leaning over her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to proceed?"

Charlie blinked in surprise, for a moment she could have sworn she heard of a twinge of concern in Alastor's voice, of trepidation, of… fear?

"Excuse me?"

"This one's… odd," said Alastor, once again summoning that pinkish aura. "I'd know if someone else was in there."

"You think he's lying?"

"Impossible." Alastor turned to her. "That's why it's odd."

"I have to know," Charlie muttered, looking up at Alastor. "This 'Boss', we draw him up, he'd be in the same state as Moonchild? Sedated?"

Alastor paused, examining his talons. "In theory…"

"And you'd be able to pull Moonie out of it like normal?" She pressed. "In theory?"

"Count to three and–" Alastor snapped his fingers. "That's the trigger."

Charlie inhale slowly and exhaled, centering herself. She turned back to Moonchild, her voice gentle. "Moonie? Is Boss in there with you?"

"No, he's someplace else," Moonchild said. "Where he was, there's this void, a shadow."

"The dark place."

Moonchild nodded. "He's not in there, though. But if I go there, I can pull him out of… wherever he is. I've almost done a few times by myself, actually. Whenever I try to be strong, or get angry, he's always near, but far away, also."

Charlie inched closer. "Can you do that, Moonie? Can you get him to come out? I want to speak with him."

"No." Moonchild turned to look at her, his expression flat and foreboding. "No, you really don't."

Charlie reached out and took his hand. "Please, Moonie? I can't help you unless I know what happened to you, and if Boss knows, I'd like to talk to him about it. That way, I can help both of you, okay?"

"He doesn't want your help," Moonchild said, even sedated she could tell just how terrified he was of this 'Boss'. "He wants to get out. And if I let him out, he'll kill you both. I don't want him to kill you, Charlie."

"Well, thanks a bunch, kid," Alastor muttered.

"Don't worry, Moonie, he can't hurt you," Charlie said, patting his hand comfortingly. "If I can learn what he knows, maybe I can help the two of you. Help me help you both. Please?"

Moonchild sighed and nodded. "Okay… okay, I'll try…"

Moonchild went quiet, closing his eyes. His brow furrowed, hands clenching into fists. His aura changed, deepened, becoming a hard, cruel red lined with silver-white. The aura thrashed and undulated like waveform before succumbing to Alastor's sedation.

Moonchild inhaled deeply, his chest and shoulders expanded with the sound of creaking bones, his muscles expanding grotesquely as this new presence slipped into him. The little fish demon expanded upwards and outwards, his massive frame splitting his cloths at the seams with low popping snaps that morphed with the fleshy, sinewy sounds his growing body. His red skin went from slick and smooth to covered in glinting, armored scales. The hulking figure leaned forward limply, Moonchild's neat, coifed bangs shifting and splitting into a long mane of tentacles that spilled over his shoulders and face, obscuring them partially. He exhaled a cloud of sour, sea-stinking steam.

Boss opened his eyes, cold, hateful green shone out from his shadowed face.

Charlie flinched back at the sheer weight of his aura, the air soured and curdled as raw malice rolled off the demon before them in waves. Moonchild's pretty, placid face had become set and hard, it hadn't changed and was nonetheless completely alien for the sheer wrath now corrupting his features.

"Am I speaking to Boss?"

A voice came, nothing like the high-toned, gently-accented lilt of his counterpart; it was deep, rumbling, smooth yet somehow raspy. "Where… where am I?"

"It's okay," Charlie said, feeling a cold chill claw its way up her spine; his aura alone was like a cold breeze. "You're safe."

"Safe," Boss said, looking around the the room. "Where am I?"

"You're in the Happy Hotel, you're a patient here. How do you feel?"

Boss inhaled and exhaled again, a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth. "I feel… calm. It's been so long since I could think like a man, feel something other than panic. Ah? The Happy Hotel? And I'm in Hell? This? Hell?! Hmmheh heh ha HA HA HA HA!"

Charlie swallowed and pulled away: he was insane.

He leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Strange. I should be slaughtering you both right now. Whatever you've done to me, it's moderating that, too. Interesting."

Charlie became aware that she'd been holding her breath the entire time and exhaled loudly.

Boss locked her with a piercing, green gaze. "You. You've delivered me from the Requiem, and for that I shall offer a boon. What do you want?"

"I-I–" Charlie cleared her throat and leaned forward. "I want to ask you some questions."

His eyes narrowed. "Questions."

"That's right. Moonchild told us that you have the memories of your childhood, from when you were one person. I would like to ask you about your past."

"Moonchild? Ah. Doppio, you…" He snarled, baring his serrated shark-teeth. "I will tell you nothing, wench!"

"Oh, okay, then." Charlie leaned back in her chair and gestured to Alastor. "Send him back."

Alastor, grinning, cocked his head and raised his hand, fingers ready to snap. "But of course…"

"Wait!" Boss roared, raising his hands and starting forward before relenting. "Stop. I'll… I'll answer your questions."

"Glad to hear it," said Charlie leaning forward, producing a notepad. "Can you tell me how you became… how you are?"

"Yes…" Boss growled. "Our fate was sealed the moment he was born."

"He? The person you were?"

Boss nodded. "He was born in the summer of 1965, in a woman's-only prison on a remote island. His mother, a petty criminal, was serving a ten-year sentence for assault and robbery. Two years into her sentence, she gave birth. The father had been dead two years, and she'd given no outward sign of being with child until that very night. The next day, the boy was born with his eyes open, and nary a sound from his lips."

"Off to a good start, I see," said Alastor.

"Shh!" Charlie hissed over her shoulder, turning back to the demon. "And then what happened?"

"The child was sent to his mother's hometown in Sardinia, where he was taken in by a priest." Boss said the last word with venom. "A kindly, weak old man. As time went on, it became clear he could not care for the child and fulfill his obligations to the parish, so, when the child was five, he hired a nanny. He failed to do a background check. Turns out, she was the former-sergeant of his mother's wing at the prison, she had been blamed for the unexplained pregnancy and let go. She knew of the unnatural circumstances of his birth. Knew of his past. She hated the boy."

"Oh, no…" Charlie whispered. "What happened next?"

"She was convinced the child was evil. A devil sent from Hell. She visited every imaginable form of torment upon the boy. Starvation, beatings, abuses both psychological and sexual. She would never so much as use his name, all she would ever call him… was Diavolo."

Charlie felt the hairs on her arm stand on end as an electric chill raced through her, she knew now that this demon had a name, and it wasn't 'Boss'.

Diavolo continued. "The priest found out eventually, and the nanny was convicted of child abuse and sent to prison. I understand she committed suicide before her sentence could be dispensed. I should like to find her down here and catch up… Anyway, the damage was done. The boy's psyche was a shambles."

"Is that when you and Moonchild were created?"

"No. The boy managed to maintain a fragile sense of self, but during the torture he had taken all his anger and rage, all his fear and cruelty, and fashioned it into a sort of callus over what was left of his soul, a hard shell around the soft amorphous remains of his humanity. The boy would become known around town as a timid and friendly, if dimwitted, young man. Little did they know of the daily torment he suffered, the terror that someone might find out about his birth, find out about his past, and recommence the torture. A profound loathing for his own identity set in, fomenting in the back of his mind like a cancer, growing slowly with each passing day. He could not bear to divulge his past, not even with the woman he loved, telling her only sweet falsehoods and half-truths.

"His life ended the day she returned. One day, while the priest was out organizing a festival, the young man heard a knock at the door. When he opened it, he saw her. He'd never seen the woman before, but her eyes, her face, were unmistakable, for he'd seen them in the mirror. She was his mother. She had gotten out of prison early, her sentence reduced for good behavior and testifying against some old associates. She had returned to her life as a petty criminal and had racked up some rather serious debt, and was now reaching out to her adult son whom she'd never met before, begging for money."

"Charming woman," Alastor muttered.

"Shhh! And then?"

Diavolo smiled, it was a ghastly, hateful smile. "Something in the young man snapped, his fragile persona shattered for good. Standing before him was not his mother, but his damned, wretched past incarnate. The source of his suffering, his misbegotten existence. Had she come to him when she got out, he never would have suffered so; had she never borne him, he never would have known this miserable life. His past was once again crawling from the gutters of time to fill his life with shame and hardship. That hard, cruel part of himself he had crafted coalesced within him, separating, and I opened my eyes for the first time."

"W-what did you do?"

"I throttled her into unconsciousness, into near brain-death. I would have killed her, but the rest of his psyche, the pitifully human parts resisted, themselves becoming an identity with which you are already familiar. Once I punished him and he became less willful, I used Doppio… 'Moonchild', as a disguise, for he was similar enough to the young man as to not raise suspicion. Before long, though, the priest found his mother and I knew then what must be done. I killed all who knew even the slightest thing about my past, and burned the town to the ground. The rest he already told you, at the support meeting."

"Why did you make him do that?" Charlie said, outraged. "Do that to his own mother?"

"I love him, but he's weak," Diavolo hissed. "Everything I've ever done has been to protect us, to protect him! He lives at the behest of others, relying on them for protection!

Down here, he lives like a beaten dog, scared of his own shadow, pathetically eager to please! Only I can protect him, and if that means punishing him from time to time, so be it!"

"You… wait, the support circle?" Charlie's eyes went wide. "How… How do you know all that?"

Diavolo smiled, tapping his temple. "He's never been very good at resisting me. Even now, he bends to my will, and with him so, too, bends your spell. He wants me to take over, to finally keep him safe! You can't help him, Princess, only I can! And now that I've told you everything, I will destroy our past, once and for all!"

Charlie leapt backwards just in time to avoid a massive, clawed hand as it sliced through the air, smashing a huge crater into the solid concrete floor. "Alastor!"

"You got it!" He raised his hand and prepared to snap his fingers. "One…"

"No!" Diavolo bellowed, with the sedation removed his voice became rough and frantic, almost bestial in its desperation. "No, I won't go back!"

In the span of a blink he was on his feet and half-way across the room. Charlie had no time to brace when a massive, studded fist slammed into her ribs with a grotesque crunch. The force of the impact vaporized a section of her overcoat and undershirt, the air around his fist and arm flashing into flame from the awesome speed of the strike. Charlie's eyes went wide as her breath exploded from her mouth in a fine spray of blood. She was sent hurtling bodily through the air, smashing a hole through the wall.

"…Two…"

The towering figure streaked forward, hands outstretched, his eyes glowing toxic-green pits of feral rage. His snarling mouth a nightmare of serrated shark's teeth, spitting garbled, wordless vitriol as the last vestiges of sanity in the demon was washed away by a tide of animalistic panic. Alastor summoned his tendrils from the shadows, they reared up like vipers and prepared to–

–In a tangled clump, having converged at once on an empty space.

Alastor blinked in confusion. 'Wait–'

The Radio Demon lurched as a fist erupted from his chest, clutched in its steely talons was a mass of black, pulsating meat: his heart. Vile ichor erupted from his grinning, toothy mouth in a voluminous torrent, splattering on the floor like spilled oil. Alastor coughed and sputtered, slowly, shakily looking over his shoulder and into the eyes of the now-mindless, feral Diavolo. His grin, stained with his unctuous black blood, widened as he shot the beast a wry wink.

"...Three~"

He snapped his finger and, with one last hair-raising bellow, the demon staggered back, his mighty frame shrinking, retracting, his glowing green eyes rolled back in their sockets. A second later and Moonchild was standing there, the tatters of his clothes hanging off his svelte body, staring at his bloody hands with a dazed look on his face. He turned to Alastor, his wide, innocent eyes rolling up into their sockets before he toppled over backwards, unconscious.

Alastor stood over the helpless demon, his eyes glowing as the light around him shriveled and died, a mass of horrid shapes coalescing behind him. The tentacles stiffened into spikes and prepared to shred the supine form, streaking forward only to be restricted by a glowing flash of green Pact energy. Alastor could not attack.

'They're my patients…' He recalled. 'No matter what we find out, you can't harm any of them! Deal?'

"A deal backfired…" Alastor growled. "…On me?"

Alastor paused before throwing his head back and laughing, clapping his hands. "Oh ho ho ho! That's some good irony! Ah ha ha ha!"

A groan drew his attention to the hole in the wall. "Ugh…"

Charlie stepped through the hole, cherry-red blood dripping down her chin, made all the more stark by her alabaster skin. She clutched her side, the cloth ringing the hole in her jacket and shirt charred, her pale skin mottled and bruised. Charlie took a deep breath and coughed, fresh blood spraying out between her fingers.

"Learn all you wanted to learn, Miss Magne?"

"Ugh…" She sat down, slumping against the shattered wall, wiping her hand on her pants. " And then some."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a few broken ribs," she said, wincing. "Phew! I haven't taken a hit like that since finishing school! Oof… how're you?"

He gestured at the gushing hole in his torso. "In case you thought I was heartless before!"

"OH MY GOD, ALASTOR!"

Charlie unsteadily got to her feet as Alastor laughed. "It's quite alright! Never had much use for the ol' chump-pump. Now, how about you and I dissolve our little agreement, hmm?"

Charlie stopped, squinting at Alastor. "…Why?"

"So I can make this humdinger of a mess." He gestured at the unconscious Moonchild. "Go away."

"No!" Charlie leapt between Alastor and her patient. "You're not killing him!"

"Not right now, no," said Alastor, extending his hand. "But that can change right quick! Trust me, kid, you don't want none of what this fish-monger's peddling."

"He's my patient!"

"He's also an unstable psychopath who can hurt even you." Alastor pointed at the pulverized scorch-mark on her ribs. "Imagine what he could do to everyone else."

"Oh, like you care!"

"I don't!" Alastor turned away from her, adjusting his monocle. "Under normal circumstances, it'd be a hoot to watch you get your friends torn to pieces… ah, this is one of those things, isn't it? One of those 'moral conundrums'?"

Charlie stood up straight, crossing her arms. "You're not killing him!"

"If you say so, Princess." Alastor shook his head and chuckled, shrugging. "In any case, we've accomplished our goals for the day, don't you think?"

Charlie sighed and nodded, looking over at Moonchild. "Yeah…"

"Very well! A pleasure working with you, Miss Magne. Now, I have to go see a certain tailor about a new suit. Until next time!"

Alastor snapped his fingers and vanished in a pulse of static. Charlie coughed lightly and slouched forward, exhausted. She looked over at the unconscious Moonchild, her expression tired.

"I'm sorry, Moonie," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm so, so sorry."