The light off in the distance continued upward at a steady pace.
Elida's own glow intensified, excitement lighting her up, "I think it might be," She responded to Alastor's question, "Let's go look!"
"Only one of us has wings, dear," Alastor pointed out.
"That's okay, I came prepared for just such an occasion." She reached out her hand and concentrated, casting a summoning spell. A broomstick appeared in her hand, big enough for two riders. "Had this specially made to share with you. Hop on!"
Alastor caught Vox headed their way. He gave the flat-faced prick a shit-eating grin. "Oh, this will be fun." Without breaking eye contact, Alastor mounted the broom.
They both sat side-saddle, Alastor holding on to Elida's waist as she began to lift them into the air. The Radio Demon winked cheekily at his hated rival, then turned away, nose up like the smug, cocky bastard he was.
Elida wasted no time lingering, eyes set firmly on the prize. Once they'd risen high enough to clear the buildings, she issued a sing-song warning to her passenger, "Hold on tight, for this new flight, could be quite a fright." And then they bolted forward like a rocket.
Alastor's grip tightened to keep from being flung off. "Whoopee! Ha ha ha ha!"
Up, up, and away they went, riding the air like a falcon. The wind was going to completely ruin their hair, which Alastor noted with a mental shrug. Usually, he would be more irritated by that, but flying turned out to be so exhilarating that he just couldn't bring himself to care. He had many incredible magical abilities, each more entertaining than the last, but the closest thing to flight he could ever muster was a low hover. This was a whole new experience.
He fucking loved witches.
From the ground, all the demons could make out was a blur of light and the telltale laughter of a maniacal overlord having far too much fun. As they sped upward to catch their target, they looked like a shooting star that was going the wrong way. They neared their quarry, and much to Alastor's disappointment, Elida slowed down. She matched the newly redeemed soul's ascent speed so that they could talk.
"Mayberry?"
The deceased schoolteacher turned to her visitors. "Oh! Hello Elida, and Mr. Radio Demon, Sir." She was beaming ear to ear.
"Congratulations, darling, well done," Alastor praised politely as he took in the bird's eye view of Pentagram City. He could hear so many delightful screams from up there.
"You did it, sweetie, I'm so proud of you." Elida reached out to hug Heaven's newest winner.
"Thanks, I can't believe those silly little exercises really worked. They reminded me so much of my old classroom, I was starting to think it was a bit basic."
Elida had a suspicion. "Hey, you don't happen to own your own soul, do you?"
"Come again?"
"Did you sell your soul, or is it all yours?"
"It's all mine, why?"
"Just wondering." Elida had an idea. She needed to talk to the Seraphim and set up a few things.
Alastor tapped his microphone, the sound of a radio station changing channels ringing in their ears, "Ahem… Attention demons and degenerates," he announced to the world, "We interrupt your regular program to bring you breaking news; Another sinner has become a winner! Listeners, if you turn your peeping eyes upward, you'll see a new rising star headed up to that shining city in the sky. I'm here with Heaven's Ambassador, Hell's Sweetheart herself, Miss Elida McCarthy and the Hazbin Hotel's most recent success. Tell us your name, won't you dear?" He held his microphone out for her to speak into.
"Oh, um, okay. I'm Carol Mayberry."
"And what dastardly deeds sent you down here, Ms. Mayberry?" Alastor's accent was made for this.
"I murdered my cheating husband," She declared freely, "But that was the only thing I ever did wrong. I'm glad I finally have a second chance to be my good wholesome self again."
"You're going to fit right in," Elida assured her, "You know, they're always looking for people passionate about helping kids to be guardian angels. Maybe you could work with children again?"
"Really? That would be amazing!" And she meant that. She missed her kids, and she missed watching them grow.
"What a gas! It seems they've got something for everyone up there," Alastor said cheerfully, playing a laugh track in the background. "Well, sweetheart, any last words for the demons you're ditching before you leave this festering cesspool?"
Mayberry thought for a moment, then nodded, "Yes. Don't give up; It's never too late. And always think before you act. I hope to see you all join me one day. Except for that bitch, Martha!"
Alastor played another laugh track at that one, "Ha ha! Well Martha, whoever you are, if you're listening, it sounds like you've just been issued a challenge. Well folks, we'll leave you to sit and stew on that while this doll gets her just desserts. You heard it here first, on Hell's top station!" And with that, he returned his listeners to what they'd been enjoying beforehand.
Alastor had been waiting for the right time to try to coin the term 'Hell's Sweetheart.' He was hoping it would catch on and give Elida, and by extension himself, more power among the impressionable masses. A live interview with a redeemed soul was nothing short of perfect timing. Now he could sprinkle it in a few times in conversation with a few key gossipers, and it should spread like hellfire.
Elida stopped the broomstick's ascent and let Mayberry go, waving enthusiastically one last time before speeding back down to Cannibaltown. Alastor caught a fresh whiff of Elida's charisma perfume, made stronger by the intense wind, and he let himself be genuinely happy thinking about his mother's cooking for a few moments. Only a few.
When they touched down, Vox was gone, which made Elida feel very guilty. She'd stood him up for their second dance. Alastor, for his part, was thrilled about it. He tidied up both their hairstyles with a quick flick of magic before leading her back into the main area and prancing off to dance with another of his cannibal fangirls. Elida was unfamiliar with the upcoming name on her dance card, so she waited until her new partner sought her out himself.
"Hell's Sweetheart, eh?" A shorter, well-groomed man in a silk vest approached her, "I kinda like that. It's catchy."
"I think the Radio Demon fancies himself a trendsetter. Mr. Shakespie, was it?" She held out her hand to the gentleman she'd agreed to dance with.
"The one and only, but my friends call me Ben." he bowed, kissing her knuckles softly. His gaze was a bit intense. "May I have the honor?"
She immediately decided she liked this one. He was classy. She liked classy. And he pulled it off in a refreshingly genuine way. Something about this man's energy was honest. "Of course, Ben. I'll follow your lead."
His eyes were right at her chest level, so it would have been all too easy for him to stare at her breasts and pretend he wasn't doing it, but he didn't. He kept his eyes respectfully upwards. "I've been enjoying your segments on Mr. Alastor's radio show." He was wearing a very covert pair of headphones that Elida hadn't noticed before. So that's how he'd heard Alastor's new term so quickly.
"You listen to the radio often, do you?"
"I find the background noise helps keep me grounded. I can concentrate better, and the chaos around me feels less, well, chaotic."
"Me too, I like to listen while I brew my potions."
"I'm afraid I've not had the chance to try them yet, but I've heard splendid things."
"Why don't you stop by the shop when you've got time? I'll give you your pick. On the house."
"That's very generous of you, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I've been anxious to speak with you about just that. I wonder if it wouldn't be too bold of me to ask for your contact information? I have a business proposition that I think you may find most agreeable."
That got her attention. "Oh? What kind of proposition?"
"Well, I've recently come into a great deal of wealth by means of a well-placed bet. I'm not much of a gambler, it was a complete one-off fluke, so I've been racking my brain trying to decide what to do with it. I like making wise financial choices, you see. I heard you had a rather effective addiction treatment among your," he dipped her low to the ground, "more popular concoctions?"
"I do," She confirmed, "We can't keep them on the shelves. I had to hire more help, and it's still not quite enough to meet the growing demand."
"I see. So, you've already been reaching your capacity, then?" he asked, lifting her back up again.
"Unfortunately, yes. I wish I could do more, but there's only so much room in the cauldrons. What's your proposition?"
"I'd like to mass-produce your best recipes, starting with the addiction treatments. I'll provide the facilities, the staff, and handle all the gritty details. You would give us your recipes, train a few key brewers in how to get them just right, and as compensation you'll earn a fair percentage of the profit. You'd be a major shareholder and co-own the company, as well as having a seat at the table for major decisions should you wish it. Naturally, you'll receive your fair credit for your inventions, I wouldn't want to tread on your brand. To put it shortly, I want to invest in Positivity Potions."
Now that was an idea she could get behind. Her potions were designed to make people's lives better, and Hell was the epicenter of misery. Mass-producing her products down in the pit was the best way to help the greatest number of people at once. Not to mention, if the hotel failed and Elida had to use her last-resort plan to stop the exterminations, she'd have some long-term assets to fall back on. Building a financial safety net now could save her neck later on.
"I'd be happy to discuss that possibility with you," she agreed. "It might be nice to share the load of production. I'd have more time to invent new recipes rather than just keeping up with current orders."
"I'm so glad to hear that! Here," he paused their dance to pull a business card out of his pocket, "Contact me here, and we'll set up a time to meet. I'll give you my first draft business plan, which you'll have a fair opportunity to improve and weigh in before we begin."
"That sounds perfect." She pulled the empty potion vial out of her bra and stuck the card inside to make sure she'd remember to send him a message when she got back to the hotel. When the vial had been securely tucked back into place, during which Mr. Shakespie looked pointedly in another direction, she took his hand back to continue their twirling. "So, friend, tell me your story."
So, he told her. His name was Benjamin Shakespie, a name he'd chosen on his death day as a way of abandoning the family that he'd had in life. He was born to a family of cannibals that liked to hide out in a cave in the mountains, ambushing the more civilized travelers in order to kill and eat them. He was forced into cannibalism by circumstance, and unfortunately, once you develop a taste for human flesh, it's just as difficult to abandon as any hard drug, even if you want to. Benjamin wanted to. He'd always wanted to.
He'd died sick and in pain, then found himself in Hell. He started over, learned how to behave among polite society, and made something of himself in Cannibaltown. Elida wanted to give him a giant hug. It wasn't fair that he ended up down here after all he'd been through. She wondered if the intensity in his eyes was due in part to some profound sadness.
When their dance ended, Ben took his leave, and Elida met her next partner, then the next and the next. It was getting late, and her card had nearly reached the end of the list. She found enough time to send a quick text to Charlie asking where she and Vaggie had run off to. They still weren't anywhere to be found.
Charlie's phone beeped in her pocket, but she didn't pay it much mind, she was too distracted. She was busy playing a little game; Vaggie tried to be quiet enough that no one would come knocking on the closet door, and Charlie tired to make her scream. Charlie was winning.
Meanwhile, Vox was back in his tower, angry-fucking Sir Franklin. When Elida flew off during what was supposed to be their second dance, he'd all but grabbed the poor little simp by the collar and taken him away through the powerlines to take out his irritation on. He admitted that the ridiculous little cannibal wasn't too bad in bed. Not the best he'd had, but it was a good-enough consolation prize. All-in-all, a not unsuccessful night.
The final dance of the night was slow and calm, meant to be a romantic end for the couples who everyone knew were going to disappear into the night to get laid. Rosie loved romance, so naturally her event had to end in the perfect mood. Elida was glad that it wasn't too high-energy. She was getting fatigued and was ready to crash. It had been a long and eventful night. Alastor was considerate enough not to guide her through too many flourishing movements, seeing the exhaustion seeping into her eyes.
Nobody talked much until the slow song came to a close, at which point the spell broke, everyone clapped for the orchestra, and Rosie announced the end of the event. Chatter broke out while people said their goodbyes, couples snuck off, and friends hugged one another goodbye.
"Do you know where Charlie and Vaggie went?" Elida asked Alastor, who was still holding her arm. The crowd was thick, and they were liable to be separated in the flow of traffic if they stepped apart for too long.
He narrowed his eyes. He hadn't been paying either of them any attention. Scanning the crowd, he couldn't see them, "Hm. I do not."
Elida checked her phone. No reply. She sighed, "Alright, let's get somewhere quieter and I'll call them. I hope they're alright."
"Those two are more powerful than they seem. They'll be fine. But it would be ungentlemanly to leave them here without a ride home." Alastor knew the area well, so he guided Elida away from the crowd and they snuck off into an empty room, closing the door to quiet the noise. A few of the onlooking cannibals took the wrong message and snickered at them. Rumors were going to fly like a witch on a broomstick. Alastor liked that. Rumors got people talking, and he loved when people were talking; Especially if it was about him. He offered one of them a wink before the door shut, just for fun.
Elida dialed Charlie, putting the phone up to her ear while it rang. Oddly, Elida heard a carnival-like ringtone coming from a door at the other end of the room, followed by a pleasured moan, and an "Oh God…" with a familiar voice.
Alastor looked more than a little done with this shit. His eye twitched in annoyance. Elida moved toward the door, and Alastor turned the other way, partially out of respect, and partially out of not wanting to see his kid with her dress off. He stared at the wall.
Elida knocked.
"Fuck! Ah… Just a sec. Um… oh shit. Who is it?" Charlie's voice called out, sounding startled and awkward.
"Pizza delivery," Elida joked.
"Oh, Elida!" Relief washed over Charlie like a tidal wave.
"And Allie," she clarified helpfully. "The party is over, and we need to head home."
Alastor found that he liked her calling him that more and more by the day. It was sort of endearing. He chuckled to himself under his breath… "Ha ha, enDEERing..." Elida didn't hear him.
"Okay. One minute." Charlie wiped her mouth clean of Vaggie's… flavor… and the both of them put their gowns back on as quickly as they could. They opened the door sheepishly, hair mussed up and sweaty. "Uh… sorry."
Alastor hazarded a glance and was relieved to see both women fully clothed. "Let's be off, then, shall we?" He opened the other door and waited for them to file out. Elida looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, while Charlie and Vaggie were redder than Alastor's jacket.
"Have fun?" Elida asked cheekily. They didn't answer.
Alastor led the group through the thinning crowd to the carriage waiting outside. The fire horse stamped and smoked ferociously. Rosie flagged Alastor down as the others climbed in, so he went to give her one last hug, and then they left.
Elida rested her head on her friend's shoulder, which he allowed. Anyone else he'd have likely stabbed. But he wanted people to think them close, and their carriage drew a lot of attention, which meant people would see her leaning on him. He looked forward, watching the streets pass, his grin wide and sharp.
Charlie and Vaggie were too embarrassed to speak, Elida was practically snoring already, and Alastor was content to listen to the sounds of the passing souls in their eternal peril as the carriage trod over anyone that wouldn't get out of the way quickly enough. Bones always made the most satisfying crunch.
As she'd started to make a habit of doing, Elida had fallen asleep by the time they'd arrived back at the hotel. Her chest rose and fell slowly, her face peaceful. Alastor thought about waking her up but eventually decided not to disturb her. Instead, he picked her up bridal style and carried her up to her room. The night-owls who were still up and about gave him weird looks seeing him carry her like a parent bringing their child in from a long road trip.
As the facility manager, he had a master key, so he let himself into her suite. Using a black tentacle of magic, he pulled back her covers and placed her carefully onto the mattress, tucking her safely into the blankets.
He was startled by the oddest impulse to kiss her forehead good night. He didn't follow it, instead shaking his head clear and leaving. He put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on her doorknob and locked the door behind him, walking off to his own room to stand in the corner for the rest of the night like he always did.
Several times throughout his insomniatic night, Alastor's mind kept returning to the witch in the other room. Rosie obviously had to have been sorely mistaken. Hadn't she?
