24

When Isobel got to the library she made a startling discovery. All of the books she had left out the day before were gone, seemingly put away. She wondered if it was magic. Did the library reset every night? Had she'd been tidying up all this time for nothing?

No matter how it happened, she didn't have to worry about them anymore, so she just sat at the big table and pulled out the letter from Asmodeus. She had at first thought she had lost it or thrown it away. There was a moment of panic as she ransacked her room. It took forever, but she eventually found it crumpled up and stuffed into a random pocket.

She reread it a couple of times and then started drafting a reply. She found it a little difficult. How does one respond to a physical personification of a deadly sin? What was she even supposed to address him as? Sir? Highness? She did her best, and wrote back accepting the invitation to perform at his gala. When she was done, she placed the letter in an envelope and walked it to the post office.

Demonic post office, Isobel mused as she waited in line. She wondered what these sinners did in life to warrant an eternity sorting Hell's mail. She stepped up to the counter where a goat-like person waited. They had the weary expression of one who was simply too old for this shit. Without a word they put out a hand and Isobel placed her envelope atop it. Once her letter was sent, it would just be a waiting game. More waiting. She would have to find a way to occupy herself and didn't know if only reading books would do it this time.

As she strolled back to the hotel, taking the long way, she couldn't help but notice the others on the street. A decided to test her new reputation just a little. She tried walking in a straight unyielding line through the crowd. To her amazement, everyone moved out of her way as she passed. They stared at her or gave little nods of greeting. Others stood aside and spoke in hushed tones, not with pity or criticism, but instead respect and curiosity.

When she left the hotel that morning she did so with her hands in her pockets and down cast gaze. Now, as she returned, she walked tall and straight, meeting everyone who passed eyes until they looked away, uncomfortable. Isobel had to admit, it gave her a thrill.

It must have shown on her face, because as she entered the hotel she was greeted by Vaggie who said, "you look like you've been having a good morning."

"You know what," Isobel said. "I really have been."

"Well, good for you." Vaggie produced two envelopes and handed them over. "You got a couple of things in the mail. I couldn't find you yesterday to give them to you."

Isobel took them and thanked Vaggie as she made her way up the stairs toward her room. Both envelopes were very normal, just white envelopes. They lacked the opulence of the latter from Asmodeus and Isobel wondered if there was junk mail in Hell. Had to be.

She tore the first open as she entered her room. It was a letter informing her the club had now been fully restored and they were ready to open again. After that terrible night, she had not entertained going back, but now she wondered if it would be different. Now that she had to wait for the Lust Ring's Gala and Spectacular to further her plan of getting back to the living world, she had time to kill and would need the distraction. It was something to think about. She vaguely wondered if Alastor would approve.

Placing the letter aside, she ripped the second envelope open. Inside was a short, hand written note. Isobel took one look and dropped it. The paper fluttered to the ground, its words facing up at her. It simply listed a day and time with a delicate signature, signed Enki. It looked like this bitch was not ready to give up the ghost yet.

The appointment was actually for that afternoon. Isobel checked her phone. She would have to leave immediately if she were to make it.

"Patron saint of last minute notice," she mumbled to herself as she picked up the note. There was no way she was going to meet with that crazy woman again. She was surrounded by enough psychopaths as it was. She tore the paper into small pieces and flushed them down the toilet. She watched them spiral down into oblivion thinking, that was that.

Isobel spent the next few weeks trying to live as normally as she could. She went back to the club, but with some extra security measures, and fell back into old routines. Reading by day, singing by night, spending time with her companions at the hotel, and in between it all trying her best to be nice to Alastor. But he had been right about her, every so often she would get bored and on those days she would put her hair into two, tight French braids and wait for him to notice.

He would grab one of her pigtails, pulling her to him and breathe into her ear, "what is this?" Isobel would just shrug. "Take them out."

"Or what?" Isobel would reply with a side eye. "What are you going to do about it?"

She enjoyed her new found status being connected to Alastor. She only occasionally appeared with him in public, but made sure to keep a proper distance. She knew any sign of affection would irk me so she didn't even so much as take his arm as they walked side by side. Being close and having his attention was enough.

Those around her could see the results of Alastor's influence. Along with her increased confidence and fearlessness, Isobel's appearance changed as well. Along with her wearing her hair down, she started to dress better. Gone wear her grungy jeans and jacket, replaced by chic dresses, still always in black. Angel wasn't sure he liked all the changes, but he did like going shopping with her.

Every few days, Isobel would receive a letter from Enki. Every time she chose to ignore it, ripping it up and throwing it away.

One morning Isobel came back to the hotel after a morning walk and found Charlie in the lobby agonizing over something she was writing. She kept scribbling, then erasing, scribbling again, and mumbling to herself. Isobel watched her for a moment before saying anything.

"Hey," she said, putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder, who jumped violently. She had been so engrossed that she had not noticed Isobel at all. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I was just concentrating. I didn't expect anyone to be up right now."

"What are you writing?" Isobel asked as she moved to sit opposite. "Some grand new plan for redemption?" As she came around Isobel saw that the situation was far worse than she originally thought. A dozen or more crumpled paper balls littered the floor.

"Nothing like that," Charlie smoothed back her hair and blushed. She was embarrassed about something. "It's actually kind of personal."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy. You don't have…"

"You see," Charlie said like she hadn't heard Isobel at all. Apparently she was in need of someone to talk to. Isobel was not sure she was the best one for the job though. "Every few weeks I like to write a love letter to Vaggie. I want her to know how much I appreciate her and love her. It's been a little while. I'm kind of overdue. For some reason it's hard finding the words this time."

She looked up at Isobel in a slight panic. "Don't get me wrong," she continued. "It's not that I have nothing to say, I just have too much." Charlie looked down at her latest attempt with a sheepish expression. "I bet you think this sounds pretty dumb, huh."

"Why would you think that? It sounds really sweet."

Charlie shrugged, "you just don't seem like the sentimental type."

"Oh," Isobel nodded. "You're right, I suppose. But love is different. Finding someone to love, to be in love, that's just amazing."

"Like you and Alastor?"

Isobel barked out a surprised, harsh laugh.

"No," she said, still trying to control her shock. "Not like me and Alastor."

"You're not in love with Alastor?"

"Uh." Isobel was lost for words. How could she possibly explain this? "It's not really about how I feel. Alastor just doesn't have those kinds of emotions. Which is fine, I don't care. But love takes a level of selflessness and empathy that is a bit beyond him, I think."

"That seems sad."

"Nah, I mean, it's better to see people how they are and not how we want them to be, right? And Alastor is a psychopath. I still like him anyway, for some reason, but I think it would be unfair to expect something from him that he's not capable of."

Charlie sat contemplating all that was said, and Isobel suddenly feared that things had gotten a little too serious. She needed to change the subject.

"Now what you and Vaggie have is different. You have that old movie, ride off into the sunset, kind of love."

Charlie's face broke into a wide smile.

"We do, don't we?"

"Definitely."

Charlie went back to her writing as Isobel stood to leave. Neither could see Alastor hidden by shadow at the top of the stairs. He had listened to them very carefully. Though he knew that he must be the topic of many a conversation when he was not around, he did not expect to walk in on one. He didn't like that Isobel had said such personal things to Charlie. Things she probably would have never told him. He heard her making her way to the stairs and dissolved into shadow before she ever knew he was there.

As she made her way back to her room, Isobel found herself wondering about the nature of her relationship with Alastor. Truthfully, she didn't understand it. She couldn't really say they were romantic, though Charlie seemed to think so. Were they even friends? And love? Love was a foreign concept to her. She often doubted that even she, herself, was capable of loving another person. So what did that leave? Was she just his prized possession and him just her guard dog? That didn't seem right either, at least not from her perspective. She couldn't begin to guess at what Alastor thought of the whole mess.

As she entered her room, her ruminations came to an abrupt halt. Alastor stood ridgid at the window. She could see, almost feel, a tension in his shoulders. He held his cane behind his back, and though he smiled, he was clearly not amused. Isobel got the feeling that he was waiting for her.

He spoke without turning.

"You will sit and listen. And you will say nothing."

She didn't know what she had done, but it must have been bad. She slowly walked to the bed and sat on the edge, subtly ringing her hands in her lap.

"I overheard your conversation with Charlie just now."

Oh, that was it. She sighed, damn him always lurking around. He was pissed that she was speaking about him behind his back, speaking about personal matters. She lowered her gaze to the floor.

"You are right about me," he began slow and measured, almost menacing. "I don't feel things like the others. They toil and fumble around consumed by their emotions. They waste their energy on love, hate, infatuation. They allow their feelings to steal what little purpose or control they may have. It is useless, loathsome." He turned around to look at her. "I have never had use for such things."

He approached slowly, each of his footfalls felt like a drumbeat marking out a rhythm of Isobel marching to the guillotine. Stopping, he looked down at her. She could only see his shoes.

"This I need you to understand. I do not feel love. But what I do feel," he put a finger under her chin and lifted her face until her eyes met his. "I feel for you."

"Oh," Isobel whispered. This was not what she had expected at all. He held her gaze for a moment before promptly turning and walking to the door. As he opened it Isobel called to him. "Alastor." He stopped, his back to her. He turned his head slightly, just enough to show her he was listening. She stared out the window, unable to bring herself to look at him. "I feel for you too."

He nodded slightly and disappeared as the door closed behind him.

Isobel smiled to herself and looked down at her hands. The dark ink smudge on her palm winked back at her. Her eyebrows knitted together. How is that still there? Somehow it looked darker and bigger. She held up her left hand and found another black smudge creeping out from between her middle and ring finger.

She went to the bathroom and turned on the sink. She scrubbed her hands with water, then soap, then more soap. She rinsed them clean and held them up in front of her. The smudges remained.