Vox and Valentino are on the couch in the sitting room, Velvette snuggled between them. They haven't said a word in ten minutes, just snuggling with their daughter while taking turns sending paranoid looks at the doorway. Down that hall and through the woods, an angry ghost is wanting revenge. If that junkie bitch thinks she's laying a single digit on Velvette, then she's goddamn delusional.
"It's not that simple, I can't just kill an Overlord," Lucifer's saying when Vox tunes back into the conversation. Lucifer's pacing the sitting room, all color gone from his cheeks. "I have a contract with each of you, I can't do you harm or interfere with your business unless it directly harms the entirety of Hell."
"And this wouldn't directly harm us," Angel snaps. "An Overlord that's decided to kill—"
"Kill an Exorcist, a wayward Sinner, and a shadow? That's not exactly all of Hell, is it? I can offer protection, seal the house with my own power, but that'd only keep them safe as long as they never leave this house again. That's no way for a little girl to live."
"What about your pops? Aren't humans in his domain?"
"Yes, and he's done such a wonderful job of protecting them thus far," Stolas drawls. "Can't we banish this woman back to Hell?"
"Not with as much power as she's been storing up," Carmine says. "Angelic weaponry is the only thing that will take her down for good, but she'll be able to sense us coming. It's her territory."
"Like hell it is," Alastor snaps. His eyes are blazing, arcane symbols wavering in and out of view like a mirage of water in the desert. "This has been my territory since well before I died and Rosie's before that. No upstart is going to take it away from me. Give me a knife and I'll kill her myself!"
"Like you can take her on with just yourself and a knife." If Carmine's glare had been cutting, then Alastor's is a fucking howitzer. For the first time since they gathered here an hour ago, Carmine actually takes a step back. "You can't kill her by yourself and Lucifer can't interfere."
"He ain't gonna be by himself," Angel says.
"I can ensure Charlie and Velvette's protection," Stolas offers. "With my own spells and Blitzø's company, no one will step foot on our property. If all else fails, I can portal the children to my estate so long as the Vees don't mind Velvette going to Hell for a brief time."
"Papa says I'm a hell spawn," Velvette offers cheerfully. She doesn't understand what's going on, but she's certainly taking advantage of the free cuddles.
"Let's not make that literal," Vox says quickly. He turns his attention back to Stolas before he speaks again. "How much protection can you and your boyfriend provide?"
"If anyone so much as touches a blade of grass on my property without my express permission, they'll be engulfed in hellfire. Should that somehow not kill them, Blitzø and his little friends are highly skilled assassins." Vox and Valentino share a look over Velvette's head, a silent conversation that takes only seconds.
"Take her." Stolas steps forward with his arms open, letting Velvette snuggle into his feathers. "Stolas, if something happens to our daughter, we're going to hunt you down and mount your head on our wall. You know that, right?"
"I'd expect nothing less. Come along, Charlie." Charlie dislodges herself from Niffty's arms, skipping over to hold his hand. With a flash of blue light, the trio vanish. All that's left behind is a scorch mark on the floor and the lingering smell of sulfur.
"That rug cost more than my car," Valentino whines.
"We'll pick up a new one next time we go to Paris," Vox assures him. "In the meantime, we need to come up with a plan." He cuts his gaze to Carmine, hard as granite. "You got any Angelic guns?" Her lips curl up into a pleased smile, the cat that caught the canary.
"More than your human mind can process," she purrs.
It's the next night and Vox is in the woods, hiding his twitching fingers in the pouch of his hoodie. He's forgone the typical business casual look, hair mussed and deep bruises under his eyes he hadn't bothered to hide with concealer.
The broken radio tower looms above him much quicker than he's ready for, suspended over the abandoned house. He knows what's waiting for him inside, who is waiting for him, and he's not entirely sure he's ready for this. The last time he'd seen Anna, she was choking on her own blood and he'd driven a knife deep into her brain to stop the noises.
He steps over the threshold with a shaky breath, shoulders tensed into a firm line. He's not sure what to expect this time around since he's no longer scared of Angel, but Vox should have known that Anna would pull out the big guns. She must know something's up.
"Come all you fair and tender girls that flourish in your prime~" Vox flinches away from the voice, heart beating a rapid tempo against his ribs. It sounds like his great-grandmother, her sweet voice that could turn sour in an instant. "Beware, beware, keep your garden fair. Let no man steal your thyme."
"Nice trick," Vox calls, his voice somehow not coming out strangled. He sounds far more confident than he actually feels right now. There's a cackle down in the basement, that same witch's laugh that haunted Vox's childhood. He'd had no parents to finish raising him, just Grandmother Wolf and her fangs. "That old bitch has been dead since I was nineteen."
"Dead and waiting for you, Werner." And isn't that an unwelcome reminder, that old name he'd buried with his grandmother. It's an antique and Vox belongs to the present now. "Did you miss me, Pup? My, what big eyes you have."
(What big eyes you have, the voice hisses. If you keep snooping around in my office, I'll pluck them out and have them pickled.)
"Is that right," Vox asks, forcing himself to walk down that short hall. He pauses outside of the basement door, staring down into the dark. Is that where she's waiting? That (relic of a bygone era) junkie who cared more about her next score than the child she gave birth to? "You've always been two-faced, but I expected better."
"What big ears you have."
(Sneaky little bastard, aren't you? Always listening at the door. One of these days, I'll cut those ears off and lock them away.)
"Are you going to bring up my teeth next? It'd be pretty out of character for Grandmother. She didn't do teeth, had some kind of phobia." He kicks the door shut and continues down the hall until he's standing in front of the bedroom door. Will it still be pristine like it was all those days ago? Or will it have started to decay like the rest of the house?
"I'll pull your teeth out one by one and string them on a necklace." This voice belongs to an ex-girlfriend, who did do teeth. She'd been a dental hygienist and he'd woken up one night to find her looming over him with a pair of pliers. Vox had punched her in the mouth and moved to a new city just to be rid of her.
"Really scraping the bottom of the barrel now, Anna. I expected better." An eerie silence descends on the house, a funeral shroud made of delicate lace. The bedroom door opens easily, the knob ice cold and sending goosebumps up his arm. The room has been torn apart, splashes of neon green on the carpet and walls, the glint of a dagger buried in a pillow that's bleeding feathers. "I take it that the Shade didn't go down easy."
"Harder than the Exorcist was, that's for sure." Anna steps out of the shadows, her curls floating around her face. Her gray eyes are hard as marble, glaring at him under a dark fringe of lashes. Vox should probably feel a spike of terror, but he's seen this expression too many times to count.
"The whole Kubrick stare thing you've got goin' on needs some work, babe. You gotta lean your head forward a little more. Yeah! There ya go." Vox holds his hands up to form a square, like he's trying to see how a camera might frame her. "You'd make a fantastic extra from The Shining. Maybe that freak in a dog costume?"
Anna shrieks as she lurches forward, her once perfectly manicured nails turned into claws. From the tips of her fingers to the bend of her elbows has been scorched black, fading to a sickly gray above that where her complexion had once been the brown of fresh soil.
Vox dodges her easily, one hand still hidden in the hoodie pouch. He grabs her hair with the other, yanking hard enough that a few strands stay curled around his fingers when she jerks away.
"Te voy a colgar de los intestinos, perra," Anna screams. "Voy a hacer que me veas quitarle la piel a Valentino y hacer un bolso con ella!" Vox's Spanish is a bit rusty, so he misses most of her tantrum, but he knows when he's being called a bitch. For fuck's sake, what happened to villains being classy?
"Didn't you at least have a speech prepared? Maybe a few index cards you could pull out and rehearse? I can come back later." He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb, nonplussed. Anna screams again, high and ringing like church bells in some old horror movie. Vox has to cover his ears, the sound echoing in his skull. "Jesus fuck—!"
The earth shifts under Vox's feet and then he's being hurled out a window, landing amidst shattered glass and leaves. His head's still spinning when Anna climbs out after him, her cut palms leaking stuffing instead of ichor. That strikes Vox as funny, for some reason. He can't bite back a delirious laugh and that only makes Anna angrier.
"Perra estúpida—" She's cut off by a strangled moan, bending in half. Vox isn't sure why at first, but then he sees the hilt of a knife buried in her shoulder when she straightens again. She pulls it out with a pained whine, more stuffing pouring out.
"Nobody gets to call my boyfriend a stupid bitch except for me," Valentino growls. He holds a hand out and Vox lets him pull him up, tucking himself against Valentino's side. He fits there, was made to be beside this ridiculous man.
"You're both going to die tonight! I'm going to tear your souls into pieces! I'm—" A sharp crack cuts her off this time, Vox finally pulling his free hand out of his hoodie.
"My bullets aren't Angelic, I'll grant you that, but I bet they hurt like a motherfucker," Vox grins. Anna straightens again, a thin stream of stuffing falling from her thigh. Her teeth are black as pitch when she matches his grin, shining in the moonlight like chips of onyx. "Oof, still have bad teeth, huh?"
"Meth teeth must'a followed her to Hell," Valentino muses. They're steadily backing up as they talk, luring Anna farther from the portal. She's not strong enough to take on another demon, not after that fight with the Shade, and certainly not this far from her escape hatch. "Remind me to stay away from that shit."
"At least we have dental insurance."
"Being an Overlord must not be that great if you don't even have dental." And isn't it just so funny that it's the Shrek reference that has Anna charging again? She never did have good taste in movies. Shrek is the fucking best.
Vox empties his magazine in her chest, but that barely slows her down. She's nearly on top of them when the shadows reach out and grab her, twisting around her like snakes until she can't even struggle anymore. She's still screaming, that high-pitched wail that could shatter glass. She somehow manages to get one hand free, howling when it's cut clean off.
Angel steps out from behind her with a flirty wink and an Angelic dagger. He swaggers over to Alastor, fingers settling lightly at Alastor's nape. Vox watches for a moment as Angel plays with the fine hair at the base of Alastor's skull, wonders if it's as soft as it looks.
"I deserve my revenge," Anna yells, nearly sobbing. There are streaks of black falling down her cheeks and Vox is reminded of the trails of mascara that had bled from her lashes that day they killed her. "They took my baby from me! They took my Dollie!"
"You nearly killed Velvette," Valentino snaps. All traces of humor have vanished, leaving sharp edges and deep shadows in its wake. "Don't you remember that day? Four years old and high as fuck because you left coke out where she could reach it! You're lucky we killed you fast!"
"She's mine—"
"The hell she is," Vox snarls. Her eyes snap to his, the iris nearly eclipsed by her pupils. "That little girl deserves better than a junkie whore who'd rather snort lines off someone's abs than watch Paw Patrol! Tino and I might not be the best parents out there, but we take care of her!"
"Who do you think took her to the hospital when she got pneumonia because you didn't pay you gas bill," Valentino demands. "Who took her to gymnastics every day for months? Who taught her the ABCs?"
"Who taught her how to tie the shoes she refuses to wear? Because it certainly wasn't you! Hell, these two idiots behind us learned more about Velvette in the two months we've lived here than the four years you swore to love her! Alastor even knows she doesn't like green beans! Did you know that?"
"Do you even know when her birthday is?" That's the final nail in the coffin, it seems. Anna's anger seems to evaporate, leaving only the grief behind. Vox wonders what she's mourning, the fact that she'd never cared about their daughter or the fact that she never will? "You don't, do you? And you think you could possibly take care of her."
"You'd hurt her, Anna, and we can't allow that." Valentino pulls a pistol from the back waistband of his pants, bright purple with cheetah print. Leave it to him to pick the most ostentatious gun from Carmine's shop. Anna doesn't try to beg this time, she just meets Valentino's steady gaze.
"I used to love you, Anna." Valentino's voice is hoarse with emotion, nearly choked with it. "But I love my baby more." He pulls the trigger and the Angelic bullet buries itself between Anna's eyes, black fissures spreading out from it. It takes a moment for anything to happen, like she has to process what happened, but then she's falling apart like an old doll in the washing machine. In the end, there's only blackened stuffing left behind.
"We'll need to seal up the remains," Alastor murmurs. "Make sure she can't come back somehow."
"Do it." Alastor and Angel work quickly, boxing up the stuffing and hustling back into the woods. Would they take Anna back to Hell? It's what she deserves. "Are you okay, mi vida?"
"I've had worse," Vox shrugs. They share a look and dissolve into giggles, leaning on each other to stay upright.
"Worse than my ex?"
"At least this one didn't steal my credit card and go to Greece." Valentino's laughing so hard that he can't make a sound, leaning heavily on Vox's shoulder. Vox welcomes the heat, the familiar weight that he's grown to crave. If he could spend the rest of his life with Valentino wrapped around him like a blanket, he'd be happy. "Shall we go check on our daughter?"
"We shall." Valentino loops his arm through Vox's and they begin the long trek back to their house. It's halfway there that a flash of something catches Vox's eye, a shimmering Valentino along the barrel of the gun. He lets out an amused snort, looking up at his boyfriend incredulously.
"Did you fucking bedazzle your gun?"