[A note from the author: Guess who got a photo with the voice of Alastor last week! :) My coven and I are all varying flavors of ace, so when we went to take our picture, I told him, "I've got four aces for you!" and he was all, "Oh, my god, amazing!"
With FanX done and spooky season starting, let's go through a bit more Hell together, shall we?]
Ambassador Elida's message made Sir Pentious gasp in shock. His phone slipped from his hands, landing on an egg-boy's head.
"Oof," the egg-boy said, rubbing his forehead.
"Sssorry," Pentious apologized, picking the phone back up and rereading the message. He hadn't misread it. "This is bad. Charlie, Vaggie, Alastor and Nifty are sstill down there… And Cherri!" He pointed to one of the clumsier egg-boys, "you there, don't touch that!" The little creature snapped its fingers back from the lever it was about to pull. Pentious continued, "I'm going out. Inform me immediately if anyone visits. And keep your eyes out for trouble. This iss going to get messsy."
"Yes, boss!"
He left his eggs to their chaos, hoping they wouldn't break anything important while he was out. He loved them dearly, but they could be as destructive as toddlers when left unsupervised for too long.
As the talented inventor slithered along the polished streets of Redemption City, he tried dialing Mayor Marc. He didn't pick up. Normally, Pentious would just try again later, but this wasn't the kind of thing that could wait; he needed to get everyone together right away. Mayberry was never far from Marcel, so Pentious tried calling her instead. No dice.
"Damn it," he muttered at his phone. He'd have to hunt them down in person.
He checked the main square. There were a few angels there, but none of them had seen Marc. He wanted to ask if they'd received the same message, but he didn't know how smart it would be to go around talking about something this sensitive unless he was sure. He tried calling Anthony. This time, he picked up.
"Whaddya want, Slithers?" Anthony answered, sounding a bit annoyed, "I'm tryin' ta shoot today."
Pentious could hear the telltale popping sound of bullets in the background, and suddenly he felt right at home. "Did you sssee Miss McCarthy's messsage?"
"I ain't been plugged in today," Anthony replied. "Hold on, I'll read it." After a moment, Pentious heard a very concerned, "Holy shit…"
"Holy sshit, indeed. Let's go find Husker."
While the oldest and most trusted Redeemed Hazbins gathered together to discuss what the fuck they were going to do, Alastor was busy growing very very nervous. If word of this new development got back to Lilith, she would make him hurt Elida. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.
There were many lines he'd gladly cross without batting an eye, but not that. Never that. And as brilliant as his wife… erm... girlfriend… was, she was still proven to do reckless things. He'd never have met her in the first place if she wasn't. He couldn't trust that she would run if he asked her to. If anything, she was more likely to stick around out of some kind of noble spite. Damn that precious woman…
He watched her closely while she privately prepared for the war council; the hardness in her gaze, the anger behind her eyes, the confidence in her gait. She'd made a decision, and he could tell exactly what it was. She was going to try her failsafe. He couldn't allow that.
"Dearest," he said in a deceptively cheery tone, pulling her chin toward him so that she would look him in the eye, "I know what you are fixing to do."
Her eyes flitted down to his lips for the barest moment before meeting his. "And what makes you say that?"
"You told me, remember?"
"I remember."
"I'm sure we can find a different solution, love."
"Empty words," she challenged. "Give me a real plan, and I'll consider it. Otherwise, this is the best chance we've got."
"It's the best chance for us demons," he disagreed, "but not for you. I think you-"
"Don't say it," she interrupted, pulling away and turning back to type something on her laptop.
He continued anyway, the words like poison on his tongue. Still, he had to say them. "You should go home. Leave us here. You deserve a peaceful paradise. Those of us down here earned our damnation. It's no use putting yourself at further risk for such awful souls."
"If you think I'm going to agree to that then you really don't know me at all."
"Elida," he took her hands, folding them inside his sharp claws. The uncharacteristic seriousness in his tone forced her to look at him. He squeezed her cold fingers. "Go home. Please."
"And leave you, Dad, and all my sisters down here to die? No. Either everyone lives," she declared, "or no one does. I'll nuke all of Heaven to stop these exterminations if I have to."
That was the darkest thing she'd ever said, and it almost managed to catch Alastor off guard. She'd spent too long in Hell, and it was showing more and more by the day. Her shell was starting to crack. He decided emotion wasn't working; It was time to switch to logic.
"If this goes as badly as we both suspect it will," he reasoned, "then who will be left to advocate for us down here? The members of the Heaven Embassy are as eternal as any human soul. Once memory of these events fade into the ages, who will be there to stop them from beginning it all over again? You are the only angel smart and powerful enough to prevent history from repeating itself."
"There's an entire city of Redeemed by now," Elida argued. "I'm not the only angel who cares about the demons. A lot of them still have family and friends down here."
"We both know that none of them could possibly measure up to your wits, and they are not half as dedicated."
"Unless you were with them. You're easily my intellectual equal, but you're talking as if you expect to be down here forever."
"We both know Lilith will never let me go. And even if she did, I don't believe a monster like myself could be redeemed."
"Oh, really?" That drew a bit of a smug smirk from her obscenely beautiful face, "When was the last time you harmed someone?"
"Yesterday evening," he said proudly.
"Unprovoked," she amended.
Alastor paused. Honestly, he hadn't hurt someone for fun since carrying out Vox's three punishments. Vermin still screamed every day, but that was a result of Elida's potion, not Alastor's tools.
Elida took this hesitation as agreement. She added, "What about your cannibalism? I haven't seen you eat human flesh in ages."
"Yes, well, I haven't been craving it much lately. Not since…" he trailed off, trying to pin down a timeline. "Ah! I know," He remembered. "Not since you've been putting your blood in my coffee. It has a truly satisfying flavor. And without the craving, why go out of my way to find human flesh when you and I dine together for essentially every meal? It would be an entirely separate trip. Frankly not worth the effort when I'm already full."
Elida froze. Her eyes widened, and Alastor could see some grand realization hit her mind. Her expression practically screamed, 'Eureka!' Alastor raised an eyebrow, hoping she would share.
"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, her previously somber tone replaced with excitement. "Allie, you're a genius!" She grabbed his shirt and kissed him enthusiastically.
He had no idea what she was talking about, but it didn't really matter. Her lips against his made Alastor's thoughts turn to static. His dead heart fluttered. This crazy witch might be the only person in existence who could get him to willingly shut up. He breathed her in like a drug.
Before he knew what was happening, she'd run off, fleeing from her room and launching off the balcony like a rocket. He shook his head, gathering the wits she'd so easily stolen from him. "Good golly…"
The door knocked, and Elida's father's voice called from behind her door. He must not have seen her fly away. "Firecracker? Are you in there?"
Alastor summoned a voodoo doll to open the door. Callum startled away from the creepy little creature with a yelp.
"I'm afraid you just missed her," Alastor informed him politely. "She's flown off."
"Oh. Okay. I'll just… come back later, I guess?" He held what seemed to be an infant's blanket in his hands.
"Nonsense," Alastor said with a smile, "It's high time the two of us have a little chat, wouldn't you say? I am courting your daughter, after all."
"Courting?" Callum raised an eyebrow. "Who still calls it that? How old are you, exactly?"
"Oh, you're a newly dead fellow, so I'm sure you've yet to notice, but birth year has very little sway on couples in the afterlife," Alastor assured him. "However, if you must know, I died in 1933."
"Geez," Callum frowned. "That's a bit of a gap."
"We all turn to dust at the end of the day," he rebutted cheerfully. "Come, we ought not to lurk in a lady's room in her absence." Alastor swung his arm around Callum's tense shoulders. He led him out the door and locked it behind them. "There is no way of knowing when dear Elida will return, so whaddya say we have some dinner?"
"I'm not really hungry," Callum tried to decline. He attempted to wriggle out of Alastor's grip, so Alastor held on more insistently.
"Nonsense!" he laughed. "Why, they say cuisine is one of the finest ways to bring people together. How about you show me a traditional Celtic recipe, and I'll show you how to make something with real Luisiana flavor. What do ya say, old pal?"
"Uhh…" Callum hesitated, "I guess?"
"Lovely!"
Instead of using the hotel kitchen, which would be too busy for any level of privacy, Alastor faded them both into shadow and appeared in front of the Rose Quartz. No matter how many times he tried, he never seemed able to appear inside their doors using magic. He always had to walk in manually. Oh well.
"Hey, Radio Daddy," one of the witches pretended to flirt at him. He offered her a cheeky wink.
Interestingly, Callum immediately relaxed at seeing all the arcane symbols in the Coven's headquarters. He looked around, his skin glowing a bit brighter at the sight in the same way Elida's did when she was happy. "There are witches here!" he said gleefully.
"Yeah, no fucking shit." The Hag was chewing on something at a table in the corner. Speaking with her mouth full, she called out to Alastor, "It's unlike you to bring men around. You turning into a swinger?"
"The only swinging I ever do is swing dancing," Alastor clapped back with a smile. "And do chew your food, ma'am. We don't all wish to wear your backwash on our jackets."
"No," she snarked in return, "You prefer brimstone and soot. Tell me, are you ever gonna fix those ratty-looking coattail tears or do you just enjoy walking around looking like you barely managed to crawl your way out of a woodchipper?"
"At least I've heard of skincare."
"And you wonder why people assume you're fruity," she took another massive bite.
He adored this crotchety old witch. He turned to Callum. "This," he introduced, "is the Hag, the matriarch of your dear daughter's coven. She also runs this lovely dining establishment." He turned to address the Hag, "Hag, this is Lord Callum McCarthy, our darling Elida's father. I'm afraid he is recently deceased."
"Yeah, I figured," the Hag nodded over her food, "considering the whole being-in-fucking-Hell thing."
Callum gasped with recognition. He extracted himself from Alastor's grip and genuflected to the Hag in what seemed to be an oddly specific way. "Tri-Crone, I am at your humble service. My dear wife's family has worshipped you for untold generations. She's told me all about you. She says you've been watching over the witches of the world for millennia, and that you would one day care for her and the women down our bloodline until Hell itself ends."
Now that was interesting. Elida had never mentioned anything along these lines to Alastor. He chose not to interrupt, listening to their conversation with rapt attention.
The Hag chewed loudly, unbothered by Callum's display of reverence. "Yeah, well, she's mostly right. But no witch can get every detail perfect. Don't go throwing your panties at me thinking I'll give you some kind of wish or whatever. I'm not a fuckin' genie."
"No no, of course not!" Callum assured her, standing up and grinning. "It's just such an honor to meet you in person. Is it true you're one of Adam and Eve's first daughters?"
The Hag rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Hmph. Yeah. But most people are too busy talking about old Cain and Abel to bother giving a shit about any of the rest of the first children. Not to mention how little of a fuck Adam gave about his daughters in general. That misogynistic prick was all about the boys. Sure, his army is built of women, but that was mostly out of objectification rather than actual respect. I'm not even sure he ever really liked Mom. He just wanted to use her cunt."
She took a long drink from her mug, allowing splashes of brown liquid to run down her chin. When the mug was empty she burped and added, "I'm surprised she didn't stick a knife in his heart herself after he started cheating on her with their own damn descendants. Still, she will have the last laugh in the end."
"Will?" Alastor asked curiously. "Has she not by now? Dear Nifty killed Adam already, or have you forgotten?"
"I said what I said," the Hag grumped, before turning back to her meal. "Now fuck off and go make out with each other or something. I got shit to do." She waved a hand over the mug, and it refilled itself.
Accepting the rude dismissal gracefully, Callum nodded respectfully at the ancient being. He turned back to Alastor with a big fangirling look on his face. Alastor rolled his eyes, then guided his father-in-law… erm… his girlfriend's dad… into the kitchen. Fuck, what was the matter with him today? They left the Hag to her own devices.
"Let's get started, shall we? I think my mother's Jambalaya recipe is a great place to start, though it will take quite some time for you to get to try all the lovely recipes Louisiana has to offer, ha ha ha!" He rolled up his sleeves and donned an apron. "What ingredients will you be needing for your dish?"
"Ahh," Callum thought for a moment, scratching his chin, "I suppose if you're going for traditional, I could make some crubeens. But I'll need pig's feet."
"Brilliant! Something I have yet to try!" Alastor snapped his fingers, and his pet butcher appeared. He turned back to Callum, "Give him a list of materials, and he'll see to it you get the freshest ingredients."
Callum did so, and an hour or so later the butcher dutifully returned with everything on their grocery list. By that time, the jambalaya was close to finished, and Alastor had enjoyed several different accounts of Elida committing varying degrees of arson. Not always accidentally.
"Next thing I know," Callum laughed, "I'm having to buy an entirely new set of furniture for the guest room, not to mention having to dry out the carpet from the sprinkler system. I tell you, no matter how sweet she is, that girl was a menace from the minute she could walk!"
It turned out, crubeens were delightful. It was a simple recipe that discouraged waste. There wasn't nearly enough flavor for Alastor's preferences, but most food was too mild in his opinion. At least the texture was pleasant.
"Oh," Callum added enthusiastically, "and you won't believe what she did to her elementary school girlfriend when she found out she'd been talking about her behind her back."
"Do tell," Alastor encouraged.
"For sure," Callum obliged, "mind you, the only reason I ever found about this is because she confessed to me while she was high on pain meds after getting her wisdom teeth removed years and years later." He took a sip of water to clear his pallet. "Well, she found out from a friend of a friend of a friend, or something like that, I don't know, little girls are a mystery. Anyway, she found out that her girlfriend was spreading nasty rumors about her to all the other kids at school. Apparently, she was jealous that we had more money than she did. I never understood that mentality. It's not like that was Elida's fault."
"Anyways," he continued, "Elida, being basically still a baby and not having a fully developed brain, decided it would be a good idea to leave – I kid you not – a colony of fire ants," he said incredulously, "specially imported from South America, in the poor girl's bed!"
"Goodness me!" Alastor laughed, impressed. "Wherever did she get them?"
"She apparently figured out how to order them on the internet. Kid or not, she's always been brilliant. She was a handful to raise; I'll tell you that. The finest honor of my life, but still."
"You're telling me," Alastor agreed.
Handful was an apt description. They shared crazy Elida stories for far longer than Alastor expected to want to. They had a lot to discuss, and the food put them both in a good mood.
Annoyingly, throughout the night, various witches came in to not-so-subtly hit on Callum. It seemed they were drawn to him. Perhaps it was his sickeningly wholesome vibe, or the fact that he was so much like their beloved Elida. Or maybe he had so much experience dealing with witches that he just knew how best to talk to them. But frankly, after the fifth horny demon undressing Callum with their eyes, Alastor was starting to get irritated.
To his credit, Callum told them all no. In his mind, he still had a wife. Alastor could respect the loyalty. He didn't think Elida would appreciate her father messing around with her sisters, especially so soon after his death.
The fact that he didn't hate being around this man was a testament to how much Alastor had changed. Usually, Alastor found men detestable, regardless of their disposition. But he found himself genuinely enjoying Callum's company. He imagined a rather domestic scene, where he, Elida, Mama, and himself all sat around a big feast-laden table, discussing politics, poisons, and pranks.
He didn't know if it was this image in his head, or if the witches were casting something to mess with his mind, but some insane, unknowable force possessed Alastor to ask, "Mr. McCarthy, may I have your permission to marry your daughter?"