The last of the thunderclouds rolled away as Millie emerged from the metro.
Getting from Imp City to Pentagram City was no easy task. Millie, wiping sweat from her forehead, had endured a grueling hour on the most disgusting subway car in all of Hell. She found the sour air of the city to be refreshing, miles ahead of the subway's constant B.O.
"Where are ya, Mox?" she whispered to herself while checking her phone's map.
She shook her head as she scanned the skyline. Growing up in the wrath ring, she had only been to Pentagram City once, and even that was in passing. Her parents had never been a fan of what they called "City People." In fact, they had tried to keep her from moving to Imp City in the first place. They wanted her to stay behind and keep working the family farm.
They would have had a heart attack if they knew where she was.
"Move, bitch!" a demon shouted as he pressed past Millie.
Millie extended a middle finger, "Fuck off!"
The last of the subway's passengers departed. Millie glanced back as the doors began to close. Rusting black walls sealed the passengers inside from the elements outside, with finger-printed windows extending further outwards.
Her eyes caught a demon in a large trench coat waltzing towards one of the closing doors. He stuck something through the machinery, jamming it enough for him to slip inside. Only after he disappeared inside did Millie notice the holster on his left hip.
She drew her knife and retreated from the car. Years in Imp City had taught her how to spot an ambush. They moved slowly, finding a way into their target and taking what they wanted when the lights went out.
Anybody in that subway was as good as dead.
Millie took off into an alleyway as an explosion rang out from the station. The shockwave sent a blast of heat and glass into her back, sprinkling her like corn from a silo. Parts of her clothes sizzled as her skin cried out from discomfort. She nearly dropped her knife diving behind a dumpster, praying that the flames on her clothes would extinguish themselves.
Bystanders broke out into a panicked frenzy. She thought they would have had thicker skin. Pentagram City, at least for the better part of six months, had been a warzone. Overlords were fighting for souls like pigs at a slaughterhouse. Even Imp City knew about it.
"You're all being babies," Millie groaned.
She brushed herself off and ignored the screams from the subway car.
Not her car, not her problem.
The incessant honking of car horns carried her from fifth street towards the center of town. Large banks soon took the place of skyscrapers, holding more money in one safe than she would see for the rest of her life.
Bodies dotted the ground throughout her stroll along the Financial District. She bent down and poked one of them, the flesh still warm and soaked with rainwater. He wore a wife-beater that had long since been covered in his own blood. The charred remains of a city bus smoldered on its side behind him.
Millie had done a lot of killing in her time. Never before had she seen something like it.
The man was missing one of his arms, with half of a steering wheel piercing the other. Mangled lumps of flesh composed what remained of his face. He had stab wounds and bullet wounds running up and down his extremities. Two teeth and a mangled lip comprised his mouth, which was left open in an eternal scream. Files ate away at the softer flesh on his side.
Above all was the smell. A fresh body, in her experience, didn't start to smell until about a day later. It was a foul odor. Undertones of excrement, blood, and ash masked the general bitterness.
"What the hell happened to you?" Millie asked.
Morbid curiosity consumed her. Dozens of other bodies were strewn about the site. Some of them carried weapons, while others clutched signs. The name "Zeezi" appeared on almost every single one. Millie hadn't the slightest clue who that was, nor was she particularly interested.
It had to have been a riot. Nothing else would have ripped those people apart like that. It was almost barbaric, and that was coming from her, with four years of kills under her belt. She had to fight a gag as a warm breeze pushed the fumes into her face.
She tip-toed around the bodies. The rats could have them for all she cared. Millie held her knife up and scanned the streets before pushing forward, not wanting to meet the same gruesome fate as those in the street.
The roar of police sirens rang out from a few streets away. Millie scoffed. Like they would do anything. The Imp City police had all been bought out by overlords. She assumed much of the same for Pentagram City. They would give lip service, wipe tears with their left hand, and pocket their bribes with their right.
Idiots like that kept Millie in business.
Idiots like that signed her paycheck.
Blitzo's calm demeanor following his falling out with Moxxie rubbed her the wrong way. On paper, everything at the office had been fine. Blitzo had disappeared into his cubicle and kept his mouth shut. Millie, meanwhile, had retreated into the weapons room, the last place in that entire damn building where she had felt safe.
It was a nightmare trying to get permission to leave. He had correctly assumed that she was off to see Moxxie, betrayal flashing across his face before an angry huff replaced it.
"Go ahead," Blitzo had spat, "Leave. Go with that rat husband of yours. I don't fucking care."
Wandering Pentagram City left her adrift on the open sea, going where the currents pulled her. It always ended the same. Her life had become a nightmare of trying to appease both Blitzo and Moxxie. With Blitzo, she had to deal with his temper and disregard for her feelings, while with Moxxie, she was always seen as an extension. Third wheels were noticed, but she and Moxxie were on the same axle.
Sooner or later, Blitzo would figure out where she was.
Despite the carnage, Millie took a breath of the city air. The air was all hers. There was nobody to share it with. For the first time in months, Millie was free from the gaze of an eye, whether that gaze be endearing or hostile.
Pillars of smoke reached to the sky and held the clouds high up in the air. Demons, ignoring the graveyard before them, bustled about in the streets as if nothing had happened. Hell had a way of desensitizing people.
She was halfway down fourth street when her phone began to buzz from her pocket.
Blitz.
Dammit.
Her finger hung precariously over the answer key. It trembled in the wind, fluttering back and forth like a tumbleweed caught in a fencepost. Was it worth it to poke the bear? Millie, red as she was, would run with the bulls if she picked up that phone.
Suddenly, the contact photo of Blitzo on her phone seemed angry. His flat expression of displeasure contorted to display fresh anger, an unmoving mouth still managing to form a scowl. The impulsive disposition no longer seemed impulsive. She saw malevolence.
The phone rose to her ear.
Millie cleared her throat and sighed to herself.
"Blitz?" she asked.
It took a moment for him to answer. A solemn, ragged, dry voice responded.
"Mills, look," Blitzo said, "I know you're off to see Moxxie. Whatever. No skin off my dick. But I'm gonna be out of the office for a bit, and if this gets worse, I might need your help."
"Why?"
"Stolas just called me. Spare me the 'oh, he really loves you!' schtick. His kid is gone, and his bitch wife is getting involved, too. He's asking me to help, and it's not like I fucking want to, but what the fuck else am I supposed to do?"
"No, you're right. Go help him, Blitz."
"Whatever. This convo stays between us, capeesh? I don't want your bitch getting involved here. Not after that shitshow in the office."
"Blitz-"
She balled her hands into a fist. Blitzo had insulted Moxxie before, and Millie despised him for it. In light of recent events, however, verbal daggers had turned to bullets. His words were charged. His tongue catapulted profanities and ill-will with a sincerity that almost alarmed her. Beforehand, his remarks had been jovial, a hurtful joke if nothing more. Only in the aftermath of his temper could Millie see behind that curtain.
"Not in the mood right now, Mills," Blitzo replied, "Can't change my mind on this. Whenever you see him, tell him to get his last paycheck. It's on the corner of fourth and MY ASS!"
The call ended with an angry grunt.
She wound up her arm and prepared to slam her phone onto the ground. At first, she had been hesitant about leaving the office for the city.
If her boss wanted to act like a baby, he could do it by himself.
Millie took a breath and placed her phone back in her pocket. Destroying it wouldn't do her any good.
"Asshole," she muttered beneath her breath.
Millie took pause as she sauntered closer and closer to the corner of First and Gehenna.
"His kid is gone, and his bitch wife is getting involved, too."
She had only spoken to Stolas's daughter once or twice before. Octavia, if she remembered correctly, had only been a teenager at the time. By then she was in her early twenties at most. A 411 for an Ars-Goetia should have garnered more attention. Octavia was the heir to one of the most noble names in hellborn society, after all. Even her country-bumpkin parents knew about them.
At that moment, however, there wasn't anything that she could do. She would keep her head high and her expectations low.
The last traces of storm clouds vanished over the horizon, giving way to the purple hues, harbingers of the evening stars. Artificial light fought against the gleaming of the cosmos. Her heart ached, uttering a silent elegy for those clear country nights, relics of a tattered path. No longer could she see the lights of her apartment building. Everything about Pentagram City was foreign.
Neon lights cascaded the streets as the first of the nightclubs opened for business. Millie considered stopping for a drink, but saw no point in drinking by herself in such a big city. A lonely imp in a place like that was bound to attract unwanted attention; the lustful talons of sexually-frustrated vultures.
The nightlife, she soon found, cloaked something far more sinister.
Red stains crawled up the brick exteriors of the low-rise buildings that Millie passed. Bright neon lights cast rotting corpses in their hues, like spraying air-freshener on a sewer. Many of them wore the same clothes as the demons in the Financial District. They displayed Zeezi's name once again. She planned to ask Moxxie about it when she made it to the hotel.
Years of assassinations had trained her well. She could detect the faintest trace of another demon. Whether it be the cologne they were wearing, the ever-so-quiet scuff of their foot against payment, or the soft breeze of their passing, Millie could sense it. The allure of the kill had consumed her. Her hand always held a knife. She waited patiently for a chance to use it, her senses never wavering.
At the company, she was the one to finish the kills. She had racked up over a hundred within her first year at I.M.P. She figured that her skin was red for a reason, as if fate had conspired to bathe her in blood.
The words "Happy Hotel" sat in gold at the top of a large building. Moxxie had described the hotel as "Broadway-esque," with an "allure to the eye of the gold-craving soul," his choice of words coercing a chuckle out of her. Only when she stood before the beast did she understand its grandeur.
A series of gunshots from down the street prompted Millie to knock on the door.
She paced back and forth. For the better part of a year, the Happy Hotel had been something that Millie only knew from the news. Lucifer's daughter, last she checked, was the owner of the hotel, and Millie found herself feeling exposed as she prepared to face her. Millie's raggedy black tank-top and torn pants were fantastic for assassinations, but not for greeting royalty.
A familiar face opened the front door. She recognized his expressive pupils and soft, half-curve smile immediately.
"Hey," Moxxie said, an adorable softness consuming his face, "I missed you."
His warm embrace brought a wave of relaxation about her, her ever-present senses dimming themselves in the presence of the one man whom she would never have to kill. The scuffs of passing feet and the ambient gunfire disappeared as the pair stood together. She could hear his heartbeat through his suit, softly tapping against his chest as she placed her ear just beneath his collarbone.
"Can I come inside?" she asked playfully, "Or are you still on the clock?"
Millie watched his spine straighten as the rest of his body tensed. His expression changed, too, small crow's-feet forming at the corners of his mouth and a wrinkle appearing at the top of his forehead.
"About that," Moxxie said, tilting his head slightly, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Why?" she asked.
"You'll see. Come inside. I want you to meet Charlie first!"
"Charlie?"
"Princess Morningstar. Remember?"
"You get to call the goddamn princess by her first name?"
"Yep. I'm still getting used to it."
She would never understand how Moxxie got himself into those types of situations. Only he would find a way to get into the hotel, befriend the princess, and bring Millie along to meet her as if she were some longtime friend. She laughed, wondering if he had picked up on her southern sociability and charm.
Hands entwined, she and Moxxie set out for the hotel's lobby, a soft carpet dampening their footsteps.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, Moxxie," Millie said, "I had to deal with…you know who."
Moxxie smiled and rolled his eyes, "Yep. I know. I left for a reason."
Tenderly placing a hand on his shoulder, Millie locked eyes with him.
"He has no right to treat you that way, hun," Millie said, her voice rising with disdain at the very mention of their boss, "You've shot more people than my daddy shot pigs. He should be thankful that he had someone like you."
He shook his head awkwardly, seemingly not knowing what to do with her praise. It was one of her husband's many quirks. If she ever needed to fluster him, all she had to do was give him a compliment. It was like stepping on a dog's tail.
"Whatever. I'm having a better time here, anyway." Moxxie said, "The people here actually respect me. Most of them, anyway."
"Maybe you should stay here for a bit longer," Millie replied, "I can stay back home and deal with Blitz a bit longer…or maybe I'll just quit."
She refrained from telling him about Blitzo's latest remark. It would do nothing but add fuel to the fire.
Within a minute, Moxxie sat her down in a cushioned chair not far from the hotel bar. The seats were made of fine leather. Millie found herself wondering where the material had come from, the urge to slaughter the cow herself bringing heat to the arm that held her knife. A cow that fine would be worth ten thousand souls, probably more.
"Is everything here expensive?" Millie asked, "This chair costs more than the apartment!"
"I mean, with our situation, anything is expensive," Moxxie sighed.
"Yeah. Forgot to mention it to you, but rent came while you were gone."
"How bad was it?"
"About a thousand. Ain't got enough brisket in the oven this month."
"Well, with the pay Charlie's giving me, we might be okay."
"How much are you gettin' here?"
"Well, I got three hundred and fifty souls today-"
"-Three hundred and fifty fucking souls?"
"Yeah. They pay well around here."
Millie's jaw fell open as Moxxie pulled a stack of bills from his pocket. Never in her life had she seen that much money in one place. Back at home, they were lucky if they had a hundred souls to their names.
"You're…you're really getting that much?" she asked, "Holy shit, Mox…"
'They treat me well. Didn't I tell you?"
"You know, maybe it's about time you give Blitz the pink slip. Ya know, tell him you're through."
"Oh, Millie, I don't know about that…"
"Why not? He treated you like shit, you left, and you found a better job where they treat ya like a king!"
"I don't want to rock the boat. Blitz already hates me. I don't need to give him another reason."
"He can't do anything to you if you quit."
"He knows where we live, Millie. Need I remind you of all the sex tapes he has of us?"
"If we keep making money like this, we might have enough money to move."
"Well, what are you gonna do? You still have to make money, too."
"I don't know, Mox. But I'll figure it out."
"I don't want you to have to 'figure it out.' We should be doing this together, shouldn't we?"
"We're together now, aren't we?"
There was a pause.
Moxxie sighed, "How long did you tell Blitz you'd be gone for?"
"A couple of days," Millie replied, "But he won't be back for awhile, either."
"Why not?"
"He's out helping Stolas with something. His kid is missing. Blitz says that they're a mess right now."
"Octavia's missing?"
"So THAT'S her name!"
Moxxie held his fingers close to his chest and quietly picked away at their skin. His pupils switched back and forth, Millie attempting to follow them with no success.
"Moxxie!" a voice shouted from behind, "Is this Millie?'
She spun her head around and was greeted by a tall woman wearing a red suit.
Without having time to react, Millie found herself facing the second-most powerful demon in Hell.
Her demeanor oozed amicability. Strange, seeing how the princess was despised in Imp City, with many believing her to be a manipulative ruler determined to make their lives as miserable as possible. Shoddy reception kept the city in the dark. Hell, Millie hadn't learned about the exterminator attack until almost a week after it happened.
So, one could imagine Millie's surprise when the princess grinned like a toddler and reached out to shake her hand.
"Hi!" Princess Morningstar beamed, "Oh my gosh! Moxxie's told me about you! I LOVE the tank top! And your hair! How do you get that volume! It's so pretty!"
The words came out faster than Millie could process them. It felt like she was the target for a verbal machine gun, bullets hitting her faster than she could blink.
"Thank you," Millie said, flashing a smile of her own.
"Is that a southern accent!?" Charlie asked, "I love it! We don't ever get southerners down here."
"Well, I-"
"Welcome to the Happy Hotel! Oh my gosh, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Princess Morningstar, but you can call me Charlie! We don't get new faces around here, and now that we've gotten three, we-!"
"C-Charlie," Moxxie interrupted hesitantly, "You might want to slow it down a little bit. They don't talk very fast in the south."
It took until Moxxie finished speaking for Millie to process Charlie's words. Never in a million years would she have guessed that a princess would take interest in her life, let alone the country-bumpkin aspect of it. A southern accent in Hell was often a subject of mockery. She found it refreshing not being treated like a hick.
"Well, Charlie," Millie said calmly, "I'm not the one with an accent. It's all of you guys."
Charlie chuckled, "It's nice to listen to you talk."
"Thank you. I don't know how much Moxxie told you, but we both worked at an assassination company together."
"He mentioned it. He had a lot to say about your boss."
"That sack of shit? Yeah, never want to see him again. I like him about as much as a cornfield likes locusts."
"...That doesn't sound good."
"After what he did to Moxxie," Millie said, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, "I don't give a shit."
"He really did a number on you two, didn't he?"
"Where do ya wanna start? The stalking, the screaming, or the violence?"
Charlie waved to the bartender and returned with a glass of fine red wine. Hesitantly, she wrapped her hand around the glass like an old friend, the condensation pooling at her fingers. Her husband was far less phased by its appearance. Knowing what she knew of Charlie, she had already given him some.
"I hope you both like Merlot," Charlie chuckled, "It's not a sin in moderation!"
"Really going for the no-sinning thing here, aren't ya?" Millie asked as she took a sip, "If it means we get good booze, I'm fine with it. We never get this at home."
"Moxxie said the same thing."
The hearty wine sent a cascading warmth down her through and throughout the rest of her body. Her posture slumped as she allowed herself to sink back into the chair, lulled near serenity by the comfortable temperature and ambiance.
"So…what was that thing you wanted to talk to me about?" Millie asked.
Moxxie stood up from his chair and pointed to a dark hallway by the kitchen, "Wait right here. You can't tell anybody about this, okay?"
Millie nodded, still wondering what the hell she was talking about.
A few seconds passed before Moxxie emerged from the back room. He moved frantically, zipping out of the hallway and waving his arms at Charlie.
"So, um, we have a problem," Moxxie said nervously, "She's not in her room. I can't find her."
Charlie bolted out of her seat with so much force that she shattered her wine glass.
"Shit!" she screamed, tilting her head and cupping her hand around her right ear, "Follow me."
The duo sprinted past the kitchen. Millie took her knife out of its scabbard and followed.