12

Alastor and Isobel arrived back at the hotel in the evening. Isobel's arms were laden with several bags, a testament to Alastor's generosity. Angel met them as they came in. He had been waiting. He had come to like Isobel and felt a kind of protective nature toward her. She was like a sister. A sarcastic, resting bitch face, antisocial sister, but still.

"Where have you two been?" he asked, trying to sound casual, like he didn't really care.

Alastor turned to Isobel, allowing her to answer.

"Alastor was kind enough to show me around the city today. It was, uh, interesting, kind of fun."

Angel eyed them both. "All day?"

"Yup," Isobel said with a smile.

"Yes, and a very pleasing day it was. Thank you, my deer, for accompanying me." Alastor gave a little bow and clicked his heels before walking away.

Once he was out of earshot, Angel turned to Isobel.

"Soooo, you and Alastor are what, friends now?"

"Are you not friends with Alastor?"

"Ain't no one is friends with Alastor."

"He seemed to have plenty of friends when we went out today."

"Just because someone owes him a favor doesn't mean he's their friend."

"Fair enough."

Angel sighed and put a hand on Isobel's shoulder. "I just don't want you to get in a bad situation, like me, you know."

Isobel put her hand on his. "Thanks for looking out for me, but you don't have to worry. Vaggie already warned me about him, and I promise, today was perfectly innocent."

"Oh, yeah? He didn't try to make a deal with you?"

"Oh he definitely tried to do that."

"See!"

Isobel put her hands up in an effort to calm Angel.

"It didn't work. Everything is fine." She picked up one of the bags next to her. "Want to see what I got? It's backless with a slit up my thigh. I think you would approve."

"I don't know," Angel's fears were not completely put to rest.

"Come on." Isobel grabbed her bags and Angel's hand. "I need your help with my hair and makeup too. I don't know anything about glamor."

"Can I braid it again?"

"Whatever you want, babe."

On opening night, Isobel's debut, Angel did braid her hair. He then pinned it up in an elegant bun. With her hair up, it accentuated her long delicate neck, while her new dress accentuated everything else.

Angel had also done her makeup after it had become clear that she wasn't any good at that either. She sat looking at herself in the mirror. This was by far the prettiest she had ever been in her entire life, and she wondered what in the hell she was playing at.

Every day leading to this night she had hoped and wished that Lucifer would show up with some kind of news from Heaven, something to put all this madness to a halt, but alas, nothing. Heaven, like every other bureaucracy, apparently moved at a snail's pace. It had now been weeks, maybe even months, (time seemed to move strangely so she couldn't be certain) and Isobel was living a life in Hell.

She didn't know how or when it happened. It felt like one day she woke up and she suddenly had friends, a job, and all the little things that made it more than just mere existence. She was no longer just waiting to leave, biding her time, and that scared her. The worst part was that she didn't even feel bad about it.

She stared at the person in the mirror and reminded herself that it wasn't truly her, this was not where she belonged, she needed to find a way back. Back to what? It didn't matter. She tore her eyes away from the mirror and tried to push the thoughts away, maybe she was just nervous for tonight.

Along with the dress, she had gotten a pair of black heels, nothing fancy or particularly high, but there was no way she was walking the streets of Hell in them. So she slipped into her boots and jacket, and then grabbed the new shoes on her way out of her bedroom.

As she got to the lobby, she found most of the others waiting for her. Charlie held a little bouquet of flowers.

"What's all this?" Isobel asked, feeling a touch awkward.

"It's your opening night," Charlie said gleefully. "And we know you said you didn't want anyone to come the first night, but we still wanted to wish you luck."

"That's really nice, you guys," Isobel was very touched. Charlie handed her the bouquet and gave her a little hug. She knew Isobel didn't want it, but she couldn't resist. Husker then handed her a flask.

"For the nerves," he said. Isobel was almost more grateful for that.

Angel looked her up and down and just shook his head in disappointment.

"I spend all that time doing your hair and make up, and you got that killer dress, and you come down here wearing that old jacket and boots."

"I have other shoes," Isobel held up her other pair as proof. "I promise I won't wear this stuff on stage." She felt a little twinge in her heart. 'This stuff' was the last of herself, the Isobel she recognized from before. This sense of nostalgia was killing her. She had to get past it.

She left the hotel and spent the whole of her walk trying to psych herself up for the performance that night. By the time she got to the club, she was feeling better, but it was all becoming too real.

It felt like she had no time at all backstage. She could hear the crowd. They were sold out. Who knew people in Hell were so desperate for entertainment?

It was time, she was being announced. She took a deep breath, put on a charming smile, and walked out into the harsh stage lights. As she came to the microphone, she looked out into the crowd and immediately locked eyes with a familiar face.

Angel had defied her request and came to watch her anyway. She could not believe the relief she felt seeing him in the sea of strangers. That night she pretended to sing only to him and her fears melted away. She even allowed herself to enjoy it.

The first night was a success, and the second, and the first week.

Angel became a nightly regular (when he didn't have to work), and Isobel was happy to always have a friendly face amongst the throng. Since it was a couples exclusive club, Angel would bring his friend, Cherri Bomb, and Isobel made sure they got in and had all the food and drinks they wanted for free. It was the least she could do for her own personal cheering section.

By the second week of shows, Charlie was begging to come and watch, which Isobel reluctantly agreed to. It was one thing to get up on stage and make a fool of yourself in front of strangers, a completely other thing to do it in front of friends. People you lived with and rather not feel embarrassed with every time you saw them at home. But Isobel reserved a few tables anyway.

The night they were all supposed to see the show, Angel came knocking on Isobel's dressing room door.

"Hey, what's up?" Isobel asked, no one had ever come to see her backstage before.

"So, don't freak out," Angel said. "But everybody's here. However, there was a little problem at the door."

"What happened?"

"Well," whatever it was, Isobel could tell that Angel thought it was pretty funny. "So we didn't think about the whole couples rule thing, and we ended up as an odd number, aaaaand…"

"What?" Isobel could not stand the suspense.

"They wouldn't let Alastor in," Angel snorted with laughter. "You should have seen his face. He was so pissed. I mean, he didn't really look pissed. He just smiled like he does, but you could tell… super pissed."

Isobel did not find it at all amusing.

"And what, you all just left him there?"

"We didn't know what to do," Angel shrugged. "This imp kept going on about rules, and the rest of us had already gone in. Charlie feels terrible. It took her forever to convince him to come. He kept on saying he didn't want to go to some clip joint, whatever that means."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Well, you have to fix it."

Isobel looked around shocked.

"I'm kind of busy right now," She said. "Why me? You left him there."

"Yeah, but he's your friend, remember?" Isobel glared up at Angel as he said his goodbyes walking out the door. "Anyway, I have a date with a cute, fuzzy, bartender whether he knows it or not. Break a leg!"

And with that Angel was gone and Isobel was left with a problem. She wasn't in the mood for bloodshed, so she made her way to the front entrance where she found a tall (for their standards), muscular imp lecturing Alastor about rules. All the imps that worked at the club came directly from the Lust Ring. They seem to have little to no knowledge of the Pride Ring, Demon Overlords, or the unspoken hierarchy that everyone followed.

Isobel tapped the imp on the shoulder.

"Hey, so, um, what's going on here?"

"No date, no entry. Them's the rules."

"Can't you make an exception?"

"I don't get paid to make exceptions."

Now, Alastor was a patient man. It was a trait he was proud of. Very little could ruffle his feathers. However, he was also not accustomed to being told no, either. And though he was a patient man, sometimes that patience ran out and death and destruction followed. Truthfully he didn't even care about entering the club at all, but he would not be denied. It was the principle.

Isobel stepped in between him and the impish bouncer, determined to de-escalate the situation before Alastor started ripping people in half.

"Ok, just for today, we're going to say he's my date. That way you don't have to break any rules." She leaned in close and whispered, "and then he won't reach down your throat and pull out your spine." The imp balked as she gave him a knowing look then grabbed Alastor's hand and pulled him into the club.

Isobel did this without thinking. If she gave herself a moment she might understand the absurdity of her, a 5'6 mortal, leading around the 7 foot Radio Demon by the hand. Later she would think about it and cringe, and wonder why Alastor allowed it at all.

She sat him at a table not too far from the stage so she could keep an eye on him. At the very least she would know if she needed to duck and cover. She didn't have enough time to properly apologize, so she just stopped a server on her way backstage and pointed his way.

"See that guy? Red, ears, a face that could freeze your blood? Get him 4 fingers of rye, and then leave him alone."

From just off stage Isobel could see some of the crowd. All couples sitting at their own tables. She spotted Charlie and Vaggie. She also saw the Vees were in attendance. They must have convinced the bouncer that they were a thruple or something, because the three all sat together. Isobel grimaced. She could not see Angel and that, for some reason made her more nervous.

Isobel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pictured who she needed to be. She stepped out into the lights and was met with a lively applause as she wrapped a hand around the microphone. Music started and with a sultry smile, Isobel began singing Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.

After her set, the dance floor filled with an array of couples, all doing various degrees of gyration. Usually, Isobel would use any excuse to hide and avoid this part, but she had a pretense to keep up. So she made her way to Alastor's table. She sat opposite of him and crossed her arms and legs.

"So, what's the verdict?" She asked, a little afraid of his response, she knew this was not his scene or his taste in music.

"A triumph, you're quite the canary," he conceded. He seemed to be in an unusually good mood, probably the alcohol. "No dancing for you tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm supposed to dance with the patrons, but it's not really my thing."

"Nonsense," he said. "I've seen you dance, remember."

"Uh, that was an unusual situation." Isobel tried to hide her embarrassment remembering that night. She tried to turn the conversation away from her. "What about you? I bet you can cut quite the rug. Give us all a good ol' soft shoe? Probably could find someone who knows how to swing around here."

"Ha ha, perhaps in my heyday, but that was some time ago."

"I would have paid good money to have seen that." At that moment Isobel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had caught the eye of someone behind Alastor and it was obvious she regretted it.

"Problems?" Alastor inquired.

"There's a guy who's been here almost every day. I think he said he's from Greed. He always comes with a few of his goons and constantly insists on asking me to dance, but just won't take a hint. He's coming over here now."

A rat faced sinner saddled up to the table. He wore a flashy green suit (very poor taste in Alastor's opinion), a fedora, and spoke in a Chicagoan accent.

"There she is," he said, standing far too close. Isobel's folded arms tightened, but she put on a placating smile. "I've been looking for you everywhere. How about that dance?"

"No, thank you," Isobel said, trying to sound amicable and pleasant, while still flat out rejecting him. "But I appreciate the offer."

He was not about to take no for an answer. He leaned in more, his giant rat face too close for comfort, but before he could say more, the sound of radio static interrupted his thoughts. The end of Alastor's cane wiped through the air and came to rest on the rat's chest. He looked over as if just realizing Isobel was sitting with someone else.

Alastor sat, calm and collected, cane in one hand and drink in the other.

"Leave. Now." He said coolly. The rat faced stranger obviously realized this was not a fight to pick. He raised his hands as if to say, 'no offense meant,' and backed away.

"Thanks for that," Isobel said. "Looks like you're a good friend to have around."

"Yes, I am." Alastor replied, finishing off the last of his whiskey. She grabbed his now empty glass as she stood. It was time for her to return to the stage for a few more songs.

As she walked away she looked back over her shoulder and said, "I'll get you another drink."

*** Note from the Author ***

The next chapter is going to be a doozie. It will be a rough one to write. Wish me luck.