A day or two and several healing potions later, and Elida was strong enough to go back to the hotel. The violent purple bruises on her face and torso were slowly subsiding, even if there were still some cracks in her ribs. Alastor had an army of voodoo dolls take all her flowers and gifts home so she wouldn't have to carry anything. She decided to hold on to the shawl.
Elida insisted on spending some time brewing, despite everyone begging her to lie down and rest. She said something about an important experiment that could solve two very large problems. She didn't say what those problems were. Further prodding yielded no answers. The look on her face made a few people a bit uneasy, even if they couldn't quite pinpoint why. Even Alastor couldn't tell what she was thinking. He let it be for now; she'd tell him eventually.
While she worked, Alastor approached Charlie and Vaggie, tossing a metal arm back and forth between his hands. "We need to have a little chat," he said cheerfully.
"What's that?" Charlie looked at the appendage, noting the odd gold stains splashed onto its knuckles.
"You didn't tear off someone's fucking arm again, did you?" Vaggie asked, already exhausted from the conversation that had yet to start.
"This," he explained with a smile, "Is how our new friend managed to hurt my Elida."
His Elida. Not theirs. His. Charlie tried very very hard not to tear up at that. The worry on his face when Elida was in the hospital made her wonder if maybe he wasn't so impossible to redeem, after all. He just needed a reason to care. Maybe Elida would be his reason to care? Of all the people to miss her when her five years were up, Alastor would be hit the hardest. Maybe, just maybe, wanting her back could convince him to earn his own halo. It was the main reason Charlie quietly told the other Hazbins not to tease the pair for their oddly close friendship. Luckily, no one did, but it was more out of self-preservation and fear of the Radio Demon than respect for Charlie's authority in the hotel.
"Oh shit. Okay. Let me see," Vaggie took the arm from Alastor and inspected it. The exterior was sleek and well made. Looking closely, she saw that it had several tiny screws that could be undone. "Let's open this up," she said, "Alastor, I need a screwdriver."
He grinned at her but didn't move. Vaggie waved a hand in his face, "Hello?" He wrinkled his nose in irritation.
"Can we have a screwdriver," Charlie asked, "please?" Politeness was the best way to get him to cooperate. Otherwise, he'd more than likely just stare at or ignore you until you followed his etiquette rules.
"Why, I'd be delighted," he said, producing the tool with a wave of his hand and giving it to Vaggie.
The fallen angel rolled her eyes at Alastor's ridiculousness. He was such an ass sometimes. She carefully undid the screws and pulled on the nearly invisible seam. The hidden hinges didn't squeak. They slid like butter as the arm opened up to reveal an intricate interior full of gears and screws. They all leaned in, studying it. "Is it just me," Vaggie thought aloud, "Or does the way this is built look familiar?"
"It kind of does," Charlie agreed, knitting her eyebrows together. She couldn't quite place it.
"It's like the inside of a rather intricate stopwatch," Alastor said, fingering one of the gears. As it turned, the device's thumb curled inward. When he turned it the other way, it straightened again. "Interesting."
"Kind of overkill to make the whole thing out of angelic steel, isn't it?" Vaggie said, "Why waste that much rare material on the inside when the shell would have been more than enough?"
"Rare to us, maybe," Alastor said with a grin.
"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.
"Vaggie dear, how does one acquire angelic steel?"
"You get it from Carmilla," she answered, "Where the fuck else?"
"Hm. And is that were you got your little spear you seem to enjoy pointing at me so much?" He prodded, tilting his head curiously at her. One of his deer-ears twitched of their own accord.
"Of course not. I made-" Vaggie stopped, realization hitting her like a brick. "Hold on, that's… no, there's no way."
"What?" Charlie asked, not liking being left out of whatever they were implying.
"I made it myself. Well, sort of," Vaggie corrected herself, "I made the steel, then gave it to a blacksmith to turn into a spear."
"Yes, and…?" Alastor lifted Vaggie's chin with his staff, leaning in close and trying to lead her toward the point, "How did you manage to do that?" Vaggie pushed him off with an angry growl, making him snicker.
"So, angels can just make their own steel? Wouldn't you have done that for the battle, though?" Charlie asked, still a bit confused.
"Not unless you're still in Heaven when you make it. It takes a heavy concentration of divine magic and special supplies that are only available up there," Vaggie explained. "Making the metal for your own weapon is a kind of initiation thing for new exorcists. Then, if it breaks or gets damaged during a kill, you leave the old one behind and make new ones for the next year's extermination. It's why Carmilla was able to collect so much of it. Angelic steel is so easy for angels to make, it's disposable to them. But since I'm down here, I can't make any more."
"Mhm. And what do you think that means about this little device here, and therefore our brutal new friend?" Alastor looked at the two women expectantly.
"That…" Charlie thought carefully, "…That whoever attacked Elida… Was an angel?"
"Not just any angel," Vaggie said, "An angel that snuck in from Heaven. They weren't fallen. They still had their halo when they made this."
"Good job," Alastor patted her condescendingly on the head, "We got there." He smiled a sharp-toothed smile, "And therein lies the problem."
"Why?" Vaggie asked, "They're probably long gone by now."
"Exactly," he agreed.
"I don't get it."
Ugh. Alastor really wished he were discussing this with Elida. She picked up on things so much quicker. Compared to her, everyone else was a bunch of simpletons. "Think about it darling, how exactly are we to find them when we can't reach them?"
"Why care? They failed, and now they're gone." Charlie said, "Problem solved."
"Do you honestly believe they won't return to finish the job?" he pointed out, "When they discover that our dear Ambassador is still alive and well, they'll come back and try again, over an over until she's gone." His eyes flashed bright and angry at the thought.
"But why?" Charlie asked, "Why would anyone want to hurt Elida? Everyone loves her. Sure, sometimes she can be a bit… erm…"
"Odd?" Vaggie suggested, "Or crazy?"
"I was going to say different," Charlie corrected. "But she's so nice to everyone, you know?"
Vaggie knew why. "Because the exorcists want a war. They're bloodthirsty and deranged. Elida is keeping them from coming down here and killing everyone. If she dies, they get what they want. And if she succeeds, they never get to exterminate demons again. Trust me when I tell you, there are several exorcists who'll think of that as the worst thing that could possibly happen to them. They're in it for the thrill of the kill, they couldn't care less about population control."
"Precisely," Alastor confirmed, "It's not about liking her, it's about someone being in their way." He could relate to that; he'd killed for far less.
"What do we do if we find them?" Charlie asked.
"Ha!" Alastor laughed darkly, "You don't want to know."
"Can we maybe not torture people, please?" Charlie requested uncomfortably.
"Princess, I say this with the utmost respect, but you will not be able to stop me from doing whatever I feel is necessary." He said this with such a happy and jovial tone, you'd think he was talking about baking cookies with butter instead of margarine.
"It won't fucking matter," Vaggie pointed out, "If we can't get to them."
"What about those trips you two take to Heaven every now and then? Can't you look while you're up there?"
"The deal allows me through Heaven's gates so long as I help with soul contracts. We don't have time for much else," he lied.
He wasn't giving up his time with his mother. Or his excursions with Elida. She'd followed through on each of her promises; Van Gogh's newest paintings, Shakespeare plays by the original cast, meals so delicious they sent you into a floating euphoria better than any hard drug could give. Not to mention they wouldn't know where to start without being too obvious. Secrecy from Heaven was paramount.
"Why not tell some of the past Hazbins?" Charlie asked, "They could look for suspects up there while we search for any other information down here."
"Now you're thinking like a leader," Alastor complimented, pinching her cheek like an affectionate dad.
Charlie smiled, pleased with the fatherly praise. "Thanks!"
"Can they be discreet?" Vaggie asked, "Some of them are pretty gossipy."
"Why should they need to be?" Charlie asked.
"Because the Heaven Embassy can't learn about this," Vaggie said, "They're the ones who sent the exorcists here in the first place."
"Just keep it between a chosen few," Alastor suggested. "Perhaps the ones who were actually at the battle? They've proven their loyalty to you by now, I'd say."
"Oh! And I bet Pentious could tell us more about this arm, too!" Charlie examined the gears again, wondering why they gave her that odd sense of familiarity, "But how do we get ahold of him? A letter wouldn't be enough for all this."
"And it could be intercepted," Alastor pointed out.
"You really think so?"
"Do you think they'd let demons write to angels without checking for unsavory content first?"
"I guess not."
"So, what do we do, then?" Vaggie asked, "It's not like we can make a video call to another realm."
"If I may, perhaps the solution is right at the door," Alastor grinned, glancing over toward the hotel entrance.
Three, two, one… The door knocked. Right on cue.
Charlie gave him a curious look, "Who is that?"
"Why don't you answer it? It's impolite to leave a guest waiting."
Vaggie, being on edge and still not fully trusting Alastor, grabbed her spear and prepared to stab. She stood at the ready while Charlie cautiously opened the door.
Alastor shoved his way through from behind them, wrapping a sinister arm around their guest's shoulders. "Well, hello there! Always a pleasure, good man," he lied cheerily.
Vaggie and Charlie both released a breath they didn't know they'd been holding.
Marcel's disarming and now familiar face offered them a kind smile. "Hey guys," he greeted, "Mail's here."
Alastor still irritated him, but Marc wasn't quite as terrified of the man's sharp hands and pointy teeth as he'd been a year ago. Despite the horrifying stories the Redeemed had told him about the Radio Demon, Marc felt more of a vague dislike for him rather than terror at this point. "Can you let go of me, please?" Marcel asked calmly, tucking his wings into himself.
"Oh ho, don't be silly! Come inside, we have something to discuss with you." Alastor pushed Marc through the door, blocking Elida's bruised face from his view as he led the Mayor of Redemption City unwillingly into the side room where the arm still sat open. Charlie and Vaggie followed, glancing at Elida's odd and almost maniacal expression that she always had when she was brewing. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't even notice her friend's arrival.
Alastor closed the side room door and stood in front of it, blocking Marcel from leaving before they could finish explaining the situation. It was just as well, because they had barely begun to describe Elida's attack when he tried to run out and check on her. "I assure you, she's quite well," Alastor said, preventing Marc from getting out, "Now if you'll kindly calm down, we'll finish our discussion, and you can fuss over her all you like."
"How could this happen?" Marc said, "She's not supposed to be able to get hurt! The Seraphim are going to have a fit!"
"You can't tell them. Not if you care about her well-being."
"Why not?" Marc had never looked so angry. Alastor was not intimidated.
"Because where do you think they'll take Elida the second they discover she's in real danger?"
"Home," Marc said, "As they should. This is too far."
"And if they take her back, she'll be more vulnerable than ever before."
"That makes no sense," Marc glared, "Other than you, demons aren't allowed up there."
"Are you going to allow me to finish explaining, or are you going to act like a petulant child?" Alastor asked, examining his nails nonchalantly.
"Explain what?"
"Dear Elida was attacked by another angel."
Marc looked like he'd been slapped. He stood there in shock for a moment, mouth opening and closing, trying to form a response. None came.
"May I speak, now?"
Marcel only nodded, so Alastor finished describing the attack and detailing what they knew. Charlie asked if he'd be willing to talk to Pentious, Anthony, and Husk about it, and requested that they try to hunt down the culprit. Marc listened intently, worry deepening with every word spoken. When they were finished, he readily agreed to help. Elida wouldn't be safe until they knew who'd hurt her, he couldn't just sit back and do nothing.
As soon as Alastor moved out of his way, Marc darted straight for Elida's brewing area and began fussing over her like a mother hen. "Oh my goodness, E, that looks like it hurts. What can I do to help? We're going to find them, I promise."
She let him rattle on for a moment, not really paying much attention. She was busy starting a new recipe and had been concentrating hard when he ran up. It took a lot of effort not to flinch in pain when he hugged her, but she managed, because he would've felt awful if he'd known how much being squeezed hurt. He did have the presence of mind to be gentle with the bruises on her face, likely because they were far more visible. Over Marcel's shoulder, Elida could see Alastor snarl-grinning at him. Clearly, he knew the hug must not have been pleasant.
"Sweetheart, I'm alright, really. Allie has been taking good care of me. But there's something important I need you to promise me."
"Anything," Marc promised.
"Don't tell anyone in Heaven. I can't have Sera finding out about this quite yet."
"That's what Alastor said, too. I won't tell anyone who can't be trusted to keep it secret."
"Good. Because I sliced their face open a bit during the attack. They bled gold, not red."
"Told you so," Alastor gloated at Marc, appearing from the shadows behind Elida and brushing her hair back to reveal another bruise on her jawline. He touched the tender purple spot softly, livid that it had the audacity to appear on her soft skin. "An angel, but in title only."
"You knew?" Elida asked, neck (and other more feminine places) tingling when he touched her. She was glad not to be hooked up to a heart monitor anymore.
"Oh yes. But we can discuss that later. For now, love, I wish you'd sit and rest."
Marc did not like hearing Alastor call her that. He'd gotten over the darlings and the dears, but love? And she let him? He hated how Elida smiled so sweetly at him. Marcel wished someone would look at him that way. He was slowly starting to accept that it would never be her, even when he so dearly wanted it to be her.
Maybe it was time to talk to the matchmakers, after all. The look in Elida's eyes when she was near Alastor was nothing like Marcel had seen on her face in all the time he'd known her. Countless flirty men and seductive women who tried to charm their way into Elida's heart, and she'd never once looked at a single one of them the way she looked at Alastor.
Why did it have to be a demon? It was going to cause so many issues. Marc didn't want to see her lose someone she cared about, even if it wasn't him. Unless Alastor decided to redeem himself, which Marc doubted, he and Elida would be separated eventually. And then what? They just move on and never see each other again for the rest of eternity? Maybe Marc needed to transition from giving her romantic roses to condolence lilies.
A shameful part of Marc thought he could be there to pick up the pieces for her, but he internally scolded himself for even thinking it. He didn't want to be a manipulative rebound, he wanted to be her first choice. With how she leaned into Alastor's touch, clearly, she'd made that choice, and it wasn't Marcel. Elida wasn't single anymore, even if she and Alastor didn't quite know it yet.
Marc would have a good strong cry about it for a few days when he got home. For now, he needed to make sure his friend was okay. Bruises didn't belong on her face.
"Can't," Elida said in response to Alastor's attempt to get her to relax, "Once a recipe idea forms in my head it won't go away until I make it. It's why I keep a…" She paused, rethinking her sentence among all the listening ears, "Never mind."
"Keep a what?" Alastor asked curiously, wanting to know whatever juicy secret she had almost let slip.
"I'll uh… tell you later," She responded cryptically, turning back to her mortar and pestle. "Hey, can I ask you both a super personal question?"
"Go ahead," Marc said at the same time as Alastor stating, "That depends on what it is."
She curled her finger at the both of them, indicating that they should lean in. She asked quietly, "Are either of you virgins, by chance?"
"Yeah, why?" Marc readily admitted. Alastor just kind of froze, his brain buffering for a minute at the unexpected nature of the question.
"I need virgin blood for my potion, but it's really hard to find down here, especially ethically. I can't exactly just take it, you know? I'd rather it be given willingly."
"Ah, well in that case," Alastor said, suddenly far more comfortable with the question knowing that it wasn't being asked in a sexual manner out of the blue, "how much do you need?"
"Wait… you? Really?" Marc looked at Alastor in surprise, "Aren't you like a hundred years old or something?"
"Something like that," Alastor confirmed as Elida pulled a few vials out of a box. He held his arm out for her, smiling casually. "I'm not a fan of being touched," he said as he let Elida touch him. She carefully sliced a slit in a vein and caught the hot red liquid as it poured out of him. When she had three vials full, she kissed his wound shut and licked the blood off her lips.
"How do I taste?" he asked.
"Powerful," Elida answered, her eyes flicking over him flirtatiously. She noticed that Alastor didn't ask her for something in return. He was ready to give his blood to her freely. No deal required. "Marc, can I have some of yours, too? I'd love to see how angel versus demon blood differs."
"Sure, but can't you use your own?" Marcel asked, rolling up his sleeve.
"I don't qualify," she said.
"What do you mean you don't-" Marc stopped, realizing what she meant and face going red, "Oh."
With that image now seeping its way into both men's heads, they each pretended not to think about it. But oh, boy, were they thinking about it. Marcel imagined what Elida would have looked like on their wedding night, white dress abandoned on the floor and a ring on her finger. Alastor, having been in Hell for far too long and forced to see pornography at every street corner for decades despite his distaste for it, visualized her tied up and enjoying a more masochistic style of pleasure, the same look on her face as when she ate an especially delicious food. Alastor liked when she ate his food.
Elida pretended not to notice their awkwardness and pulled an angelic dagger out of the air. She drew three more vials from Marc, the glowing golden essence swirling magnificently in their containers. She kissed Marc's arm back together, sending a tingle into places he hoped no one would notice. Once again, she licked the blood from her lips. Angel blood and demon blood had drastically different flavors.
This potion was going to take a long time to make, as it was intensely complicated and had to be perfect. But if anyone was up for the task, it was Elida. She was a master of her craft.
Later, after Marcel had left with the metal arm and Elida was alone with Alastor in her room, he asked her about her comment from before. They sat on her bed as he gently brushed her hair, refusing to let her do it herself with her injuries. She felt safe with him, and it helped her relax knowing he would be watching over her. She decided he could be allowed to know the answer.
She told him about a carefully hidden safe full of poisons and cursed potions that she never let see the light of day. They were too dangerous for anyone to know about, let alone be sold in her shop. Some would kill you; others would hurt you; some had effects so existentially horrific that even Alastor shivered involuntarily. Elida kept them locked away for a reason.
She told him the combination.