Part One
Day Eight - Streets of Pentagram City, two minutes after midnight:In the pouring acid rain, two figures slipped out a window on the side of the Hazbin Hotel, skirting the illumination of the hotel's bright marquee as they leapt the fence.
They ran down the streets, caught briefly by a solitary working streetlamp before disappearing into the darkness of the storm-swept Doomsday District.
One alley to another. Crymini stopped against a wall, checking around a corner for signs of any remaining Skullfuckers before waving Cherri Bomb ahead.
They jumped rubble and dodged dumpsters. Cherri Bomb led them up a fire escape, giving them the rooftops. Or what was left of them. It avoided the few demons looking for trouble in the alleys and bombed-out buildings. As much as Cherri Bomb would have loved a good scrap, they had bigger targets tonight.
They dropped down through the fire-gutted floors of a tenement house. It was not as abandoned as they had hoped.
"Fuck. Rain's fucking with the smells," Crymini complained as they exited through an empty window frame.
"First fight in miles, girl. Ya did good!" Cherri Bomb said as dark silhouettes with glowing eyes poured into the alley on either side of them.
She grinned, her own eye and smile glowing in the dark. These fuckers thought they were running. There was just more room to use explosives outside.
One of them, a tall and lanky demon with seven blazing blue eyes, produced a trident with three slightly glowing, silvery prongs.
"Easy way or hard way?" the clearly leading demon asked as lightning split the sky above the alley.
"Not the Doomsday District these days without some enema-sucker pulling out angelic steel," Crymini growled.
"A trident?" Cherri Bomb laughed, hands behind her back. "Fuckin' seriously? Ain't the nearest ocean is three Rings down, ya fuckshit?"
"Hard way, then!" the demon rumbled, his seven eyes narrowing to slits.
Cherri Bomb sent her first pipe bomb of the night over their heads.
In the same arc of motion, she jumped onto Crymini, flattening them both to the ground behind a mound of rubble. Just in case the demons' bodies weren't enough to stop all the nails.
The alley was filled with fire and gruesome, perforating death.
Day Eight - Doomsday District, after midnight:
Cherri Bomb felt alive. Not unscathed. But that just meant she was having a good time. It was just one little scrap. An appetizer. And she was starving. But the paper in her bosom promised a grand five-course-meal to come.
Ahead of her, Crymini was tossing bags of garbage from a pile. Digging down.
These shark biscuits don't know ya like I do. The voice rose, unbidden from the place she buried it. Ya can't play nice that much longer. Deep down, you're bent and bloody savage. Ya crave the passion and the fire too much for Heaven, hottie.
"Fuck Izzi!" Cherri Bomb spat.
Crymini stopped, looking up, her ears swiveling at the sound of Cherri Bomb's voice. "What was that?"
"Nothing!" Cherri Bomb insisted. Really nothing. It wasn't even Izzi who had said those words. Just some dreamwalking magic fuckery he left behind pretending to be him. And she'd beat him. It. She'd won.
"Gotcha!" Crymini whooped, pulling more bags away to reveal a cellar door. The handles were wrapped in a chain bound with a thick padlock. The puppy demon's lockpicks were already at work as Cherri Bomb joined her.
Seconds later, the padlock opened and Crymini removed it, the links of the chain clattering through the handles as the puppy demon pulled the chain away.
A moment after, they pulled open the cellar doors. In the dark, they were two razor-sharp grins and three fiendishly demonic eyes staring down into the opening. Another flash silhouetted them and lit the stairs. They descended, laughing with the crack of thunder.
The hidey hole smelled of misuse and abandonment. Cherri Bomb pulled out her phone, panning the light until she found the combination bong-slash-lamp and lit it. Tattered furniture in dumpster-diver chic. A wealth of empty bottles, discarded needles, inhalers and crusty condoms. It wasn't a large room, made smaller by the partition that curtained off a couple mattresses for fucking.
"What are we looking for?" Cherri Bomb asked as Crymini started searching by tearing down a poster for The Squirters.
"Any place they could stash something big," Crymini answered as she started lifting the cushions of the chairs and sofa.
Well, that won't take long.
Cherri Bomb started by ripping up the carpet.
Crymini opened up the drawers on the dresser, finding a dead hellrat amongst burned spoons. She pulled out a carton labeled The Witchdoctor. The discerning orphan's choice in the DD for PCP. So of course it was empty. She stifled a growl, tossing the carton over her shoulder and checking another drawer.
"Should we have invited Angel Dust along?" the puppy asked. "Heard you two usually wreck shit together."
Cherri Bomb started checking the mattresses. "Naw. These days, Angie is all into bettering himself and being responsible and shit." She pressed down on the mattress, feeling for suspicious lumps. "I mean, so am I. I've been clean for three weeks now. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to give up having fun, y'know."
She sighed. "Angie would have nixed this whole thing before we got out the window. He'd have us wait and give the list to Charlie's dad and let them handle everything while we get sidelined."
She got up, pulling back the curtain as far as it could go. "We probably should be doing that, shouldn't we?"
"The fuck?" Crymini scoffed, leaning against the side of Hell's rattiest sofa. "This Victor guy is making a plague to kill angels and the responsible thing is to send Lucifer, who is an angel, to deal with it? That's not smart, that's re-e-e-eally fucked in the head."
Cherri Bomb laughed. "I see Charlie's given ya a 'problematic language' talk too." She stopped, thinking about what the girl said. Latching onto it with a swell of excitement. "And yeah, you're right. What the fuck are they thinking?" The excuse was perfect, allowing her to shed the nasty feeling that this was a step backwards.
Her memory of the not-Izzi taunted her anyway. Eventually, you're going to relapse back to who you really want to be.
With a groan, she sat on the couch, letting up a puff of dust and dander. It was a very uncomfortable couch, hard and devoid of springs under the overuse-compressed cushions.
"Hold up a minute," Cherri Bomb said, jumping up.
"Checked under the cushions already," Crymini noted.
Cherri Bomb tipped the sofa over. The entire underside was a storage locker. She gave Crymini a grin as the girl pushed past her to unlock it.
Crymini pulled open the locker and her grin broadened dangerously as she stared at two of the Dragons' signature napalm throwers nestled among canisters of fuel.
Crymini pulled one out, giving Cherri Bomb a narrow-eyed smile. "Na na na?"
Cherri Bomb grabbed the other. "Na na fucking na!"
Day Eight - Streets of Pentagram City, after midnight:
The acid rain had taken a breather, but likely only a short one. The rooftop was mostly covered in puddles.
Napalm thrower slung over her back, Cherri Bomb put a boot on the rooftop's toothy crenellations, ignoring the eyes staring at her in the brickwork. She bent and looked down at the building below. The first target.
"Ooooh, they have a skylight, those poor wankers." She began setting up a row of bombs along the rooftop.
Crymini crouched on the rooftop, eyeing the facility below, separated from the building they had scaled by a back entrance alley. It looked long abandoned. Locked and chained and gated. All the windows were high-set to make using them for entry inconvenient. Although not that inconvenient given how many demons could fly or crawl up walls. Most of those windows were shattered.
And then they had a long skylight running across the top of the building. Which was several floors shorter than its neighbors. "Think that place was built before this one?" It looked old enough. "Or were they just stupid?"
"Either way," Cherri Bomb said as she began lighting fuses. "Sucks to be them!"
Cherri Bomb leaned on her knee. "Last chance to back out and be responsible," she smirked. But then her smirk faded. "If Victor is actually in there, this could get ugly."
Crymini nodded. "If Victor's in there, we call Seviathan's dad. Bring in the big gun who isn't an angel."
"Ya have his number?" Cherri Bomb asked, surprised.
"One better," she grinned, pulling out Seviathan's phone. "Still got this."
"Delinquent!" Cherri Bomb laughed, and for once it didn't sound like an insult in Crymini's ears. It was a fucking badge of honor.
Crymini poked at the screen, bringing up a connect-the-dots passlock.
"I don't suppose he told ya the code when ya pickpocketed it," Cherri Bomb said, looking over her shoulder.
"Naw," Crymini huffed. "I figured it out while in the elevator shaft."
Cherri Bomb's eye widened with disbelief. "What, ya a hacker too?"
Crymini rolled her eyes, scribbling on the screen. "Pffft, I just heard his obnoxious introduction song." The phone made a viscous noise as she gained access.
Crymini held up the malachite-cased phone before slipping it away, looking at Cherri Bomb and rolling her eyes. "You have to draw a dick."
"And Charlie dated that guy?"
"That's... HOLY FUCK!" Crymini jumped back as the Voxtek drone swooped up over the rooftop. She gripped her napalm thrower and sent a gout at the multi-propellered spy camera, the line of liquid flame painting her in orange as she sent the machine tumbling down to the building below like a burning bug.
"Party's started!" Crymini barked. "Let's make some noise!"
Cherri Bomb responded with a gleeful "Na na na!" as she began knocking the lit bombs off the crenellations hard enough to send them sailing across the gap between the buildings and down onto the rooftop below. Several smashed through the glass panes of the skylight, making it all the way inside before exploding in colorful pyrotechnic brilliance.
Day Eight - Streets of Pentagram City, after midnight:
Crymini and Cherri Bomb strolled across the knocked down and bent section of chain-link fence, strutting away from the second location on Cherri Bomb's list.
One of Crymini's ears twitched as the gurgling sound ended. Crymini grinned. The first place was fun, but this was going to be spectacular. She remembered Cherri Bomb's expression when she first saw the huge fuel tanks.
"Those have got to be empty," she had told Cherri Bomb as she had witnessed that exuberant glee.
"Of fuel," Cherri Bomb had agreed. "But they'll be full of fumes."
Now, Cherri Bomb tossed aside the gas can. "Ya want the honors?"
"You're the best," Crymini said, her demonic aspect flaring again. Cherri Bomb's demonic aspect flared to match as they continued down the driveway.
Crymini lowered the napalm sprayer, pointing the flaming nozzle behind them, and gave one squeeze of the trigger. The gout of flame ignited the trail of gasoline. Flames rushed back towards the abandoned facility, branching off towards the empty fuel tanks while one trail flickered speedily inside.
The first explosions left her ears ringing and lit up Hell behind them like somebody had conjured the fucking sun. The blast of compressed air and heat knocked her forward, nearly off her feet. The second explosions were even stronger.
Crymini was not cool enough to avoid looking at the massive, mushrooming fireball.
Day Eight - Vees Tower, the witching hour :
"Vox, what the fuck?" Velvette asked, stumbling into their meeting room. "Nobody should be up this early."
She saw Vox's head was displaying two figures walking away from a cataclysm of fire and smoke. At least until one of the explosions behind them knocked them down. Then there was some crawling involved.
"Speak for yourself," schmoozed the mass of casts and bandages posing as Valentino. "I'm never in bed this early. Well, never asleep."
Valentino puffed on his long cigarette stick and stifled a soft moan. Velvette could smell a more "medicinal" odor to what he was smoking than usual.
Vox touched his fingers to his face and cast the image onto the large screen behind her as Velvette took her seat.
"Two of our decommissioned properties have been destroyed in the last three hours," Vox told her and Valentino. He changed the channel to a view from a Voxtek spybot, showing one of the demons, a small canine, kneeling at a door, picking the lock. "And they've just arrived at a third."
On the screen, the canine opened the door into the abandoned building, giving a gracious bow as she waved the other demon in.
"Wait," Velvette said, looking at the one-eyed woman with the frankly pornographic figure. "I've seen her before."
Valentino groaned a little as he leaned closer. "That bitch is one of Angel Dust's friends. She's the one who blew up the door to my studio the day the angel stole him from me!"
Velvette blinked, placing that one-eyed face now. She was in the big battle between the Exorcists and Lucifer's daughter's hotel. "Seriously, more shit from that hotel?"
Valentino groaned again, sitting back. "Honestly, this time, who cares? Let them think they're having a little victory. It's not like we use those buildings anyway." He turned to Vox, "If you're worried about image, doesn't this just make them look petty?"
Velvette pulled out her phone and began looking through her feed.
Vox frowned. "I've compared the three sites hit, and they all have one thing in common."
"Lack of housekeeping?" Valentino offered flippantly, his voice something close to a purr.
"They all had labs that made them considerations for where to house our friend Victor," Vox said. "Which means this isn't a couple rabble-rousers. This is a targeted attack on our newest asset."
Velvette sat up, putting down her phone. "How would they even know where to strike?"
"I don't know," Vox admitted. "But between the meeting yesterday and this, unless he's ready now, it might be time to cut our ties with the good doctor."
Day Eight - Vees Tower, the witching hour :
The doors slid shut in the circular entrance behind him as Vox strode across the strip-lit path to the heart of his media empire. He sat on his throne, plugging in. The holding screens of red and blue switched to views from cameras throughout the third targeted facility. Unlike the other two, this was one of his.
He watched as the cyclopean harlot stuck bubblegum over the lens of one of his cameras. Several other screens showed black. A few had dead feeds. He rewound the footage to see the puppy dog girl torching his drones, often with little regard for the building around her. From the looks of it, they rushed to the top floor and were working their way down. He watched as one screen showed the puppy playing "air guitar" with her bodged junk flamethrower while the other laid out wires. In yet another, he rewound to see the cyclops guiding the younger-looking demon on planting semtex. He had already written off salvaging anything from the site in the morning.
Vox placed a call. And hoped the doctor wasn't asleep. And hadn't forgotten how to answer. He made it as simple for the man as possible.
After several full minutes, Doctor Victor's plague mask appeared on the screen.
"Hellish morning, Victor. I need to know your progress. Right now."
"Patience is a virtue, Mr. Vox," the plague doctor chided with an almost aristocratic air.
"Not right now," Vox informed him, adding, "Or in Hell. Enemies are hunting you. You need to grab what you can and disappear. But first, I need to know if you have the virus yet."
He could see Victor freeze a moment. "No no no. I need more time."
Vox felt a crackling burst of frustration. "You. Don't. Have. It. Doctor."
"How long do I have?" Victor asked, no longer in view. Vox could hear him rushing about.
"They are hitting every lab you might be in. There are only two left, and they will be heading to one of them in minutes," Vox told him. "So fifty-fifty chance that you have less than twenty minutes or nearly an hour."
"That's not enough time!" Vox heard Victor shout. "The next process will take at least an hour to complete!"
"Then grab what you can and go," Vox advised, mentally writing off the plague doctor entirely. "And if I were you, I'd put as much distance between you and them as you can. One of them is a canine. She might be able to track you."
The plague doctor appeared again, pressing up against the screen. "Wait! Perhaps if you..."
"Goodbye, Doctor Victor," Vox said calmly, ending the call.
He sat in his throne, silent and unmoving for several moments.
"FUCK!"
Day Eight - Streets of Pentagram City, the witching hour :
Doctor Victor pulled open the lid and carefully pulled out the single vial. It glowed like liquid gold. The ichor of an angel. But within that holy façade hid a much more glorious creation.
Not as glorious as it should be. Not as magnificent as his vision. If he had just had a few more hours.
And then a few days to make enough to saturate the Embassy the angels called Heavenly ground. Or that hotel he had been told the leader of the angels regularly fornicated at.
Angels were not what they were portended to be. But then, who is?
Victor unbuttoned his lab coat and opened a small, padded box clipped to his belt, placing the vial inside.
One last look around. He wanted to take everything. He could not waste time. Not if his hunters had a tracking dog.
He left the lab, coat billowing behind him as he marched outside. The burning rain had started again. He turned to the truck. And frowned. It had been so useful in the move. Less so now. The gas had been siphoned by some passing demon. The truck was on blocks. The tires were gone. As was everything made of chrome or copper. It had taken nine hours in this neighborhood to go from a functional vehicle to this.
Had everything been this hard a week ago? Maybe he was losing the whispers. Losing his power. He had disobeyed. Were They stripping away what They forced upon him? If so, the punishment was freedom.
Or maybe he was just tired.
But there was a hope it would all be over soon.
Doctor Victor stretched out a hand. "Well, if They are going to give you to me, you might as well make yourself useful."
Hell split, the air tearing back like toilet paper stretched over a vacuum that was just turned on. Black ichor oozed out of the gap, pooling above and below, dripping upward and downward.
From within the Other, a flickering miasma of pustulant green and sickly yellow. Attached to something monstrous, foul and white as bone. Five more grotesque motes of miasma appeared, one above, four below. Moving to the mouth of the yawning gape. The brutal abomination took its cursed shape.
After this day, he mused with loathing as the beast came forth, I will no longer be able to claim I have never ridden a horse.
The angels should die for that indignity alone.
Day Eight - Belphegor's Estate, Sloth, morning:
"Razzle!" Lucifer grinned and pulled the little goat demon into a spin as the golden portal closed behind him.
Charlie watched happily, her heart swelling once again at seeing Razzle awake and flying. The joy was enough to make her forget she was in trouble.
Lucifer finished a little dance with Razzle before turning to his daughter and her girlfriends, all sitting together on the couch.
He moved to hug her and Charlie leapt up in response, embracing her dad. "Thanks for coming, dad. I was going to call you. I hope you can stay for breakfast!" She gave him a big smile. "We have something to tell you."
"It is good to see you too, Charlie," Lucifer said before taking a step back and looking over her shoulder, first at Belphegor who was standing behind the couch with an especially done expression, and then to Sera, who had opened all her eyes for extra glowering.
"What's going on?" he asked. "What has you upset, Belphegor?"
Charlie shied back, blushing, and sat down between Vaggie and Emily.
"Since you ask, your daughter and her girlfriends destroyed my favorite guest bedroom," Belphegor grumbled lazily.
Lucifer blinked. "What? When? How?" He looked at Charlie. "Why?"
Charlie felt like she was a child again under that gaze. "Again, I'm sorry. We didn't mean to."
Lucifer looked at Belphegor, mildly annoyed. "While that is surprising, Charlie is a grown woman. Is there really any reason to call me?"
"I called you to discuss unrelated matters," Belphegor stated. "I would not have even brought this up if not for your query."
Emily piped up defensively. "It wasn't Charlie's fault. At all. She was asleep!"
"What were you thinking?" Sera snapped, mostly at Emily.
Vaggie ignored the others and focused on her partners. "We're sorry. You've just been so wonderful with us, especially me lately. And, well, we just wanted to give you an extra pleasant wake-up," she told Charlie apologetically, only making Charlie blush and bury her face in her hands.
Vaggie turned to Belphegor. "Don't blame her. Look, we'll... I dunno... pay for the bed?"
Beside her, Emily squeaked. "How could we have known that would happen?"
"Have you heard of a tsunami?" Sera challenged.
"Oh," Lucifer said in a tone that made Charlie's heart sink with humiliation. Charliegasms were something she really wished her dad didn't know about.
"Belphegor," Lucifer promised, "I'll remake the bedroom and then we'll have breakfast and pretend this didn't happen."
Day Eight - Belphegor's Estate, Sloth, breakfast (in progress):
Lucifer smiled to Emily. "Thank you. Frederick and I will look into those locations first thing after breakfast." He added, "It was smart of you to look at the list before leaving."
Vaggie felt the slightest touch of envy at the seraphim's angelic memory. Even hers was nowhere near that good. Charlie was right: cheaty seraphim powers.
Emily brightened the room with her smile at the compliment.
"It really is good to see you looking so much better, Sera," Lucifer said, changing topics between bites of pancakes. "I take back what I said about your Deal. It actually does seem to be helping."
Beside Sera, Razzle helped himself to another pancake, clearly enjoying being at the table rather than serving it for once.
Vaggie watched that, wondering if they shouldn't be inviting him to the table at the hotel. Charlie never did, so she never questioned that. Now she was wondering if she should have.
"It is still difficult," Sera admitted. "If not for the current crisis and my worries for Emily, I would just try to sleep until I couldn't make myself sleep anymore." She took a moment, seeming to contemplate the variety tray of syrups. "It is, sometimes, very hard not to anyway."
Emily rolled her eyes. "You know, you don't have to embody Sloth now that you won't have a throne here."
Belphegor spoke. "That job is taken, young seraphim. And it is not one I am ashamed of."
"I'm sorry!" Emily eeped, aghast at herself. "Oh wafers, that was rude of me! I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean any offense."
Sera automatically chided, "Language, Emily."
Vaggie could not help but jump in, teasingly scolding, "Yeah, watch your fucking language, Emily."
Charlie snerked.
Sera turned to Lucifer, leveling an accusing finger. "And you have no more place than Emily in scolding me about that Deal. Belphegor told me about Frederick's nuclear option."
Emily and Charlie looked at Lucifer in surprise. Emily asked, "Nuclear option?"
Vaggie hoped the breakfast wasn't about to go sideways. It was such a nice breakfast.
Lucifer sighed. "If Sera had turned out to be dangerous after she fell, I had made arrangements with Frederick to have him take her power by force."
At their gasps, he added, "But only as an extreme last resort, if I couldn't make things safe any other way. Frederick does not like to do that. The consequences can be most destructive for both if his... uhh..." He sighed, knowing the right word. "...victim is unwilling."
Emily glared at him, eyes glowing. "You would have hurt Sera like that!?"
"Only as a last resort!" Lucifer insisted again.
And she was just smiling at him. Vaggie bit her tongue. She had an idea of how to salvage this, but it was a step she couldn't take back. And she hadn't discussed it with Emily and Charlie yet.
Sera held up a hand. "Considering the things I have allowed when I believed it would keep Heaven's people safe, I hold no ill will against him for what he merely considered doing."
Vaggie couldn't help but note how hard Sera was going now on owning up to her mistakes. When Sera hit her Acceptance stage, she practically wrestled it to the ground and made it her bitch.
And that is a thought that tells me I've been talking to Angel Dust too much.
Sera added, looking at Lucifer, "Especially when my own solution to my problems was so similar."
Emily folded her arms and sat back in her seat with an expression of righteous grump. "Well, I didn't authorize the slaughter of millions, so I still get to be angry with him."
"Emily," Vaggie whispered pleadingly.
Charlie winced and gave Emily a please be nice look.
Sera hid her wince well. "Fair."
Between Charlie's and Vaggie's pleas, Emily relented. A little. "For a little while."
Lucifer sighed. "The High Seraphim is mad at me. How little things have changed."
"Daaaaaaad," Charlie chided.
Vaggie inwardly groaned. She knew what she was about to say. And she knew it was too sudden. She had been mulling over a notion, but it didn't form fully in her head until earlier this morning, when Lucifer thought he had been called in to... what, give Charlie a talking to?
Yet, at the same time, it felt right.
Vaggie suggested, "You could choose to look at it a happier way."
Lucifer raised an eyebrow.
"We're your daughter's partners," Vaggie offered. "So instead of thinking of Emily as the High Seraphim, think of both of us..." She steepled her hands. "...like daughters?"
Charlie jolted with a squeak worthy of one of Lucifer's rubber ducks.
Lucifer frowned. "I don't see how that would be better than having the High Seraphim mad at me. Or..."
But he was cut off by Emily's loud squeal. Any anger the seraphim had been harboring had vanished.
"DOES THIS MEAN I CAN CALL YOU DAD!?"
Sera looked uncomfortable.
Lucifer blinked. "Um... well... I guess... yeah." Vaggie could see his grin grow as his heart very quickly warmed to the idea. "YEAH!"
Vaggie grinned. "Thanks, dad."
Emily flew over the table to embrace him. "I have a dad!"
Vaggie blinked, having not quite expected that from Emily. She looked to Sera, who just looked stunned, then to Charlie.
Charlie bounced in her chair, clapping. "OHMYGOSH, I'm so HAPPY!"
Day Eight - Belphegor's Estate, Sloth, morning:
"Again, Belphegor, I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry about the bed!" Charlie insisted.
"Your father repaired it before he left, Princess Morningstar," Belphegor said. "All is well."
Charlie felt a burst of joy as she remembered Vaggie and Emily both waving and telling him, "Bye, dad!" Her dad looked ready to cry tears of happiness.
"And thank you again for letting us stay last night," Charlie added. "And letting Razzle stay for a while!"
"You are welcome." Belphegor gave a slow smile. "The latter is my pleasure. I believe his presence is good for Sera."
Charlie looked over at Sera, who was sitting next to the piano as Razzle played. She remembered how Sera had offered Razzle the seat next to her at the table. Razzle had looked so surprised, and had looked to Charlie hesitantly for permission.
Charlie had nodded happily. And inside felt a pang. She hadn't had Razzle at the table with her since she was a child.
I should start doing that again, she resolved firmly. I don't want him to ever feel alone.
Belphegor passed her a small bag with her symbol on it. "For Keekee. The instructions are inside."
Charlie took it, feeling herself tear up with gratitude to the Sin. Charlie hugged her. She only broke the hug when it got awkward.
Emily opened a portal back to the Hazbin Hotel, announcing, "This time, I'm not following you through. I need to go to Heaven." She sighed. "I have to figure out a whole speech thing. Maybe even give it, if everything's ready."
Charlie nodded. "Come back by this afternoon if you can. We should go to Cannibal Town today."
Emily nodded.
Vaggie looked at Emily challengingly. "Uh-huh."
Emily blinked. "You don't think I can?"
Vaggie rolled her eye. "Nope."
Before Charlie could process that, Vaggie took hold of her and pushed her through the portal into the hotel.
Angel Dust and Husk greeted them from the bar, both wearing expressions that made Charlie immediately wonder what they had missed.
"Nope?" Emily asked, following them through. "What part of what I said do you think I can't handle?"
Vaggie turned, smiled, and pointed at the carpet.
Emily looked down, then groaned in realization. She closed the portal to Sloth and opened one to Heaven, rustling her wings at Vaggie in playful irritation.
"What was that about, Vaggie?" Charlie asked as the portal closed behind Emily.
Vaggie looked at Charlie with amused disbelief. She began to tick off on her fingers. "Angel Dust asked her to open a portal to his room at the porn studio. As soon as he walked through, she followed him. I asked her to open a portal to Vees Tower so I could be nearby when Angel went to work, and she followed us through. I asked her to open a portal to Lust, and you both followed me through. At this point, I'm not certain she can stop herself."
Charlie tapped her fingers. "I don't know if that's fair."
"She literally just said she wouldn't be returning with us, then followed us through," Vaggie countered. She turned and joined Angel Dust at the bar. The spider was nodding with a smirk, having called out that habit of the angel's over a week ago.
"Where are the others?" Charlie asked, approaching the bar.
"Lute's with Niffty," Angel Dust said. "Makin' clothing for the outing today. Cherri Bomb and Crymini are asleep."
The spider demon exchanged a look with Husk. The winged feline added, "They had a busy night."
Day Eight - Victor's Clinic, morning:
As he descended the stairs, Victor could smell the rank odor coming from the dark room that had recently been his clinic. The door was smashed open, half of it still hanging on one hinge. As he pushed it aside and entered, his boots splashed in an inch of pooled acidic rainwater. He found the pull chain, but the bulb was shattered. He didn't really need it.
He was only here to talk.
The angel's blood was gone, cleaned from the walls. His foot found the source of the smell. He nudged it so that part of the dead shark slid into the wedge of light from the doorway.
From the state of it, he would guess the magic used here drained the body of its potentially infectious blood, along with every other bodily fluid. The shark was effectively mummified, sans the classic bandaging. That was, until the rainwater got to it. From the bloating and the smell, things had gone quite south since then.
He didn't care. He had smelled much worse in the course of his professional duties.
"I regret how things ended between us," he told Leonard. "The horse They saddled me with is an exceptionally powerful abomination. But a very poor conversationalist. And nowhere as endearing as you proved to be."
Victor found one of the gurneys and rested on it.
"And in the end, it was for nothing. They found my location anyway. Destroyed my work. And we were so close." He pulled out the single vial of glowing blood. "Thankfully, all is not lost. But this is a fragile hope."
He paused, listening to nothing. "Yes, I got what I deserved. Your death was wasteful. I see that now. You could have been so much more. We could have done such great things."
"This will have to do," he said, standing up. "If I can find an angel and wound her, make her bleed, then this and my fleas will do the rest. Once in an angelic host, it will hide and mutate into the airborne cleanse we strove for."
He looked down at the corpse. "We only have one shot, Leonard. So we must wait for a target rich environment."
Day Eight - Heaven's Court, morning:
Emily looked at her sister's office. The huge, high-backed chair. The sprawling desk, covered in stacks of scrolls and datapads. Not as orderly as it used to be. Emily was never as organized as Sera.
No, not Sera's office. Her office. But, mercifully, not for much longer. Within a week, she prayed, she would have an office in Heaven's Embassy. One with a reciprocal office here, the new projector allowing her to be in both places at once. But (to the chagrin of some in the Court) mostly in Hell.
The very idea lifted her spirits. Smiling, she left the room, a song in her heart and a dance to her steps. She waved to Court angels as she passed them by. Showered the halls with cheerful greetings.
The atmosphere tried to weigh on her. The tenseness and apprehension that seemed to permeate the building. Most of the angels she met were not smiling. At least, not until she washed those troubled looks away with a bright confidence more infectious than any plague.
A smile, a good morning, a wave or a handshake. A hug for those familiar or who really looked like they needed it. Sometimes, an offer to help or a listening ear.
She would not lie. She could not say that Heaven was as it should be. Or promise that it would ever feel like what everyone had believed it was. But rather, she offered a promise that things would get better. Heaven would be... no was wonderful.
She ducked under the barrier surrounding the reconstruction area. The part of the Courthouse that was demolished when the Heavenly projection system did its farewell show had been largely rebuilt. Construction on the Heaven-side Embassy lagged behind, having waited until the plans for the corresponding rooms Hell-side were finalized.
There were going to be a lot more rooms connected to the projection system. Rooms for angels to connect with their loved ones in Hell, if the demons were willing.
Emily squeed at the idea, flapping her wings in excitement. This was going to help so many souls!
Her squee drew attention. Thomas the architect approached her, plans in hand.
"High Seraphim. I've seen these new designs for your Embassy, um... I hesitate to call it an office, as it has no walls of its own. No privacy."
Emily waved her hands. "Please, just call me Emily. Or Em. Emi. Well, whatever you want."
She peeked at the design for the circular desk space. "Yes! That looks right. I want to be able to see demons as they come in and greet them. I don't need privacy. I want them to know I have nothing to hide."
Thomas shook his head. "Are you truly planning to do the work of Heaven's Court in Hell?"
Emily nodded with a smile. "As much as I can. I mean, I'm delegating what I can to better angels for the tasks. But there are things that need the High Seraphim's eyes and signature."
At Thomas' doubting look, she affirmed, "I am the Ambassador to Hell, first and foremost. I can't be that if I'm tucked away in a stuffy room up here."
"The ventilation in your office should be excellent," Thomas noted.
Emily giggled. "Not the kind of stuffy I meant."
Thomas frowned. "Sera would not approve."
"Sera is in Hell now," Emily reminded him, making it clear he could not use that argument. "And I want to see her first thing whenever she visits the Embassy too."
Thomas blinked. "That can't happen, Emily. She's banned from Heaven. The Heaven Embassy is scripturally Heaven."
"That's really not how that works. Besides," Emily held up one of her latest Proclamations. "I've made an exception. As High Seraphim, I can do that."
Day Eight - Hazbin Hotel bar, morning:
Husk watched as Niffty scrubbed drops of blood out of the carpet that he couldn't even see.
Angel Dust sat down on a stool, leaning over and resting his arms on the counter.
"Coffee, liquor or both?" Husk offered.
"After what I just heard? I'm thinking a double shot of everything."
Husk raised his eyebrows. "Why don't I make you an Irish coffee." He grabbed a whiskey bottle.
Angel Dust turned and watched Niffty. "Did you know Crymini is thinking about killing herself?"
"THE FUCK!?" Husk blurted, slamming down the bottle he was holding.
That was not something he expected or wanted to hear. It was completely foreign to everything he had seen from the girl. And he did not like how casually that was just said.
Angel Dust held up a hand. "Not like that! She's not suicidal."
Husk glared. There's a non-suicidal version of wanting to kill yourself?
"She only slept a few hours, and when she woke up, she started to freak out because she realized she'd come back to the hotel bleeding." Angel Dust looked in the direction of Crymini's room. "She was scared she might have infected the angels here with Pestilence's plague. Now Crymini's thinking she can cleanse herself of the plague with a quick death."
Husk calmed a little as the shock wore off. Okay, Hell made sense again. He'd heard Crymini openly talk about using death to cleanse herself of PCP.
"I'll talk to her," Husk said.
"And say what?" Angel Dust asked. "I mean, that's insane, but... that should work, right?"
Husk felt filthy even considering that. But when he forced himself to, he had to admit Crymini was probably right.
He'd never been one to profess the sanctity of life. Especially in Hell where, angelic weapons aside, death was temporary. Yet Crymini's utilitarian attitude towards ending herself, even if just temporarily, couldn't be okay.
"I'll say I don't want her to die," Husk answered finally. "Even if I know she'll come back. That's all I've really got."
Day Eight: Alastor's room, late morning:
Charlie stood in the hallway outside of Alastor's door. She remembered the horror show when last she knocked on this door. Everything seemed calm now. Normal.
She swallowed hard. And drew back her hand to knock.
The door opened, her gentle swing meeting only air. Inside, she saw the bayou had been restored to its "natural" paradoxical state. Alastor was within the room proper, sitting on a lounge chair before a crackling fire. Sipping coffee from his favorite mug.
Charlie felt a slithering against her ankles, accompanied by a purr. She looked down and Keekee looked up at her calmly. Then the cyclopean cat pranced off down the hall.
"Still doing that," Charlie mused under her breath, looking at the open door.
With a radio crackle, Alastor bid her, "Come on in, Charlie. And please, be a deer and close the door behind you."
Charlie obeyed nervously. But she took a deep breath and stood tall. "I know I failed with the whole discretion thing, but I did what I had to. I don't regret it."
She could feel his eyes narrow even though she couldn't see his smiling face. The radio hiss sharpened to a single tone. A building whine.
"And if you wanted me here to punish me for it, or for seeing you weakened, or whatever, then go ahead," she told him as determinedly as she could manage. "It was worth it."
The whine continued to build, then snapped, leaving silence save for the crackling of the eldritch green flames in the fireplace.
Alastor took another sip from his mug and set it down on the small table that stood next to his chair, placing it beside a very familiar book.
"I asked for you because I wanted to thank you," he told her, flooding her with thankfulness and suspicion in equal measures.
"You're welcome," she told him.
The radio distortion in his voice climbed slightly. "Rosie tells me you truly went below and beyond for me."
Charlie instinctually started to say something, and he cut her off.
"No, it is not something anyone would do for me. And no, it is not something I would have done for you." His voice crackled. "You have shown me an exceptional kindness. One that leaves me in your debt."
His entire chair rotated, moved by black tentacles beneath it, leaving the Radio Demon facing her with his nasty yellow smile.
"I don't like being in debt to anyone."
Charlie scowled. Of course it's all transactional to him! "Well, then you can relax, because you're not. I didn't do this as a Favor. I did this because I care about you. We're friends, right?"
Wrong, probably. But that could never be right without work. Like Vaggie said, this was where it got hard.
Alastor's smile grew. He gave her the sort of soft expression that he gave her when buttering her up in front of her dad. Only her dad wasn't here now.
"So you say," he said almost dismissively. "But then, if friends do things for each other, then I feel it is my turn. So I'm going to do something for you."
The distortion in his voice climbed dramatically. "I'm going to tell you the truth."
Day Eight - Heaven's Court café, late morning:
"Thank you!" Emily said happily as she accepted her tall cup of cinnamon dolce latte with a mound of whipped cream covered with an extra large helping of rainbow sprinkles. She returned to the white circular table where Molly and Sir Pentious were enjoying their own orders.
They gave her smiles, Molly noting how good that order sounded, before diving back into business. With the Heaven Embassy under construction, the Court's cafe had become a substitute meeting place. Emily enjoyed the feeling of not being secluded, hearing the chatter around them. The occasional interruptions of greeting were like the rainbow sprinkles on her coffee.
"I'm serious, Emi," Molly told her. "Having the records of the Exterminations open for viewing is bad. Things are fraying up here. And people watching the Exterminations and getting riled up is making everything worse. You need to have them resealed."
Emily sighed. After her own experience - and more importantly after Vaggie's chastisement - she had to accept the need. Even if it went against her hatred of secrets and her personal belief in complete transparency.
"Fiiiiiine." she whined. "I'm not going to seal them. But I will give them the same restriction that I've put on looking into Vaggie's records. I can even use the same excuse."
Molly and Sir Pentious shared a look before Molly sighed. "Well, at least that's something." She quickly added, "Requiring a week of waiting and paperwork, plus Court angel oversight, is a whole lot better than just leaving it open access."
Emily stared at her colorfully sprinkled whipped cream. Then took another sip, savoring the flavor and letting it wash away the unpleasant feelings.
She looked back up with a refreshed smile. "Okay, what's next?"
Sir Pentious checked the clock over the coffee bar. Then looked at the bar itself.
"I can see what inspired your ssssuggestion for Husk to serve coffee," the serpent angel said brightly before swiftly changing topics. "Good newsss. The new Heavenly projector is complete. We've finished component tessssting and will begin full scale tests tomorrow."
Two angels approached, one of whom Emily recognized from their service in the courtroom hearings. She didn't recognize the other. Emily lifted a hand, silently asking them to hold off on their greetings, then focused her attention on Sir Pentious and his most welcome announcement.
Emily clapped. "That's great news!" Remembering the modifications the snake angel made to the old one (and what happened) she teased, "I'm guessing this one won't be quite so powerful."
"On the contrary!" Sir Pentious proclaimed, standing up. "This one will be much more powerful!"
Emily blinked. "What? Why?"
His serpentine hood flared dramatically as he pointed upwards. "Because sssscience is always about progressss! And not merely more powerful, but also...!"
He lowered back, looking slightly sheepish, "Much safer! Which is why, while it is technically ready now, you will have to wait until tomorrow evening, at the soonest, to become eighty-feet-tall and address all of Heaven."
Eighty feet tall? That's... wow, that's tall.
"I'll be taller than Sera," Emily whispered playfully.
Molly collapsed back in her chair with relief. "Thank you! I really need the time. I've got, like, nothing!"
Day Eight - Crymini's bedroom, late morning:
"Crymini, STOP!" Husk roared.
Crymini stared up at the intruder. "Angel told you," she said flatly as she set aside the napalm canister. "For fuck's sake, I'm not doing it here. I don't want to burn down the whole hotel!"
Husk looked from the puppy teen to the ramshackle napalm thrower on her bed and back. "Angel Dust said you were thinking about dying. He said nothing about burning yourself alive!"
"Can you think of a better way?" Crymini snapped back. "I can't just throw myself off the roof. There would be splatter. We need to get rid of this fucking blood in me! Fire works!"
"There's got to be another way," Husk insisted, forcing himself not to shout. "Let Charlie talk to Belphegor again. I'm sure there's something she can do. It's not like the original plague isn't curable. They can figure something out."
"The original plague wasn't juiced by Pestilence and whatever Other-fuckery he's full of. And I can't go to Sloth," Crymini reminded him, crossing her arms. "They can't even take my blood to the hospital there to test it."
Husk's eyes widened at that. "For fuck's sake, we don't even know for sure that you have the damn plague."
Crymini spread her arms. "Then why not play it safe? Fucking Christ, why are you making such a big deal about this? I do it all the time!"
Husk felt gutted. "You take your own life all the time? Fuck, Crymini."
Crymini laughed in frustration. "I meant die. I lived in the Doomsday District. I practically respawned every other week."
"Seriously?" Husk asked in a hollow tone.
At his tone, Crymini conceded, "Well, more like once a month. Two if I got lucky."
"No wonder you jumped into that shaft so easily," Husk whispered.
Crymini barked a sour chuckle. "That wasn't easy. Dying sucks. And getting squashed by an elevator is definitely not on the list of less traumatic ways to go."
Husk closed his eyes. "I don't want you to die. Not even if it is temporary."
"Why not?" Crymini asked again.
Husk looked at her. "Because it's hurting you. And it's messed you up." He waved at the napalm thrower on her bed. "You wouldn't think this is okay if it didn't."
Crymini's ears flattened. "It doesn't mess me up!" she growled! "It's the only fucking thing that's kept me healthy!"
"Nothing about this is healthy!" Husk growled back.
Crymini stared at him, ears slowly lifting, eyes wide.
Husk pleaded. "Please, Crymini."
"I don't get it!" Crymini insisted, no longer shouting. "This will work. It will protect the people you care about. It's stupid not to do this."
Husk said, "Those people I care about include you."
"I'll come back!" Crymini insisted. "I always do. Fuck! What's with you?! Nobody's ever tried to talk me out of dying before. Not even when I was alive!"
Husk's pupils dilated. His wings drooped.
That's how you died.
"Well you have people who care enough now," he told her.
Husk tackled Crymini, pulling her into his arms, wrapping his wings around her.
"What the fuck! Let me go!" Crymini shouted, struggling.
"No," he said, fighting tears. "Not until we talk to Charlie and find another way."
Crymini glared. And grumped. "That might take a while. We're in my bedroom, dumbfuck."
Day Eight - Cherri Bomb's bedroom, late morning:
Angel Dust peeked in. The door was unlocked. Naturally this time, he thought. Keekee was now on medication for her trauma.
"Fun night?"
Cherri Bomb laid stretched out on her bed. Her clothes were nearly shredded. Her body was a mosaic of bruises, scorch marks and bandages. But she looked happy. "Fuck yeah!"
"I wanna hear about it," Angel Dust said, leaning in the doorway.
Cherri Bomb sat up. "Daymn, we need to take ya next time. The three of us. Crymini's a ripper."
"Glad to hear it," Angel Dust grinned. "I owe her one for biting Valentino for me. So, why no invite last night? Girl's night?"
Cherri Bomb laughed. "If that was the case, ya'd still get an invite. Ya got the best battle dresses."
Angel Dust finger-gunned. "Ya know it, sugartits."
Cherri Bomb leaned forward, her smile fading. "I keep hearing Izzi's little mindworm in my head."
At Angel Dust's alarm, she quickly clarified, "No, not like that. No magic fuckery. Just remembering that magic dream he gave me. I think about how he told me I'm too bent and violent to ever make it into Heaven. Told me I'm going to fail."
Her voice softened. "And I think he's right."
"Makes sense," Angel Dust said, drawing an initial look of harsh shock. "Way I understand it, that magic was supposed to tap into your own doubts. Easy to think something is right when it's coming from you. Doesn't mean it is."
"Last night wasn't a backslide?" Cherri Bomb asked.
Angel Dust considered his oldest friend. Brushed her hair back from her face. "Toots, last night was blowing off steam, and it was a long time coming."
"Yeah. I really needed that. But... I'm pretty sure gettin' into fights and blowing up buildings ain't the stairway to Heaven."
"From what I've seen, ain't mutually exclusive either," Angel Dust told her. "Let me introduce you to Pentious sometime. He's in Heaven and he lasered their Embassy."
Cherri Bomb laughed. "Not on purpose, though!"
"I figure, no point in bettering ourselves if we fall the fuck apart in the process," Angel Dust offered her. "Work on what ya can without tearing apart what keeps you sane first. Maybe when you're done with that, you'll find you don't need the other stuff so much. Or maybe you'll find it's not as much of a problem as you thought."
Cherri Bomb absorbed that. Then punched him in the arm. "When the fuck did ya become the wise sensai, Angie?"
"Pffft! Are you kidding?" He chuckled. "I'm just hoping what I say makes sense."
They sat for a while.
"I still miss the unholy cockstain, ya know?"
"Yeah, I know," Angel Dust replied.
Cherri Bomb laid back. "Thing is, I had more fun last night with Crymini than I had with Izzi for years before he disappeared."
"Gotta give Charlie credit," Cherri Bomb smiled. "Ya too, mate. Being clean was a big part of last night. But not as much as havin' much better company. And I don't just mean lockpick puppy. I mean all of ya."
Day Eight: Alastor's room, late morning:
Charlie stared at Alastor. "What do you mean?"
Alastor gave her an almost beatific smile. "I mean the truth."
The distortion in his voice had dropped to what she considered normal for the Radio Demon.
"But!" he warned, "The truths I am willing to share are exceptionally dangerous. To those who know them and everyone they care about. And, more importantly, to me. So, since we both know I cannot trust your discretion, if you want the whole truth, I will have to bind you to secrecy first."
Charlie's reeling mind steadied abruptly. There it was. "I'm not making another Deal with you," she told him firmly. Even a little crossly. Everything she went through to save him, and he tried to bind her. As thanks for fuck's sake.
"The abridged version then," Alastor said cheerfully, accompanied by the sound of canned applause.
His expression shifted, his smile radiating a seriousness that smiles do not express. "This is dangerous knowledge, Charlie. Even abridged. I won't request your discretion because we both know that's rubbish. But I do. Urge. Caution."
Charlie swallowed again, taking that in. Had Alastor ever warned her about something like this before? Not that she could remember. It made her feel drawn to take this exceptionally seriously.
"You've seen enough souls fall to Hell to know that, as a general rule, mortal souls don't arrive in Hell with exceptional power. The ones who do have great power have that power because they own other mortal souls. However, you also know there are exceptions." He paused. "Souls who were empowered by another, greater force even as they arrived here. Are you following so far?"
Charlie nodded. "Exceptions like yourself."
Alastor's grin broadened with a slight crackle of static. "I am not the only one you know. You are pursuing another right now."
"Victor!" Charlie said with a scowl. The fucker who murdered Leonard and was trying to kill Vaggie, Emily and every angel in Heaven. He had rarely been far from her mind in the last few days.
Alastor's eyebrows rose as he drank in the touch of rancor in her voice. "Yes. Although his empowerment wasn't precisely from the same source." Alastor pulled out his microphone, spidering the claws of one hand along it. "And that gift is not the only thing we have in common."
Alastor beckoned Charlie closer. In seeing him do so, she realized that he hadn't moved from his chair the entire time. He was usually all over the room. Appearing behind her. Invading everyone's personal space.
The realization made the entire conversation abnormally eerie, even for Alastor. As she stepped towards him, Charlie tried to tell herself it was because the demon was recovering. She almost convinced herself.
Alastor's voice dropped conspiratorially as his eyes narrowed and shifted. "I told you before that I've been gone for a while. Did you ever figure out how long?"
Charlie blinked. "Uh... no. That seemed like prying."
"Well, I believe in prying," Alastor said casually, the air filling with an almost cheerful radio tuning whine. "I've done some digging. Did you know that Victor has been in Hell for quite a long while? He arrived with power, but never used it. So he..." Charlie saw Alastor's shadow separate from himself, slipping out of her sight. "...flew under the radar for a very long time before something - or someone - tipped off your father and his friend to Victor's nature. They panicked and threw him in a cage."
Charlie turned, trying to see where the shadow went.
"Any guesses how long ago that was? I'll give you a hint." Alastor's smile became as wide and thin as it could while still being a smile. An expression Charlie hadn't seen on him since the day she first met Susan. "It's the same number."
Day Eight - Heaven's Court café, late morning:
Emily looked up as the two angels approached the table. "Hello, Pravuil!" she greeted the taller angel with the head of eyes.
"Good morning, High Seraphim Emily," Pravuil reverberated, the sound emanating from within the spinning rings of his head.
Emily stood up and waved to her friends, making quick and cheery introductions. "Pravuil, this is Sir Pentious and this is Molly. They work for me as part of the Heaven Embassy."
"I know," Pravuil stated.
Emily laughed lightly. "Of course you do!" She turned. "Molly, Sir Pentious, this is Pravuil, head of the Golden Library and recorder for the Court."
Her friends waved.
"And who is your friend?" Emily asked Pravuil as she looked at the dark-skinned female angel with the black halo, dressed in a flattering flower-print sundress.
"There is not an answer to that question," Pravuil responded, puzzling Emily.
"Oh, I know you," Sir Pentious said, rising and extending a hand towards her. "I'm ssssorry, but I didn't get your name last night."
Molly's eyes widened in clear recognition.
"I don't have a name," the angelic woman said. "I never ranked highly enough to be given one."
Emily's lost feeling was shared in the looks from Molly and Sir Pentious.
Molly leaned forward. "Wait, Adam never thought you were good enough to give a name so you just don't have one?" She sounds appalled. "What about your mortal name?"
"I gave that up when I joined Heaven's Army," the unnamed angel said in a tone that told them she believed everyone knew this.
Molly looked at Emily, slightly aghast. "Is that how that works?"
Emily told her, "I didn't know."
Sir Pentious slithered up to her, surprising the angel by taking her hands. "Sssssurely, you remember ssssomething of your first name."
She shook her head.
Pravuil reverberated, "It prevents their records from being viewed in the Golden Library."
Emily remembered Vaggie's words a day ago: unless it was a ranking Exorcist who died, finding information about an Exorcist is practically impossible. There's a safeguard against that.
"Ah, for their sssafety," Sir Pentious assumed.
"For their anonymity," Molly countered. "Like the masks. From themselves and each other."
Maybe. But to Emily, it felt different. Much worse. Like Adam was erasing them before making them in the image he wanted.
Sir Pentious coaxed her further. And with clearly difficult effort, she offered, "I believe I once had a name that started with 'A'. Like Anne. Or maybe Amelia. But I don't remember."
Sir Pentious nodded. "May we call you Amelia?" he suggested, receiving a hesitant nod.
"She came to the Courthouse wishing to speak with you, High Seraphim Emily," Pravuil reverberated. "If you are willing to speak with her, I will take my leave. Otherwise, I will guide her back to the door."
Emily stammered. "Of c-course I'm willing!" She turned to 'Amelia'. "How can I help you?"
She looked at Emily, and the desperation leaked from every facet of her expression. "I know what we did was wrong. I know the Exterminations were evil. But we were told we could. That killing those souls was actually right. It was holy. We were defending Heaven."
The angelic woman had started shaking fearfully. "Adam lied to us. He told us Sera authorized it. I... I know we were evil. But I don't want to fall for doing what I was told!"
She lurched forward, grasping Emily's hands. "Please, High Seraphim! Can you tell Them that? Can you make Them understand?"
Emily's face fell. She wanted to tell 'Amelia' that yes, she could talk to the Elders Above. Persuade Them to make their rulings with mercy. But that would be a lie. Emily believed the Elders Above were merciful. But she knew that nobody talks to the Elders Above. She didn't remember the experience being before the Throne, but she remembered how she described it before the memory had completely faded. And there was no discourse, no pleading, involved.
Tragically, the truth she had to admit was...
"I'm so sorry. I can't make the Elders Above do anything."
Day Eight: Alastor's room, late morning:
Charlie looked at Alastor, confused. She had absolutely no idea why he was telling her any of this. Especially not in the guise of a return favor, friendly or transactional.
Alastor shadowed, suddenly out of his chair. He was behind her, spinning her and pushing her into the chair as she let out a small shriek of alarm.
Charlie was used to people taking hold of her, pushing her this way and that. Hell, Vaggie did it all the time. Alastor had swept her along too. But this felt different. Aggressive.
Alastor loomed, standing over her, still grinning, his eyes and teeth glowing as the room darkened. "Before I tell you this next part, Charlie, you need to remember an important rule: correlation does not mean causation."
Charlie cringed back into the chair, more nervous than ever. She stared into his face, trying to get a read. Trying to understand all this.
Alastor's voice dropped. No longer terrifying. The radio hiss and crackle barely noticeably. His voice seemed suddenly terribly human. In contrast, the room didn't merely darken but went completely black. There was only her and Alastor. The fireplace with its fire. The chair she clung to. The little table with the duet of contents. Everything else was gone.
"There are others. I know of at least six more. Five, not counting Victor. You know of at least one. All of us empowered upon our arrival with more power than any mortal soul should have in Hell. Able not just to survive but thrive here. And although the 'where's and 'how's and 'by who's appear to be different in every single case, each of us was... shall we say... removed from the board. At roughly the same time."
Alastor directed Charlie's attention to the book on the small table, resting next to his slowly cooling coffee.
The hiss of radio static filled the air. "One more try, Charlie. How long?" His voice was genial. Friendly even. "Go on. Take a guess."
She recognized it immediately. She read part of this book to Emily a week ago. It was the same book she had read every year for as long as she could remember.
The Story of Hell
She knew the words in the story by heart.
But Lilith thrived, empowering demon-kind with her voice and her songs.
"Seven and a half years," Charlie whimpered.
Alastor stood back looking at her with an expression she could mistake for compassion as the darkness in the room snapped away.
He stepped away, allowing her to get up if she wanted to. But Charlie felt rooted to the chair. Not by any threat, but by the weight of that revelation.
The distortion in his voice returned to normal as he almost conversationally told her:
"A corollary rule it is wise to remember: lack of causation does not mean lack of connection."
Charlie stared into the fire. And whispered.
"Mom."
Day Eight - Crymini's bedroom, noon:
Crymini had stopped trying to resist. For a long while, she just grumped in Husk's embrace. That was roughly an hour ago.
Crymini had been right about that last part. Charlie wasn't going to just stumble across them in Crymini's room. And while he might be able to manhandle the girl to the parlor, he couldn't open the bedroom door without releasing his grip on her enough for her to easily escape his grasp if she wanted to. And if she didn't want to, there was no need to keep forcing the issue.
Husk would hold her until Niffty came to clean the room. But he'd had enough to drink that the bathroom would become a necessity before that happened. It had already become a mild discomfort.
"If you're willing to just sit and talk, and not do anything destructive, I'll let you go," Husk offered, pretending he hadn't tried turning the knob with his tail first.
Crymini snorted. "I have about a thousand nasty names to call you."
"Why haven't you yet?" Husk asked, noting, "Also, that wasn't an answer."
"That wasn't a question," Crymini shot back.
"True," Husk validated. "If I let you go, will you just sit and talk?"
Crymini huffed. "Yes."
Soon the two were sitting next to each other on Crymini's bed.
"I didn't cuz I didn't want you to stop caring about me," Crymini admitted finally. Then added, "And cuz I didn't want to feed your delusion that I'm a child."
Husk cocked his head. "If it's all right to ask..."
"I'm almost nineteen," Crymini barked. "And I will be forever."
"Ahh." Husk would have guessed several years younger, physically. But it was clear she had spent at least an additional decade or three in Hell.
"That's when you age out of the Program," Crymini said. "Sorry that nobody wanted you, little orphan Crymini. But you're an adult now, so here's your boot to the ass." She kicked hard at the air. "Have a nice life under a bridge somewhere."
She stared at him. "And for the record, I never really wanted to die." She turned away. "But when you're drunk and high and nobody gives enough of a shit to tell you no..."
"Have you realized yet that's changed?" Husk asked.
Crymini rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. The hug-lock clued me in."
And nothing even had to get set on fire, Husk thought but didn't dare say out loud.
"I don't mean just me," Husk told her. "There are a lot of people at this hotel who genuinely give a shit about you. Angel Dust, Charlie, Cherri Bomb. Just to name a few. And if the others don't yet, they'll grow to."
He wrapped a wing around her. "That's what you signed up for when you came here: becoming part of a group of people who care about each other. The way you proved you gave a shit about Angel Dust yesterday. And Hell, even Lute. Cherri Bomb too, if I'm not mistaken."
Crymini laughed. "I came here looking for a way out of Hell, not a family."
"Tell you a secret," Husk purred. "I've watched, and that's how this place works. It's not the trust falls and the crayons. It's the family."