(Content Warning: Racism, discussion of racism)

"They did what?!"

Valentino jerked awake at the sound of the muffled shout. Slowly, he stretched his long limbs, squinting against the glare of the ceiling lights as he became aware of the weight on his chest, of the throbbing in his head.

"Move," he grunted, pushing the woman on top of him off the couch and onto the floor. She awoke with a startled yelp, popping upwards as he swung his legs over the side.

"Mister Valentino," the woman started, her voice at once grating on his nerves. "Is there somet—"

"Shut the fuck up," he groaned as he rubbed his temples, hunching over. The room twisted and swirled as he fumbled for his sunglasses, knocking over a few empty bottles on the coffee table in his haste. He wiped some coke off the lenses with his thumb, licking it clean as he shoved them onto his face. "I didn't say you could sleep over."

"O-oh," the woman stuttered, her slit pupils—what was she, some sort of reptile?—widening in surprise. "I'm sorry s-sir, I just thought—"

"Get out."

The woman's mouth dropped open, revealing pointed teeth and a forked tongue. The scales on her cheeks shone, throwing off dappled glints of pink-tinted light as she tilted her head at him, her eyes watering. A glance at her lower half revealed a squat tail, diamond-patterned and tapering to a nubby point.

"But what about my audition?" her voice wavered as her tail twitched. "My reel?"

"That was your audition," he grunted. He reached for a half-empty bottle of Beelzejuice, wincing against the sugary-sweet burn as he took a swig. "Now get out, before I shoot you."

"But—"

The door to Valentino's office was thrown open with a head-splitting slam.

"Fucking idiots!" Vox cried as he stomped in, cellphone in hand as his screen glitched blue. "I gave those gillheads one order, one! Do! Not! Engage! And what did they do? They fucking shot at her!" He stopped short as his eyes fell on the snake woman. "Who the fuck are you?!"

"I'm—"

"Get out!" he screamed, pointing towards the door.

The woman sniffled, dissolving into sobs as she picked up her clothes, gathering them into rumpled balls as her tail split, morphing into two wobbling legs. A spark of recognition flashed in Valentino's mind at the party trick: so that's why she'd caught his eye.

Vox stood stoic, his arms crossed as the disheveled woman stumbled out into the hallway, before shutting the door behind her. He took a deep breath, composing himself as his screen flickered.

"Her?" he asked with a frown. "Really?"

"Snakeshifter," Valentino said with a shrug as he leaned forward, reaching for his cigarette holder. "Been a while since we made a movie with one of those."

"Yeah, but she was like, a six, at best."

"She looked better last night…" he said as he grabbed his lighter, its flame clicking to life.

"I'm sure she did…" Vox rolled his eyes as he turned his attention to his phone. "I'll have Velvette take care of it. Slip her a few grand, maybe a new handbag, keep her quiet." He smirked at him as he tapped out a message. "Think she'd mind snakeskin?"

Valentino chuckled, letting out a few heart-shaped puffs of smoke before he took another drag. He cracked his neck as he stood, then bent down, picking up his discarded robe.

"So, what's got your wires in a twist this…" he glanced at the clock on the wall, "morning, Voxy?"

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It's the human."

Valentino grit his teeth. Of course it was the goddamn human. Ever since she'd showed up, she'd been nothing but trouble, distracting the media, distracting his man, even causing their first blowout fight in ages. He'd hoped that after she signed her soul over to that Radio freak, he could be done with her, but instead, his Voxy had only gotten more obsessed, droning on and on about 'surveillance' and 'observation' and 'maintaining our image.' If it wasn't for Lucifer, he would have marched over to that stupid Hotel and put a bullet between the bitch's eyes himself.

"Oh?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral. "What about her?"

"I had some of Tiberius' guys keeping tabs on her, told them to follow her. Nothing crazy, nothing too complicated," he pinched the bridge of his nonexistent nose, "and they still managed to fuck it up!"

Valentino snorted. "What'd those idiots do this time?"

He snapped his fingers, sending blue sparks flying as the flat-screen TV on the far wall flickered on. A grid of CCTV camera footage filled the screen, showing an ugly red car, undoubtably the Radio Demon's, weaving through the streets of the city, followed closely behind by three sleek black sedans. Valentino's eyes followed the car as the angles changed, as it appeared to accelerate, before slamming head-on into a brick wall in a fiery burst, making the camera shake. The sedans soon followed, skidding and running into each other before the feed went black.

"So, she's dead now?" he asked.

Vox shook his head. "No, but eleven of Tiberius' so-called 'best men' are."

He waved his hand, and a new image appeared: grainy footage of the entrance to the Princess' Hotel. A red, staticky blur moved onto the screen, causing the feed to flicker and glitch. Vox held up a hand, and the video zoomed in on the blur, the picture growing sharper, until two distinctly human legs, clad in pantyhose and hideous black shoes, came into focus. Above the hem of her dress, the rest of the image was still corrupted, but it was enough to indicate that the Radio Demon's newest acquisition was still alive and kicking.

"Huh." Valentino blew a few smoke rings. "He saved her…"

"That's not all." Another wave, and the footage rewound a few frames. A snap, and the footage played in half-time as the legs took one step, then another. "Look closer…"

Valentino squinted, taking a step closer to the TV, then shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, babe. They're legs."

"Do you see a bonding mark on either of them?"

"No…" Valentino said, slowly putting the pieces together.

Vox grinned, then snapped his fingers. The TV switched to a series of still photos of the human, slightly blurred but brightly lit, as if by some sort of spotlight. In them, she was dancing, twisting and twirling, right beside that same spot of staticky, rune-laced corruption. They flicked by one by one, showing more and more of her legs as she high kicked and swept across the dance floor. Valentino peered at the pictures, catching sight of some brutal scars under her hose, of a bite on her calf, faded and raised… but no sign of any bonding mark.

Well, shit.

"So, he didn't put it on her legs, so what?" he asked. "He could've just put it on her arm, or her ass, or something…"

Vox smirked, and the image fizzled out. In its place was a new series of photos, dimmer this time, of the human sitting at a table, surrounded by imps. The pictures flicked by as she peeled off one of her long, white gloves, exposing one arm entirely. Apart from a single scar on her inner forearm, it was also bare.

Valentino crossed his arms. "Where are you goin' with this?"

His grin grew, filling half his screen. "I don't think she has one at all."

"That doesn't make any goddamn sense."

"It makes perfect sense!" he countered. "Think about it: six months ago, if someone had attacked Alastor so brazenly, he would have pulverized them without a second thought. But last night, he ran, led Tiberius' goons on a wild goose chase, refusing to engage, refusing to leave her side!" Sparks flew from his fingers as he gestured wildly. "Why? Because if she'd gotten hurt, if she'd gotten killed in the crossfire, there's no guarantee her soul would have ended up in his possession! And why is that?!" His grin was almost manic. "Because not only was a totum bond never forged between them, she never sold him her soul in the first place!"

Valentino let out a heavy sigh. "Voxy. Baby. You sound like a crazy person." His second pair of arms came to rest of his hips. "He's a dealmaker. Why would he be protecting her without getting a soul in return?"

"And that," he said with a snap, "is the million-dollar question!" He began pacing back and forth. "The Radio Demon may be a loose cannon, but when it comes to deals, we know how he operates. If there's something he wants, a soul, a favor, he locks it down, and locks it down tight." He pointed towards the screen. "But with her, it's different. If I'm right, and I know I am, there's something about this… this nobody that's broken his pattern, that's made him change the rules." He tilted his head at him. "And I think I already know what it is…"

"Oh?" Valentino asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

He smirked. "I've got somebody on the inside," he said, lowering his voice ever so slightly, "a fox in the henhouse, so to speak. According to them, there's something different about her soul, it's all… broken, or something. Now, I don't know all the specifics," he said with a bit of a shrug, a rare admission of imperfection, "but what I do know is that whatever's wrong with her was unusual enough to earn her an audience with Lucifer himself." His smile grew. "And wherever the King of Hell goes… Heaven isn't far behind."

"Heaven?!" he scoffed. "You think those maniácos are going to be interested in that?!" He pointed at the screen.

"They might be!" Vox said. "And if they are, I want to be the one holding all the cards, not that radio hack!" Another snap of his fingers, and the television went black. "The pieces are already in place. All I need to do is sit back and watch as my operatives do what they do best."

He plopped back down on the couch with a huff. "I'm startin' to think this whole thing isn't even about her…"

Vox frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think you don't give a shit if you get the girl or not. I think," he said, leaning forward, "this is all about pissing off Alastor."

His screen glitched for a second, before that same toothy grin snapped back into place. "Well, if I can hit two birds with the same stone…"

"I fuckin' knew it!"

"A coincidence, that's all!" he said, waving him away. "A happy accident!"

"Sure it is," he said with a smirk. He took a drag of his cigarette. "At least that explains why you've been holed up in here sitting on your ass for months. You've been waiting, trying to figure out what the Radio cabrón is planning to do with her, all so you can blow it up in his face!" He chuckled. "Or should I say, you were being quiet."

He frowned. "I like you a lot less when you're hungover."

Valentino chuckled. "Join the fuckin' club," he said, picking up a bottle.

He sighed. "Either way," he said, "the jig is up. Thanks to those morons, we've lost the element of surprise, and he's going to be on his guard from now on. But that may work to my advantage…" He straightened. "While Alastor," he said, practically spitting the name out, "is playing checkers, I'll be playing chess."

"I hate chess…" Valentino grumbled as he took a swig.

"But you do love a good show," he said. "You love them almost as much as I do. And what show could be better than watching the infamous Radio Demon squirm?" His eyes narrowed. "He's always acted like he's above it all, like he's only out for himself, but now?" He took a step towards the coffee table, picking up Valentino's spare pistol. "Now, he has something to lose, something that, for whatever screwed up reason, he wants to protect. And that's not an opportunity I'm going to let go to waste."

He examined the gun, flipping it around a few times on his finger before his hand shifted to the grip.

"For the first time in years, he's got a target on his back, and it's one he painted there himself."

He held out the gun as his gaze shifted towards the window, towards the lights of the rest of the city in the distance.

"All I need to do is aim…"

His grin grew as he centered the Hazbin Hotel in his sights.

"…and fire."

"A meetin'?"

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel sat around the dining table, picking at the remains of their lunch.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Angel," Vaggie scolded him half-heartedly. "It's not polite."

"What?" he whined. "Not my fault it took you this long to get us some decent food!" He took another big bite of his pupusa, chewing slowly, before letting out an obscene moan. "Damn, that's good. You should make this Mexican shit more often, Vags."

"They're from El Salvador," she huffed.

"Eh, same thing," he said with a shrug.

The woman's eye twitched in response, her frown deepening as she sat back in her chair, muttering under her breath.

Lee sat quietly, pushing her cabbage slaw around with her fork. For the past few days, she'd been walking on eggshells, worried that news of her and Alastor's clandestine outing—and its fiery finale—would reach the Princess and the rest of the Hotel staff. Oddly, however, there hadn't been a peep on social media about their visit to the club, let alone the harrowing car chase that followed. According to 666 News, all was still perfectly unwell in Hell, with the talking heads on television still prattling on about the latest turf wars, new VoxTek products, and, of course, the upcoming Extermination. She supposed it was possible that the story had simply gotten lost in the shuffle, or that a four-car pile-up on a deserted back street was commonplace enough to not merit a mention, but the silence had still made her nervous.

So, when Charlie had gathered them for an "all-hands" lunchtime, she'd immediately feared the worst, bracing herself for a confrontation, for an intervention of some sort. What she hadn't expected, however, was an eager-eyed announcement that she had secured a meeting with ambassadors from Heaven.

"I wanted to tell you guys earlier," Charlie said, sounding apologetic, "but they just accepted my proposal this morning." She handed her plate to Niffty, adding it to the pile the little demon had carefully balanced on one hand. "For all the eyes they keep on us, they sure are hard to get ahold of!"

"Uh, 'scuse me?" Amon asked from across the table, raising his hand. "When is this, uh, meeting happening, exactly?"

"About that…" she started, her smile fading a bit. "Apparently, they're really, really busy, so the only time they'd be able to meet with me is tomorrow, which is… more than a little last minute…" She quickly perked back up. "But that's alright! I've already perfected my pitch, and with the Extermination coming up, the sooner we get to talking, the better. And if all goes well…" she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement, "there might not even be an Extermination at all!"

A stunned silence fell over the room as the residents' heads snapped towards her.

Charlie beamed in response. "I know, right?! Just think of it, Heaven and Hell, finally at peace, working together to benefit all of demonkind. We'll be able to make this realm better for everyone, get Sinners on the right path, help them grow, change without the threat of erasure hanging over their heads!"

The declaration was followed by disbelieving murmurs as the tablemates looked at each other, their eyes already narrowing in doubt. A bitter, barking laugh rang out.

"If you think they're gonna just call off the Extermination," Husk said. "I got a bridge to sell you." He took as sip from his flask. "You may be a royal, but even your blood isn't blue enough to get those feathery bastards to bend."

"He is right," Valeria said with a solemn nod. "The Angels have their orders. Like good soldiers, will not abandon them." Her fox tail swished behind her, its energy almost nervous as she frowned. "Good soldiers do not listen to enemy, either…"

"But they do listen to their superiors," Charlie said, holding up a finger. "And if I can get the leaders of the Angelic Army to even just delay the Extermination for a few months, that gives us a better chance of proving redemption is possible, that Sinners can be reformed, become worthy of Heaven!" Her smile shrank a bit, becoming almost sheepish. "Which brings me to why you're all here…"

Vaggie sat up straight in her chair. "I don't think I need to tell you all how important this meeting is," she said, her tone stern as she addressed the table, "and I expect you all to be on your best behavior while Charlie is gone. That means no science experiments," a glance at Baxter, "no parties, no arson, and absolutely no deal-making."

That last pointed remark caused a bit of a stir as the Sinners muttered among themselves, stealing looks at Alastor. The man in question, however, didn't appear bothered in the slightest.

"Well, I certainly hope your little rendezvous is entertaining, darling!" he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair at the end of the table. "I do expect a full de-brief when you return, however! The wayward souls of this realm will doubtlessly be waiting with bated breath to hear how things went, and I want the inside scoop, the full story, warts and all!"

Vaggie frowned. "We have to get them to say 'yes,' first…"

"Oh, it'll be fine!" Charlie said, brushing off her concerns. "I know it won't be an easy sell, but once I show them my plans for this place, for my people, I'm sure I can get them on board!" She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a few sheets of paper. "I even prepared some visual aids!" she said, holding up what appeared to be a crayon drawing of several smiling demons holding hands.

Angel snorted as he covered his mouth with his hand, nearly elbowing Lee in the face in the process. Vaggie glared at him in reply.

"And that's not all…" the Princess said with a small smile. "Dad always said the fastest way to a man's heart was through his stomach, and while I'm not sure that Angels have hearts, I bet they have to eat something." She grinned. "Which is where you come in!"

She waved her hand as a golden shower of sparks cleared the remaining dirty dishes from the table. An assortment of sweets appeared in their place: chocolate drops and sprinkles, pieces of crushed peppermint and toffee bits, and piping bags filled with icing.

"As you know, today is Valentine's Day," she continued, "and in the spirit of love and friendship, I think it would be a good idea to bring the diplomats some treats, show them all that there are already good people here, people ready and willing to work towards redemption!" She stood. "Niffty!"

The door to the kitchen swung open, and the cyclops appeared, carrying a tray piled so high with cookies that she could barely see over it. Most of them looked more than a bit burnt, resembling heart-shaped hockey pucks, but there appeared to be at least a few good ones in the bunch.

"Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot!" the little demon squealed as she rushed over, setting the tray down on the table.

"Niffty, we have oven mitts!" Vaggie said. "Go grab some if it's too hot for you."

She shook her head. "No, no, it's okay!" Her smile grew. "I like the pain…"

Husk raised an eyebrow. "So, you're gonna try to bribe 'em?"

"It's a gift, not a bribe." Charlie corrected him. She gestured towards the rest of the table. "Go ahead, guys, take a few! Let your creativity shine!"

"But please," Vaggie cut in, "no swear words, or threats, or drawings of… body parts. We want to put our best foot forward."

"Aw, rats," Angel said with a snap, feigning disappointment.

The demons gathered around the table muttered quietly to themselves as Niffty began to pass out the cookies. Lee grabbed one of the least-burned ones, its surface still warm from the oven as a fresh, clean plate appeared in front of her with a sparkle. Her mind was already racing: from what she knew of Heaven, they didn't seem the types to listen to reason. If they were cruel enough to send her down here, to trap her in Hell because of a mistake they were too proud to acknowledge, there's no way they'd think a Sinner was worthy of a second chance.

Images of past Exterminations flashed in her head, and she grit her teeth, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that rolled through her. So far, she'd been able to barely survive Hell—emphasis on barely—but the yearly cleanse was another matter entirely. Alastor was powerful, sure, but he couldn't fight an entire army on his own, especially one wielding Angelic weapons. Even Charlie wouldn't be able to keep her safe: while she had no doubt the princess could hold her own against one, ten, even twenty Exorcists, their sheer numbers would leave her overwhelmed. If they wanted her dead, wanted her erased, there was nothing they could do, nothing they could say that would keep them from driving a spear through her heart.

A sharp pain radiated through her chest at the thought, and she sucked in a breath, trying to keep calm. She couldn't think about that, couldn't let her mind wander down that road. As far as she knew, the Angels didn't even know she was still alive, and if they did, they hadn't sent someone to finish the job.

But that doesn't mean they won't, a fearful voice hissed in her head. It doesn't mean they aren't coming for you…

She gripped the edge of her chair as she tried to keep herself grounded, anchored to this point in time, in space. Sitting around worrying about hypotheticals wasn't going to do her any good. Right now, she needed to keep moving forward, keep looking for a way out.

Thanks to the Midnight Crew, she had at least one possible lead, but getting her hands on an Asmodean Crystal would be easier said than done. Asking Alastor for help was out of the question, since her leaving Hell would no doubt ruin all his carefully laid plans for her blood. Rosie was similarly ineligible: she and Al were two peas in a pod, and there's no way her bargaining wouldn't get back to him. What she needed was someone who didn't have any connections to either of them, someone who was out of the loop.

She scanned the table. Out of all of Hell's denizens, Charlie was the most likely to be able to get her hands on one. As kind as the princess was, however, Lee knew that at the end of the day, her loyalty was to her project and to her people. She wouldn't do anything that could jeopardize her efforts, that would make the Hotel look anything less than legit, and that included shaking down crime syndicates for illicit crystals. Vaggie, in turn, was loyal to Charlie, so there was no point in asking her, and while she knew Angel had some underground connections, their frosty relationship meant that the odds that he was willing to help her was basically zero.

That left the new arrivals. Most of them she still didn't know too well, and of the few she did, she wasn't sure they'd be of much use. Crymini, for one, spent most of her time with her eyes glued to her phone, oblivious to the outside world, and Baxter seemed far more likely to dissect her than to assist her. From what Amon had told her, he used to be quite the wild child, but he was clean now, and as far as she knew, committed to the idea of redemption. The last thing she wanted was to put any strain on their strange, new friendship.

God knows she needed all the friends she could get down here.

Her eyes fell on the Sinner sitting across from her: Valeria. Lee still didn't know much about her, except that she was still working for Vox as a cybersecurity analyst; a red flag, for sure, but given the size of his empire, perhaps an unreasonable one to hold against her. Her KGB background, however, was fair game: nobody knew exactly what she'd done in her previous life, but given her unwillingness to share, she suspected it wasn't pleasant. The woman was an enigma, as hostile and cold as the Siberian winter, and despite Charlie's numerous assurances that the Hotel was safe, that they were on neutral ground, she never seemed to let her guard down. Was she running from something? Hiding from someone? What had caused her to come with Amon, caused her to join—

"What do you want?"

Lee jolted in her seat, startled.

"Why you stare?" Valeria asked. "Do I have something on face?" Her eyes narrowed. "Or do you just have no manners?"

Heat flooded her cheeks as she tried to think of an explanation, as she took in her sharpened canines, her ears pressed almost flat against her skull, the way her tail twitched behind her with undisguised irritation.

"Is it weird?" she finally blurted out.

"Yes, stare is weird," Valeria huffed.

"No, no!" she said, trying not to sound frantic. "No, I mean the, uh… the tail."

The fox woman blinked, clearly surprised.

Lee fiddled with the hem of her sweater. "I mean… I know for me, at least, ending up down here was hard enough. Having to deal with having extra body parts on top of that… I can't even imagine."

There was a flash of something in her eyes, a distance Lee couldn't place. As quick as it appeared, however, the woman composed herself, her face shifting back into her signature stern frown.

"Is fine," she said. "Tail can be useful, help with balance. It does not bother me."

Husk let out a small scoff beside her. "Speak for yourself. It took me two years before I stopped getting mine caught in doors. Not to mention it's a bitch to sleep on my back anymore," he said, giving his wings a small shake.

"Yeah," Amon chimed in. "I used to be a side sleeper, but now…" He rapped the ram's horns growing out of the side of his head with his knuckles as he trailed off. "You get used to it, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"Well, unlike you chumps I love my new body," Angel said, leaning back in his chair as he caressed his chest fluff. "I got legs for days now, and all these extra arms mean I can have a lot more fun on set." He smirked at Husk. "I'm also very flexible…"

"Angel, focus," Vaggie grumbled as Husk flipped the bird at him. "Use your arms to decorate some more cookies, if you're that proud of them."

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport!" Alastor piped up, his smile smug. "I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying hearing our residents lament their Kafkaesque transmogrifications!" He leaned forward. "Come now, which one of you hideous degenerates wants to go next? Perhaps you, my piscatorial pal?" he asked, turning his attention towards Baxter.

The scientist shrank in his seat in response, his lure flashing in alarm.

"Alastor…" Charlie started. "Why don't we try… not commenting on other people's bodies, and instead try complimenting their work?" She glanced around the table, before holding up Vaggie's half-iced cookie. "Like this! 'Vaggie,'" she said, turning to her girlfriend, "'I really like the colors you've used here!'" She turned back towards him. "Now you try!"

"Very well…" He adjusted his monocle as he squinted a bit. "Vaggie… your design is… passable, I suppose, for someone with such a cyclopean impairment."

Vaggie grit her teeth in response. "Like you've got room to talk, Bambi!"

He let out a small hiss of static. "If you're attempting to insult me," he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to try harder than that, my dear!" He leaned back in his seat. "Despite its cervid qualities, my new form is still perfectly suitable for my purposes, not to mention far more resilient than my mortal body ever was." He grinned. "I of course had to sacrifice a bit of my devilish good looks, but given what I've gained, I suppose it's an acceptable loss."

"'Devilish good looks,'" Vaggie deadpanned, looking him up and down. "Right…"

Someone snorted, and Lee glanced across the table to see Amon covering his mouth. He feigned a cough, his eyes fixed on the Radio Demon. Thankfully for him, the man didn't seem to have noticed.

"Why so skeptical?" Alastor asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "I was quite popular with the ladies, you know!" His smile shrank ever so slightly. "Oftentimes a bit too popular for my tastes!"

"Uh-huh," Vaggie said with a smirk. "Whatever you say, Casanova."

The sound of twisting frequencies and the click of dials emanated from him as his eyes narrowed, as a wave of static swept through the room.

"Very well, then." His words were short, clipped as he straightened in his seat. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order." His crimson gaze drifted towards Lee. "Darling," he said, his smile now a thin line, "would you be a dear and close your eyes for a moment?"

"Uh… why?" she asked tentatively.

"Just humor me, sweetheart." His voice was low but firm, laced with that same commanding air that made her stomach twist strangely.

"O-okay," she stuttered out, her eyes snapping shut.

A moment later, the room exploded with sound, a cacophony of creaking joints and crackling bone. The horrific noise was soon joined by a chorus of gags and retches, by Spanish swears and Russian curses as the residents reacted to whatever terrifying scene was playing out just beyond her eyelids. She squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears as the din reached a fever pitch, warping and shifting and screaming—

All at once, the air was still.

She cracked an eye open, only to gasp.

While the Alastor she knew was stained crimson, this one came in shades of brown: warm brown skin, even and smooth, dark chestnut curls and coils arranged with care, darker eyebrows raised in amusement above wire-rimmed glasses. But if she looked closely, the red was still there, in the brown-pink tones of his lips, in the slight flush of his cheeks, in irises that took on an oxblood tint as he tilted his head, flecked with gold and full of whimsy.

"Oh my!" he said, his voice free from static but still carrying his distinctive Trans-Atlantic flair. "I always forget how terribly cramped this body is!" He looked at his now ill-fitting suit jacket, then snapped his fingers, replacing it with a white button-up. "Granted, I was never considered short during my time aboveground, but when one sits at seven-foot-one for so many decades, anything less than that feels rather restrictive by comparison!"

Lee sat in silence, her eyes roving over him as something flipped in her stomach. This was Alastor?! This was the true face of the man who'd harassed her, who'd tortured her, who'd danced with her, who'd bandaged her wounds and kissed her scars? Part of her almost didn't want to believe it, wanted to think this must be some trick, some sort of sick joke. The longer she looked, however, the more familiar his features became: his nose, while wider now, still had its distinctive upturned tilt, his jawline still angular and sharp, his lips still pulled into a perpetual smile, revealing blunted, pearly-white teeth. His shoulders, likewise, were still broad, but more substantial, his tight-fitting shirt hinting at the promise of lean, coiled muscle underneath, at strength which came from a lifetime of hauling deer carcasses and God knows what else through the woods. A shock zipped down her spine as their eyes met, and she swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in her mouth.

He was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

The man smirked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he turned his attention to the rest of the table.

"So, what do you think?" he asked as he leaned forward, his tight curls bouncing a bit as he cradled his face in his hands. His gaze flitted over all of them, clearly savoring their bewildered expressions. "I assume from your gawking that you like what you s—"

"You were Black?!"

Alastor froze mid-syllable. His teeth grit together as his smile widened, growing visibly strained.

"Angel!" Vaggie snapped, turning towards him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Oh, don't act like you ain't surprised too!" the man fired back, immediately on the defensive. He turned towards Husk, gesturing at him from across the table. "Did you know about this?!"

The cat shrugged. "Wasn't hard to figure out," he said. "No white guy has that many opinions about Booker T. Washington."

The name seemed to shake Alastor from his daze, and he straightened, his smile now more of a sneer. "I still maintain that despite his contributions, the 'Great Accommodator—'"

"Not now," Husk groaned. When Alastor's eyes narrowed in response, the cat became visibly chastened, his ears flattening as he flipped open his flask. "I ain't drunk enough for politics, that's all…" he mumbled.

"Angel," Charlie said with a heavy sigh as she pressed her palms together, "you can't just say that sort of thing. It's…" She hesitated, as if looking for a way to soften the blow. "Insensitive," she said finally.

"That's an understatement…" Vaggie grumbled.

"Indeed," Alastor said with more than a hint of venom in his voice. He adjusted his bowtie, his eyes now fixed on the spider. "Mr. Dust," he began, "while I will admit I do 'pass' rather well in my new form, you are correct that I was, and still am," he said pointedly, "Creole." The air around him grew noticeably darker as he cocked his head at him. "Is that going to be a problem?"

Something finally seemed to click in Angel's head, and he quickly held up both pairs of arms. "No! No, it ain't a problem at all! Shit, Smiles, I was just…" He cringed as he scratched the back of his neck. "I guess I just assumed—"

"And there's your lesson for the day!" Alastor said with a thin smile. "When you assume, it only serves to make an ass out of you!" He leaned back in his chair. "And just in case you have any other doubts…"

He waved his hand, his palm growing green as he plucked what appeared to be a memory portrait out of thin air.

"There!" he said, holding it up proudly. "Photographic evidence that the face you see before you isn't simply a charitable interpretation of my former visage!" He passed the photo to Crymini, who took only a brief glance before shoving it in the direction of the next person.

"Who keeps a memory portrait of themselves?" Amon muttered under his breath, a sour look on his face.

Alastor's head snapped towards him. "Unlike some people," he said, "I happen to have accomplished a great deal during my time in the land of the living, achievements worth preserving against the ravages of time." He pushed up his glasses. "That particular memory comes from August of 1930, on the morning of one of the biggest interviews of my career."

"Who were you interviewing?" Charlie asked as the picture continued its journey around the table.

"Why, none other than the Governor of Louisiana himself!" Alastor preened. He stretched out an arm. "Picture this: it's the tail end of a rainy, sweltering summer. Breadlines stretch for blocks in front of shuttered shops, seagulls sit on silent docks in empty ports. New Orleans is a city almost bereft of hope, a city full of desperate, pathetic masses yearning for some sort of succor," he said, his tone more than a bit too chipper given the subject matter. "While many turned on each other, or on those they deemed to be lesser than them," a sour note crept into his words, "the formerly wealthy and enfranchised were still looking to the politicians, to their so-called leaders for relief… giving some of them an opportunity to further consolidate their power."

"Enter Huey Long. A delightfully corrupt man, he had only been elected to the Governor's office two years prior. In an unprecedented shake-up, however, the Kingfish decided to throw his hat into the Democratic Primary as well, hoping to unseat the incumbent Senator Randsell and claim both offices for himself. This, naturally, caused quite a stir among the masses, and he was absolutely inundated with requests for comment. Our station was no exception, and the Governor, fully aware of the power of radio, readily accepted our offer to interview him live on the air." His smile shifted into something sinister. "Tragically, mere days before the interview was set to take place, the original host fell terribly ill…. as did all his potential replacements." His face brightened once more. "I, however, seemed to be immune to whatever mysterious ailment was sweeping through the office, and graciously stepped in to take his place. The Governor was more than a bit surprised to see someone like myself behind the microphone," he said, the tiniest bit of irritation in his voice, "but the interview went off without a hitch!"

"Huh," Husk grunted, sounding almost impressed.

His smile turned smug. "Yes, indeed, it was a rather historic day, not to mention quite the boon for my career! And while the soon-to-be Senator was far from progressive, the fact that he didn't storm out at the mere sight of me was a mark in his favor."

Lee startled as Vaggie tapped her on the shoulder, passing her the portrait. She took it gingerly. Save for the telltale fuzziness around the edges, one could have almost mistaken it for a regular black-and-white photograph, an old heirloom that had been hiding in an attic somewhere. In it, a flesh-and-blood Alastor stood in front of a chest of drawers, his smile wide as he adjusted his bowtie in the mirror. He was smartly dressed in a vest and suit jacket, complete with a pocket square, his hair now straightened and slicked down, almost flat against his scalp. Behind him, she could see the reflection of a bed, of a plush armchair, of a window—

"What's with the ring?"

A deafening peal of static rang through the room.

"Pardon?" Alastor asked, his eyes flashing crimson.

"Right here," Angel said as he peered over Lee's shoulder. He tapped the portrait. "You got a ring on."

Lee's gaze snapped to where Angel was pointing. Sure enough, a small band of metal was wrapped around his ring finger, lighter than the surrounding skin.

"A family heirloom, nothing more," Alastor said, his words clipped and biting. "Now if you'll excuse me, I—"

"An' why you got so much makeup?" Angel cut him off, pointing to a large collection of cosmetics and perfume bottles on top of the dresser. "You got enough here to put ol' Max Factor to shame!" He snatched the photo from Lee's hands, examining it closer. "Lotion, mascara, damn, is that Mary Garden rouge? My mother loved that stuff, wouldn't leave the house without it—"

He stopped short as his eyes went wide.

"Holy shit."

Lee's heart dropped as chills ran down her spine, as an unpleasant heat crackled through her, as the pieces clicked into place.

A snap of Alastor's fingers, and the memory portrait disappeared with a flash of green light. "I think that's enough show-and-tell for today—"

"You were married?!" Angel said, clearly in shock. "A woman, an actual human woman married you?!"

"I knew it!" Niffty piped up, her smile wide as she scurried over to Husk. "Pay up!"

The cat wordlessly reached into his pocket, fishing out a few bills, his mouth still slack-jawed in shock. "Never thought I'd lose that bet…"

Alastor's brows furrowed as his smile stretched even wider. "Now, now, there's no need to shout—"

"Was she deaf?!" Angel sputtered, cutting him off as he gesticulated wildly. "Did you pay her, how the hell did you—"

"Angel—" Charlie tried to butt in.

"What was her name?!" Niffty asked eagerly, her words coming a mile a minute. "What was she like?!" She climbed up on the table as she rushed towards him, knocking over a few bowls of candy in her haste. "Tell us everything!"

"Guys, if he doesn't want to talk about it, we shouldn't—"

A pit opened up in Lee's stomach, deep and dark and nauseating as the room devolved into chaos, as the demons shouted over each other. Married? He had been married?!

"Was she pretty?"

"How did you meet her?"

"Was she crazy, too?"

The questions flew as Alastor's smile grew strained, his lips pulled taut. That telltale twitch in his eye was back as he sat ramrod straight, his knuckles white as he gripped the sides of his chair.

"Everyone, I really think we should drop this," Charlie said as she stood, raising her voice in a vain attempt to be heard. "Let's just try to focus on the cookies—"

"How old was she?" someone cut her off.

"Did you have any kids?" an eager-eyed Niffty asked.

"Did you hurt her?" Amon asked, his tone bordering on accusing.

"Did you kill h—"

A wave of heat swept through the room as green fire burst from the ground, as Alastor lunged out of his chair with a growl, sending it clattering to the floor. His once-brown eyes were now burning red, his nails elongated into claws that scratched gouges into the surface of the table. Niffty let out a small squeak as she scurried away, hiding behind Husk.

"I have tolerated an immense amount of disrespect today," he said, his voice gravelly and distorted as antlers rose from the top of his head, "but that I will simply not abide!" The color began to drain from his face, his smile now more of a snarl. "I know you think me a monster," he hissed, "and you do so with good reason, but not once, not once did I ever raise a hand against her in anger!" His teeth began to lose their pearly luster, growing yellowed and sharp as he spoke. "From the day I made my vows to her I was nothing but loyal, nothing but devoted! I kept a roof over her head, put food in our pantry, indulged her every whim, and performed my duties as her husband without complaint!" His hair was now shot through with streaks of red, its chestnut hues fading by the second. "And if anyone, anyone had dared to try and hurt her, I would have killed them on the spot." His eyes burned as he surveyed the group. "Have I made myself clear?"

His crimson gaze fell on Lee, and she pressed her back against her chair, fear licking through her veins as memories of gnashing teeth and searing scratches flashed in her head. There was a small popping sound as he froze, his fierce smile shrinking ever so slightly. Tendrils of darkness began to rise from the floor, wrapping around his legs as he turned back towards the others.

"If you speak of this again," he said, his voice low as the shadows swept over him, "there will be consequences."

And then he was gone.