23

The afternoon rays came in through the high windows making the whole building light up in an orange glow. Dust particles danced through the beams swaying back and forth in the silence to music only they could hear. Isobel watched them, her head resting on her outstretched arm as she slumped over one of the big, heavy wooden tables littered around the library. She had been there all day searching, working through the morning, past lunch, and into the afternoon.

She glanced at the pile of books before her in disdain. They had yielded no useful information. She was stuck and didn't know where else to go or who to ask for help. She sighed as her eyes moved down her arm to her hand where her thumb absentmindedly rubbed at an ink smudge on her palm. She silently reminded herself that she should probably wash her hands thoroughly after being in the library. Probably should wash her hands more in general, it was Hell after all.

She finally admitted to herself that she was getting nowhere and stacked up all the books. A tired sigh escaped her, looking at the stack. Would it be so bad if she left them for tomorrow? Who's going to care? Isobel decided to leave them, promising herself that she would put them away first thing in the morning.

As usual, she walked down the street, hands shoved deep in her pockets and eyes on the pavement. Her pace was slow, lost in thought, when suddenly she felt eyes on her. She stopped and pulled her gaze from the sidewalk. There was a group of three sinners across the road that seemed like they were staring at her, whispering to each other.

Isobel tried to ignore them, she was probably just being paranoid. As she moved ahead, she saw a couple walking toward her. They stopped, shared a few words, and then moved to cross the street.

"What the fuck?" She whispered. Just then the sound of a camera's shutter clicked behind her. Turning, she found an alarmed man with the vague look of a surprised fish. It was clear he had thought his phone was on silent when he took the picture. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I- I'm sorry," the alarmed fish man stammered as he almost dropped his phone. "I didn't mean to, that is, uh, it wasn't." He held up the phone. "I'll delete it. Please, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Isobel said backing up. "You do that, or whatever." She turned around and started walking again quicker now, painfully aware of more eyes on her. Just when she thought her life couldn't get more surreal.

She arrived back at the hotel somewhat flustered and confused, and found Angel sitting on the edge of a couch. His long legs crossed and leaning on one of the arms, he swiped through his phone bored and inattentive. Isobel joined him, laying down across the rest of the couch.

"Tough day?" Angel asked, his eyes never leaving the screen.

"Can't find any new info on demon royalty at the library." Her voice came as a muffle as she covered her face with a pillow.

"Sounds boring. If you want to know so much about the royals, why not just do that show and ask one in person?"

Isobel lifted the pillow. "What now?"

Angel continued to scan his phone, half distracted. "The show you were invited to perform at. The one in Lust. Just go there."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's hosted by Asmodeus himself, who do you think is going to be there? Just go and talk to someone."

"Are you shitting me right now?" Isobel half sat up. "Or are you being serious? It's that easy?"

"I don't know," Angel shrugged. "Maybe."

Isobel fell back down on the couch rubbing her forehead, she was feeling a headache coming on. She was killing herself combing through ancient books she didn't even know how to read and the solution had already come hand delivered in the mail. She felt stupid. Now she needed to find that letter. Hopefully she hadn't thrown it away. Putting the pillow back over her head, she fought the urge to scream. But then she remembered…

"Hey, I noticed something weird today," she said.

"Yeah, weird things happen all the time."

"Ok, but it seemed like people on the street were, like, avoiding me, or staring at me. I think some guy took a picture." She sat up completely and crossed her legs under herself. "Do I look strange today or something?"

"Babe, you got green eyes and five fingers on each hand, you look strange here every day."

"But everyone seemed almost… scared."

Angel finally lifted his head as if he just realized something.

"Oh," he said, turning to her. "Um, ok, but you got to promise not to be mad."

Isobel was instantly mad, "what did you do?"

"I didn't do nothing, but Cherri might have been spreading the story of what happened to you at the club that one night, like, all over town."

"What? Why?"

"People eat that shit up. It's been getting her free drinks for weeks. And you know, she tends to embellish sometimes, so…"

"So what does that mean?"

"Well, you may or may not have a reputation now."

"Angel, what kind of reputation?" She wanted to throttle him. Attention was the last thing she wanted. Now she was going to have to worry about people on the street.

"It's fine." Angel tried to sound reassuring. "It's just now everyone thinks that if they mess with you, they'll get a visit from the Radio Demon and he'll, you know, murder them and everyone they love." Angel sat back against the couch with a pained expression on his face. "I mean, it's kinda true, right?" Isobel didn't say anything. Her anger had dissipated and she was left contemplating what this "reputation" might mean. She wondered if this was how the 1940s molls felt. Was this an invisible field of protection, or a target on her back? "Hey, just don't tell Alastor it was me spreading it around."

She side eyed Angel. "Thought you said it was Cherri."

"Uh, yeah, well," Angel gave her a guilty smile. "I like free drinks too."

Isobel laughed and then fell quiet again as Angel returned his attention to his phone. She thought about Alastor and the tension riddled relationship between the two of them as of late. They had gone from some form of tenuous friendship, to now seemingly existing just to antagonize one another. Their own constant need to push their dominance probably wasn't healthy. And she was just as much to blame as he. After all she had been the one to invite the devil in.

Though they had still been sharing one bed, Isobel and Alastor had little true interaction since that first night they decided to share so much more. Their clandestine meetings in the halls aside, they barely spoke. Alastor had started coming to the room later and later at night, while Isobel would fall asleep reading alone. He would find her on her side of the bed, book still in hand, and stand over her fighting the urge to slice her open and crawl inside. Ultimately, he would gingerly take the book and place it on her end table, drag his fingers through her hair, and then go to sleep.

So when Alastor finally retired that night, he was surprised to find Isobel waiting for him.

She stood by the bed in a long, black slip nightgown with her hair piled on the top of her head in what Alastor thought was a very unflattering heap. Her eyes were down as she studied the ink smudge on the palm of her hand. When she finally looked up Alastor stood on the opposite side. Coat off and suspenders hanging, he tugged at his bow tie and released the top three buttons of his shirt.

"We're not normal," she said.

"Normal is overrated," he crossed his arms, his smile as charming and ghastly as ever.

"Agreed, but all we have done for the past week is antagonize each other."

"Yes, it's been quite aggravating, and yet, also… at times," he couldn't quite find the right word. "Enjoyable."

"Sure, but I think I may prefer your companionship."

"What do you suggest?"

"A truce of sorts. A sort of amendment to our arrangement."

"A deal?"

Isobel narrowed her eyes. He was still trying to antagonize her.

"Whatever you want to call it." She crawled onto the bed and sat back on her knees. "Let's say, if I wear my hair down, all the time, in return, you have to let me kiss you whenever I want. AND you have to pretend to like it."

He crossed his arms, suspicious.

"Why?"

"Because I decided something today," she said, folding her hands in her lap. "I like you, Alastor, quite a lot, actually. And I don't want to be at odds with you. I don't want to be on the list of people you're having a pissing contest with."

"Still so vulgar."

Isobel shrugged. "I want to be nice to you, Alastor."

He stood quiet. Isobel reached up and pulled the hair tie from her bun. Her hair fell down her back like a black waterfall.

"You told me you can give me what I want, I just had to say it."

Alastor uncrossed his arms, leaning over the bed face to face with her.

"I will allow it, but I will not pretend to like it."

"I can live with that."

He put out a hand and smiled mischievously. "Shall we shake on it?"

Isobel shook her head. "But I know something better we can do."

Alastor rolled his eyes and stood.

"No, not that." she said as she reached for her phone on the bedside table. She hit 'play' and Etta James' voice singing Misty Blue floated on the air. Isobel stood on the bed, the only way she could look down at him, and put out her own hand. "Care to dance?"

With a look like a sly fox, he took her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist. Without any effort, he lifted her from the bed, pulled her close, and began dancing around the room, her feet never touching the floor.

"Mayhaps we can add to your amendment," he said, musing.

"What did you have in mind?"

"You see, there are times when I look at you and get an overwhelming desire to bite your face. So far I have refrained."

"Eh," Isobel did not like the sound of that, the last thing she needed was bite marks on her face. "Ok, if I let you bite my face, you have to let me play with your cute, little fluffy tail."

He stopped their dancing. "No," he said flatly.

Isobel shugged, "Those are the terms." It was obviously a deal breaker. "Ok, a compromise. You can lick my face, but then I get to hold your hand in public."

Alastor grumbled and continued their dance.

"Out of curiosity," Isobel said. "What would I have to do to be able to play with your tail?"

"Share a meal with me," Alastor answered almost immediately. He knew her deal breakers as well.

"Gross," she sighed.

The song ended and slowly Alastor lowered Isobel to the floor, her sliding down his long body.

"Ok, now I'm going to sleep, but before I do I'm going to kiss your stupid, fucking face. Are you going to stand there and let it happen or not?"

"Very well," he said. "Proceed.

Husker woke in the morning yawning and stretching through his perpetual hangover. His head ached and his mouth tasted terrible, but what else was new? He dragged himself from his bed and followed his usual routine.

A very relieving piss, brush teeth, stare at his haggard appearance in the mirror and regret every decision that brought him to that moment. When his daily self loathing pity party was concluded he tied his bow tie, adjusted his suspenders and stumbled downstairs.

Coffee, he needed coffee. Though, he didn't know how much he needed coffee. He didn't realize he would be hallucinating. But he must have been because as he came into the lobby he found Isobel and Alastor sitting at the bar together. He had a newspaper open reading and relating the stories to her. She sat close to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he distractedly twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers.

Husker had known Alastor for a lot longer than he ever cared to, and he had seen him in truly terrifying form doing truly terrible things, but seeing him in any kind of domestic bliss was perhaps the most unnerving. The scene stopped him in his tracks and he couldn't help but blurt out, "what the fuck is this?"

They both turned and Alastor lifted his mug as a greeting.

"Good morning, my fellow, just enjoying the start of the day, aren't we, deer?"

"Uh, Yeah" Isobel could tell that Alastor was laying it on a little thick for Husker's benefit, but at least he was having fun with it. "I've got to go though. I left a mess at the library."

Alastor offered his hand and helped her climb down from the bar stool. She then stood on her toes grabbing his lapels and pulling him in for a kiss. True to his word, Alastor allowed it, even reciprocated a little, begrudgingly of course.

"What the fuck was that?"

As she left, Isobel waved at Husk whose face was frozen half confused, half grossed out, with just a touch of horror.

"Ha ha, she says wants to be nice to me. Imagine," Alastor laughed, shaking his head. "I give it two weeks before she's bored." When no response came, Alastor looked up. Husker was already halfway up the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"Back to bed. I'm too hungover for you two and your bullshit."