Benjamin Shakespie was donning a pair of nicely polished cufflinks when the local paper boy tossed a rock through his brand-new window with that morning's edition tied to it. He sighed, annoyed. He'd had that window replaced three times in the past month. Word from Rosie was that something related to the Ambassador had pissed the newspaper overlord off. Since Elida was too well protected, Snyder was taking out his pettiness on the friends she saw less frequently, since they were the only people he could get away with harassing without being too obvious. That included her professional colleagues.

Reaching a white-gloved hand down, careful not to scratch his freshly shined shoes on the broken glass, Ben picked up the paper and brought it to his favorite armchair, where he liked to read the news as he waited for his breakfast to be brought to him. He didn't know who was on the menu today, but the chef informed him they would be fresh.

He politely indicated to his butler that they'd need another window and requested that they seek out a sturdier type of glass. Perhaps something bullet proof this time.

With the music in his headphones playing in the background, Ben opened the paper and read the headline. His jaw hadn't dropped that low in decades. He had to rub his eyes just to make sure he hadn't misread it. But no, there it was, clear as day.

"Joan, listen to this," He said, getting the imp maid's attention while she swept up the shattered window, "Ambassador Attacked: Heavenly Hazbin Has Been Hurt," and then he read the subheading, "Radio Demon Offering Steep Reward for Any Useful Information Found on the Attacker."

The maid looked perplexed, "But sir… isn't the Ambassador your business partner?"

"She is." He turned back to the paper and read the first few sentences, "Hell's Sweetheart, beloved Ambassador of Heaven, and notable businesswoman Elida McCarthy was targeted yesterday by an unknown assailant. The assassin was armed with angelic steel, sending McCarthy to the hospital in critical condition. Alastor the Radio Demon, kingpin over Hell's audio stations and close personal friend to the Ambassador, is offering a generous reward for accurate information and/or the capture of the attacker, dead or alive." He looked up at Joan the maid, concern on his face. "I wonder why she didn't tell me about this," he said sadly, checking his phone for any missed calls or texts. There were none.

"If she was hurt, maybe she hasn't had the chance," Joan mused.

"I suppose not," he agreed. He read the rest of the paper aloud as the maid did her thing, the two of them discussing possible suspects for who could have hurt Elida and why.

Joan liked her job, and so did the rest of her coworkers. Working for Mr. Shakespie was a good position compared to other options in Hell. He treated his staff fairly and with compassion, and while he had no issue ordering them around as their superior, he was never unkind. This abnormal level of respect led to his employees being incredibly loyal to him, and they were all too happy to indulge him when he wanted a little conversation.

Ben told the butler to find out which hospital Elida was in. The article hadn't said where she'd been taken for care, and he wanted to bring her some get-well flowers. It wouldn't be right not to check in on her after all the time they'd spent building an empire together. It may still be a startup, but Ben's analysts were predicting centuries of immense growth, and if their inventor died now, they'd be sunk. Not to mention, Ben just really liked her. She was hard-working, nonjudgemental, and pleasant to be around. Their interactions may have been transactional in nature, but he still thought of her as a friend.

Benjamin wasn't the only one learning about the news that morning. It was buzzing all over Hell, especially among the human souls. Alastor's morning announcements reiterated the reward for the assassin's head. This time, he broadcast it across every station he owned, rather than just his personal podcast. This extended the story's reach drastically, leaving no ear uninformed.

Snyder, knowing how to keep up with the times, had a business connection with VoxTek that allowed him to push his articles to a younger and more up-to-date audience through a series of websites all pretending to be rival news stations. In reality, they were all owned by Snyder, who had them fake fight all the time to get readers to argue with each other and fuel enough controversy to keep people's attention. Rage bait was a great way to get clicks and views.

Snyder's authors were all writing the story from different points of view. Some were wishing Elida a swift recovery; others were egging people on by saying it was better she died and let the exorcists come back. It was all a very careful and effective process of controlling Hell's population. The court of public opinion was incredibly easy to sway.

Vox was busy all the time, so he didn't bother looking at the news until after he was done with the first of several meetings that day. There was always someone yelling about this and that. You'd go mad trying to keep up. But when Velvette told him it was going very viral very fast, he finally read one of the articles during one of his short breaks.

Frankly, he was pissed that his reporters weren't the first to know. What was the point of having spy cameras all over the place if VoxTek still wasn't the first one to report on something this massive? He blamed Alastor. That fucker was always blocking Vox from seeing Elida outside their little gaming sessions, and now he'd gone and let the only person standing between the demons and their total annihilation get hurt.

Vox could use this. If Elida was in the hospital, then that meant she was vulnerable and hurting. Those were the best times to manipulate someone. He had his assistant clear his schedule for the day. He called Velvette.

"Hey, I need a favor," he asked.

"I don't do favors," she said bluntly.

"You know what I mean," he rolled his digital eyes.

"The fuck you want? I'm in the middle of something."

"I need a gift for the Ambassador. Something designer that says, 'We care and want you to get better,' or something like that. It needs to be good. What do women like?"

He could feel her rolling her eyes from her end of the line. "Ugh. Fine. But if she dies, I'll want it back."

"Want what back?"

"You said she's always cold, yeah?"

"All the fucking time. She cuddles up to Alastor like he's her own personal heater." Sparks danced across Vox's antennae in irritation at the image.

Velvette smirked at the anger in his voice. "I made a shawl that none of my models can quite pull off. Some snowy member of the Goetias that's got blizzardy ice magic kinda like the Ambassador's commissioned it. But then he changed his mind at the last minute. That prick never even paid me. It's infused with magic that keeps the wearer warm no matter how cold it is outside. With that witch's pale blue complexion, the color would look great on her."

"That's perfect," Vox said, "She'll think I was being extra thoughtful. I can say we had it made just for her."

"You'd better give me my credit," she threatened.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't tell her it was supposed to be for someone else."

"Tell you what," she said, "If she wears it often enough to increase foot traffic to my shows, AND you convince her to come cameo in one of them, then I won't even make you pay me for it. A face like hers would be great on the runway. She'd make a good influencer, assuming her nose didn't get permanently ruined last night."

Vox sighed, "How much is it, exactly?"

"Well, it's a Velvette original, one of a kind, made of the best material Hell has to offer, and it's enchanted as fuck."

"Uh-huh." Vox knew where this was going. "Just give me the number."

"It's easily worth 33k. And that's with the special Vee discount."

"Oh. Okay. Fuck you, too." Vox obviously had the money. Thirty-three thousand dollars was nothing to him. But it was the principle of the thing. Not to mention how much he'd spent on the Ambassador already with that stupid soup kitchen. Feeding poor people got expensive.

"Take it or leave it," she said, "But make up your mind; I got shit to do."

"Fine. Have it boxed up all nice. I'll be by to pick it up in a few minutes."

"Make it quick, I'm busy. Kisses, darling!"

Velvette hung up on Vox, and he grumbled under his breath. Sucking up to politicians was pricy, and not always worth it. If he didn't get her soul after all this, he was going to be pissed.

Flipping off the photo of Alastor that he secretly kept at his desk to jerk off to, he stood up and straightened his suit. He stepped onto a platform and rose up out of his office. The elevator door opened to the familiar sight of a dozen or so reporters all asking for his perspective on the attack. He made up some bullshit statement about being in the middle of an investigation and walked off with a big fake smile on his screen.

Retrieving the shawl from Velvette, Vox checked the hospital databases to find out where Elida had been admitted. He read the file from the doctors; she'd flatlined more than once. The attack must have been brutal. It wouldn't be all that special compared to what other people go through in Hell every day… if she weren't who she was.

He took the power lines, traveling through the city's electrical wires and popping out directly in front of the receptionist's desk. She jumped in surprise, then groaned outwardly, "Oh, don't tell me you're here for McCarthy, too…"

"Yes," he confirmed, "Which room will I find her in?" He already knew where she was, but the hospital staff didn't know he could access private medical records, so he feigned ignorance. Not that they could've done anything even if they found out about it.

The receptionist massaged her temple, clearly at her wit's end, "Goddamnit… Fine. Right this way. Just so you're aware, no shouting, no murders, no sex in front of other guests, and for the love of Lucifer, don't unplug anyone's life support." She grumbled to herself, "I'm so sick of people doing that."

She led him into a waiting room, which was stuffed to the brim with visitors, all holding get-well gifts. Flowers, cards, snacks, and packages filled the visitors' arms. The room was uncomfortably crowded. At least half of them were witches from the Coven. Rosie from Cannibaltown sat chatting with a short man in a crisp suit. He was holding a bouquet of carnivorous blossoms.

There was nowhere to sit, so Vox leaned casually against the wall and scrolled through his phone to pass the time. He briefly considered skipping the line and barging right in, but in the end, he decided to just wait. He had to seem polite and concerned, not impatient and rude. He noticed Alastor was nowhere to be found. Vox hoped he'd left to do something else. He sent Elida a comedic meme to butter her up a bit. The read receipts said that she hadn't seen it.

After a few minutes, the hospital door opened and everyone turned to look. A nurse poked their head out and said to the room, "Okay, she's ready for visitors. No more than three at once, please. Who's first?"

The Hag and two of the witches went into the room, shutting the door behind them. This was going to take a while. Out of sheer boredom, Vox approached Rosie and the short man beside her, "Good morning, Rosie, and… Mr. Shakespie, was it?"

Ben looked up at Vox and nodded, "Yes sir," he stood up, which didn't really do much for the almost comical height difference. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vox." Ben extended a hand, and Vox shook it. "Elida told me all about that charity project of yours. I must say, I'm impressed. Altruism goes a long way in my book."

"Ah, what can I say," Vox said, "That little angel sure does have a way of bringing out the best in people."

"She really does," Ben agreed.

"You have no idea," Rosie said mysteriously, sipping something red out of a teacup, an amused look on her face as she glanced toward Elida's hospital door.

"By the way," Ben asked, "How do you know who I am? You might be a household name, but I'm hardly famous."

"Don't be so modest," Vox flattered, "Your stores are popping up all over the place. Anyone who's anyone knows who you are nowadays."

"Oh geez, not sure how I feel about that," Ben responded.

"Feel proud," Vox insisted, "It's the Pride ring, after all!"

"Ha, I suppose so."

Vox took the opportunity to do a little networking. After all, it was less about what you know, than who you know. Shakespie had an in with the Ambassador, as well as a company that was expected to last a long time. He might be new to the big business scene, but he was growing fast. Vox didn't get where he was by ignoring other successful people. They exchanged pleasantries and business cards while they waited.

Eventually, it was Ben and Rosie's turn to see Elida, so Vox stole one of their chairs. A witch with mushrooms growing out of her skin sat next to him, staring creepily at him. She didn't blink. Like at all. She just stared at him intensely. She had no pupils or irises, only milky white orbs.

After several minutes of pretending she wasn't there, Vox got annoyed, "What?"

"Distortion, deception, a change and a cheat. It's unwise to act out of desperation. Better to take a seat." She plucked one of the mushrooms off her own arm and ate it, not breaking eye contact.

"The fuck…?"

"Fuck, duck, luck, cuck, read the fine print or things will suck."

"Uh-huh." Vox tried to ignore her. She kept staring.

"Looking away will be your downfall," she said.

"Are you threatening me?" Sparks danced across his fingers.

"One no, two no, three no. Macbething." She spat on the floor. It sizzled and bubbled before evaporating into the air in a puff of sickly green steam.

"What does that mean?"

"You need not fear the ides of March. It will be a cold day in Hell instead." The mushroom she'd eaten grew back on her arm with a squishy sound.

Vox really hated witches. They were all completely crazy.

One very uncomfortable hour of being stared creepily at later, and it was Vox's turn to see Elida. As he entered her hospital room, he was so surprised at what he saw that he almost forgot to be angry. Elida was curled up on Alastor's chest, cuddled next to him like a pair of lovers. That wasn't super weird on its own, Elida was openly snuggly. It was Alastor's face that threw Vox off. His smile was soft, almost gentle. He held onto her just as sweetly as she did with him.

Clearly, his acting skills had improved. Even Vox might have fallen for it if he didn't know Alastor better.

The softness in Alastor's eyes disappeared the second he saw Vox. There it was; the smug viciousness. "Go away," he said, shadow growing larger by the second.

Elida turned to look at the new visitor. "Oh, hi Vox," she greeted softly, "Come on in." Alastor's eyes narrowed. He pulled her a little closer as Vox approached.

The room was full of packages and flowers. If not for the old bloodstains on the walls, it would have been almost cheerful.

"I brought something for you," Vox said, "I thought it might help you feel better."

"No thank you," Alastor grinned, "I'll not have you bugging her room with false gifts."

"Allie, please, I can't with you two right now. Just be nice. For me?" Her voice was weak and tired.

Vox wondered at the look of… was that empathy?... on Alastor's face.

"As you wish, love," Alastor said, "But I'll be checking that package."

"Oh please," Vox said, rolling his eyes, "It's not bugged you suspicious piece of-"

"I believe I asked you two to be nice," Elida scolded. The authority in her tone was decreased by the audible weakness.

"Sorry," Vox said. He held the package out to her, "Why don't you open it? It might help."

"Help how?" she asked, sitting up with some difficulty. She winced at the pain in her ribs, and Alastor rested the back of his head on his hands, lounging casually beside her. His shadow glared daggers at Vox from the wall behind him.

She tried to open the package but had trouble with the ribbon. Her fingers were fine, but the knot was tight. "Allie, can you…?"

Alastor sliced the ribbon open with his nail.

"Thanks," she said, kissing her fingertips and patting his sharp cheek. His face got a little redder, which confused Vox to no end. Alastor didn't blush. It wasn't his thing.

Elida pulled the box open. She gasped, "Oh, it's beautiful!"

Inside she found a glittering white and blue shawl. Picking it up, she examined the fine fabric. It shimmered as it moved. Delicate pale sapphires lined the edge. She couldn't tell what the fabric was, but the threads seemed as if they'd been dipped in liquid diamonds. It was warm to the touch, and positively radiated with magic. "Oh, honey, this is too much," Elida said, clutching in her hands, "I couldn't possibly accept this!"

Vox agreed, but he wasn't letting her give it back. "Don't be silly, my dear, who could possibly wear it better? It's a Velvette original. And it's specially enchanted to keep your little shivering self nice and toasty. I meant to give it to you on your upcoming one-year anniversary of joining us in Hell," he lied, "But I thought you could use the cheering up. Go ahead, try it on."

"One moment, darling," Alastor took the shawl from Elida's hands and inspected it carefully, his eyes glowing as he checked it for malicious spells or hidden cameras. He was both annoyed and relieved to find nothing untoward. "Very well," he conceded, "Allow me."

He draped the shawl over her dainty shoulders, smiling smugly at Vox's angry snarl. Alastor's audacity to steal Vox's moment was predictable, but infuriating nonetheless. "My, aren't you a vision," Alastor complimented, "Though I daresay, it's really you that makes the shawl look good, rather than the reverse."

"You flirt," Elida teased, breathing a sigh of relief at the heat. It soaked all the way through her, "Oh, that's nice… Hmmm…." She closed her eyes and leaned back onto Alastor's chest, curling back under his arm. "I love it. Thank you, Vox. Really. This is wonderful."

"I'm glad you like it. Velvette put a lot of work into making it perfect for you, you know. Maybe when you're feeling better you could go to one of her shows? I'm sure she'd be thrilled to see you wearing it. She's been wanting to meet you."

"I AM a fashion fan," Elida mused, "Maybe I will."

She'd better, or Vox would be out 33k. "Here, let's send her a selfie with it on you," Vox leaned down beside the hospital bed, trying to ignore Alastor's looming shadow. "Smile, gorgeous!"

Elida held her hands under her chin in a cutesy pose, showing off the garment, "Cheese!"

Vox snapped a picture and showed it to her. Alastor's face was blurred out and glitchy behind her, just like they always were when he didn't give his permission for a photo, but the rest looked great. "Ah, I'm the cutest," Elida said, despite the swelling and the bandages.

"Oh, for sure," Vox flattered her with a charming smile.

"I'd be glad to meet Velvette at some point. Although," Elida added, "I don't like the love potion thing."

"Why? Afraid of a little competition?" Vox teased.

"No. I make aphrodisiacs, but not love potions. Love potions violate the laws of consent. They're a vile perversion of my sacred craft, and it makes me angry that they're so readily available. As I understand it, Velvette is the top supplier of love potions in Pentagram City."

Alastor's grin widened and he snickered at the look of stupid shock on Vox's face. Apparently, pain made Elida feel a bit more blunt than usual.

"I'll take that under advisement," was all Vox could think to say. It wasn't exactly mean, but it was the least nice thing he'd ever heard her say.

"I think that's your cue to leave," Alastor said, stroking Elida's hair, "There are a lot of people waiting to visit that we actually WANT to see."

Elida smacked his chest softly, "Stop that." But they both knew she didn't mean it, because she couldn't hide the slight laugh he'd drawn out of her. Vox glared at him.

"Well," Vox took her hand and kissed it demurely, "I wouldn't want to keep you away from your doctors. Please, reach out if there's anything I can do to help?"

"I will," she confirmed, offering his hand a soft squeeze.

He walked out and returned home through the power lines, leaving Elida with her sparkling new prize.