The next week, Charlie found herself firmly entrenched in the metaphorical dog house. Vaggie's sharpness wasn't just in her spear skills—it was in her words, her glares, and even the way she handed Charlie her coffee with an unnecessary slam on the table.
"Thanks, babe," Charlie would murmur, only to receive a curt nod or, if she was lucky, a dry "Don't mention it."
And she didn't.
Instead, she buried herself in work with Lilith, pouring over contracts, dissecting language with surgical precision to ensure not a single loophole existed. Lilith was relentless in her scrutiny, her expression sharp and calculating as they navigated the tangled web of Goetia politics.
"This clause," Lilith muttered, tapping her manicured nail against the parchment, "is too vague. 'Public appearances required upon mutual agreement'—no. We're changing that to specify who decides the necessity. You. Not them."
Charlie nodded, trying to focus despite the cold shoulder radiating from across the room where Vaggie pretended to be engrossed in some random report.
At least the Morningstars still held more political pull than the Goetia. That advantage made negotiations smoother, though Lilith's expertise was the real weapon here. Watching her mother in her element was like witnessing a master at work—ruthless yet graceful, her words a perfect blend of charm and veiled threat.
But none of that compared to the quiet war raging in their apartment. Charlie could face demons, political adversaries, and even her own inner chaos… but Vaggie's disappointed silence?
Yeah. That was pure Hell.
Emily, meanwhile, could hardly look at Charlie without bursting into giggles. It was like living with a walking punchline, and she took full advantage of the situation. Every time Charlie walked into a room, Emily would dramatically sigh, clutch her chest, and whisper, "Ah, the struggles of loving a woman with an insatiable thirst for fiancées."
But it didn't stop there.
The posters were the real kicker. Bold, obnoxious flyers mysteriously appeared around the hotel:
"NOW AUDITIONING: THE NEXT MEMBER OF CHARLIE MORNINGSTAR'S HAREM!"
Qualifications: Must tolerate excessive blushing, political panic, and an occasional accidental engagement. Wings optional.
Complete with glitter stickers and little hearts drawn around a doodle of Charlie's face.
Charlie had nearly choked on her coffee when she spotted the first one taped to the bathroom mirror. The second was on the fridge. The third—strategically placed inside Vaggie's favorite book—almost earned Emily a spear through the wall.
Vaggie had stared at the poster in stone-cold silence, her eye twitching slightly before she slowly turned to Emily.
Charlie had never scrambled so fast to snatch the offending flyer away. "EMILY."
Emily? Unfazed. She was doubled over laughing, tears in her eyes. "Oh, come on, it's funny!"
Charlie's face was a shade of red that rivaled her own dress from the ball.
Vaggie didn't speak to either of them for the rest of the evening.
Charlie had never been more certain that, if Hell had a "Most Wanted" list, Emily would be at the top—and somehow, she'd be the one held responsible.
At the end of the week, Lilith called Charlie and Vaggie to the palace, into her study—a grand room with towering bookshelves, velvet curtains, and an ornate desk carved from dark wood. The Morningstar crest gleamed on the wall behind her, casting an imposing shadow that matched the seriousness of the meeting.
Lilith sat elegantly, a glass of wine in hand, her expression calm and focused as she slid a thick stack of parchment across the table toward them. "These are the final terms. Everything's been ironed out, no loopholes, no gray areas. I've ensured the Goetia can't manipulate the contract to their advantage."
Charlie took a deep breath and began skimming the document while Vaggie hovered over her shoulder, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like a hawk.
"The usual stipulations," Lilith continued smoothly. "Private dates for one year. No fewer than ten, though there's no maximum cap."
Charlie nodded absently—until her eyes snagged on one particular clause. Her face went pale, then flushed deep crimson. She sputtered, nearly choking on nothing but air. "Wait—"
Lilith arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Something wrong, dear?"
Charlie jabbed her finger at the offending line. "'If Octavia's virtue is sullied, the contract immediately shifts to a binding marriage contract'—WHAT?!"
Vaggie's reaction was immediate. Her hands slammed down on the table, rattling the inkpot and scattering papers. Her magenta eye blazed with fury as she shot Charlie a look that could melt steel.
Lilith, of course, remained entirely unbothered, sipping her wine delicately. "It's standard Goetia contract language. Purely ceremonial. They're obsessed with appearances, after all."
Charlie flailed her hands dramatically, her face rapidly approaching the color of a ripe tomato. "But—sullied virtue?! What does that even mean in this context? Holding hands? A hug? Making eye contact for more than five seconds?!"
Lilith burst into laughter, a rich, elegant sound that echoed off the polished walls of the study. She set her wine glass down, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Oh, darling, no. It means sex."
Charlie froze mid-flail, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "SEX?!"
Vaggie's hands slammed onto the table with enough force to rattle the inkpot. Her eye burned with indignation. "I can assure you, Lilith, there is zero chance Charlie will come within twenty feet of sullying Octavia's anything."
Charlie, still bright red, nodded furiously. "Absolutely. No sullying. None. Consider my hands metaphorically—and literally—tied."
Lilith hummed, unconcerned, and flipped to the next page. "Good. Glad we're all clear."
Meanwhile, Vaggie leaned over and whispered under her breath, "If you even come close to accidentally sullying her anything, I swear—"
"I know, I know!" Charlie hissed back, slouching in her chair.
Lilith's laughter faded into a satisfied smirk as she flipped to the next page of the thick contract, her perfectly manicured finger tracing the delicate, infernal script. "Now, onto the rest of the terms," she said, her tone sliding back into business mode, though the faint glint of amusement never quite left her eyes.
Charlie tried to sit up straighter, adjusting her posture like it could somehow realign her dignity. Vaggie remained stiff beside her, arms crossed tightly, her glare still capable of melting steel.
Lilith cleared her throat, reading aloud. "Clause 14: Public Appearances. Both parties are expected to attend no fewer than three public events together over the course of the year. These events will be mutually agreed upon, but at least one must be a formal Goetia gathering."
Charlie groaned softly. "Great. More balls. Just what I needed."
Vaggie shot her a look. "You did sign up for this."
Charlie mumbled something unintelligible that sounded suspiciously like, "It was an accident."
Lilith pressed on, unfazed. "Clause 19: Correspondence Requirements. Octavia is permitted to send letters or messages as often as she wishes, and you're expected to respond in a timely manner."
Charlie perked up slightly. "Oh, that's not bad."
Lilith arched a brow. "Yes, well—Clause 20: Gift-Giving Etiquette. Both parties must exchange at least three meaningful gifts throughout the year."
Charlie's face twisted. "What counts as meaningful? Like… a mug? A cool rock?"
Lilith sighed dramatically. "No, Charlotte. Something thoughtful. Not a rock."
Vaggie, deadpan, muttered, "Please don't give her a rock."
Charlie slouched again. "I wasn't going to… some Rocks are cool though."
Lilith continued without missing a beat. "Clause 25: Termination of the Agreement. Either party may end the arrangement early if both parties agree—or in the event of irreconcilable circumstances, such as one party entering another formal engagement."
Charlie brightened slightly. "So, if Octavia falls for someone else, we're off the hook early?"
Lilith gave her a sharp smile. "Technically, yes. But don't get your hopes up. That girl looks like she trusts people about as far as she can throw them."
Vaggie snorted. "Same."
Lilith finally set the contract down, steepling her fingers elegantly. "There. Those are the key points. Any questions?"
Charlie raised her hand slowly. "Can I fake my death to get out of this?"
Vaggie didn't even hesitate. "No."
Charlie tapped her fingers nervously against the polished table. "Okay, but… what happens at the end of the one-year 'dating' period?"
Lilith flipped another page, her eyes scanning the fine print with the ease of someone well-versed in demonic legalese. She cleared her throat dramatically, as if relishing the tension.
"At the conclusion of the one-year term," Lilith began, "both parties will either: A) mutually agree to dissolve the contract without further obligations, or B) if both parties agree, formalize the arrangement into an official betrothal."
Charlie's face drained of color. "Betrothal?"
Lilith nodded, completely unfazed. "Yes, though it requires mutual consent. No one can force you into marriage unless both of you sign off."
Charlie slumped in her chair with visible relief, only to perk up again with renewed anxiety. "Wait—what if Octavia wants to keep the contract going, and I don't?"
Lilith gave her a dry look. "Then you politely decline. This isn't Hell's version of 'The Bachelor,' Charlotte. It's a contract. Not an eternal soul bond."
Vaggie, still unimpressed, muttered, "But if you somehow fumble this into a real engagement, I will create an eternal soul bond—with your butt and my foot."
Charlie groaned, rubbing her temples, then turned to Vaggie with soft, apologetic eyes. "See? It's as safe as it can be. I'm sorry I sprung this on you—I really am. But it was with good intentions. At the end of the year, hopefully, Stolas and Octavia will have worked something out, and things will be all good!"
Vaggie studied her for a long moment, her sharp gaze searching Charlie's face for any hint of hesitation or hidden motives. Finding none, she sighed, her shoulders finally relaxing. "You really are just trying to help," she muttered, shaking her head with a faint smirk. "You're lucky you're cute."
Charlie grinned, relieved. "So… we're good?"
Vaggie rolled her eyes but leaned over to plant a quick kiss on Charlie's cheek. "We're good. But if this backfires—"
"I know," Charlie interrupted quickly. "Foot, Butt. Eternal soul bond. Got it."
Before the moment could settle, Emily burst into the room with impeccable timing, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. "Or," she said dramatically, "we gain a fourth, and we can double date together!"
Charlie groaned, slumping forward until her forehead hit the table with a soft thud. "Not a harem."
Vaggie snorted, shaking her head. "It's definitely starting to sound like one."
Emily wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "Hey, I'm just saying—think of the aesthetic. We'd be unstoppable."
Charlie's muffled voice came from the table. "I regret everything."
Lilith flipped through the contract with the grace of someone utterly in control, her finger landing on a specific section. "Oh, and I struck the 'exclusive partnership' clause," she said casually, not even looking up.
Charlie blinked. "Wait—what? Why?"
Lilith finally glanced at her daughter, arching an elegant brow. "So you wouldn't have to sneak around hiding Emily and Vaggie, of course. Politics are messy enough without turning your love life into a covert operation."
Vaggie groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "Oh my Satan, we're going to end up on some tabloid: 'Morningstar Princess Amasses Powerful Goth Girlfriends.'"
Charlie slammed her hands on the table, face flushed with a mixture of horror and disbelief. "It's not a harem!"
Lilith paused, then slowly reached to the side of her desk without a word, a sly grin creeping across her face. She casually slid a folded newspaper toward the center of the table like she was dealing a winning card in poker.
Charlie squinted, cautiously unfolding it—only to see the bold, sensational headline screaming from the front page of 666 News:
"Morningstar Heiress: Hell's Hottest Harem in the Making?!"
Beneath the headline was an obnoxiously grainy photo of Charlie and Octavia from the ballroom, caught mid-conversation through one of the massive stained-glass windows. The angle was terrible, making it look way more intimate than it actually was. The caption beneath the photo read:
"FROM REDEMPTION TO RIZZ-DEMON: Princess Charlotte Bags a Bird—Literally."
Emily choked on her own laughter, sliding out of her chair dramatically. "*Oh my God! This is the greatest thing I've ever seen."
Vaggie's jaw dropped, her face cycling through shock, disbelief, and murderous rage. "Who— WHO WROTE THIS?!"
Lilith, giggling behind her teacup, shrugged. "I assume the fine investigative journalists at 666 News. They're very dedicated."
Charlie just sat there, staring at the paper, her soul leaving her body. "I'm going to combust."
Emily reached up from the floor, wiping tears from her eyes. "Can I keep this? I want to frame it."
Lilith chuckled as she slid the newspaper across the table, the glossy photo practically winking with scandal. "Oh, I already had one framed and sent to your room at the hotel. Thought it'd really tie the decor together."
Emily burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. "Lilith, you're an icon. Truly. I adore you."
Charlie groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I am going to die."
Vaggie smirked, though the faintest hint of amusement crept into her eye. "Not before I kill you first."
Charlie peeked through her fingers. "What happens next?"
Lilith leaned back, completely composed. "Tomorrow is your first 'date.' It's up to you if Vaggie and Emily come with you to pick up Octavia. Might make things less awkward—or more entertaining."
Charlie turned to her partners. "That's up to you two."
Vaggie crossed her arms, arching a brow. "Oh, I'm coming. I need to see this 'relationship' in action."
Emily grinned, tossing an arm over Charlie's shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides, what if you fall in love for real? I need front-row seats."
Charlie groaned again but nodded. "Alright, we'll take the limo to Imp City, pick up 'Octavia'… and then we're taking her to Stolas."
Lilith's smile grew. "Smart. Once you know where he's hiding, you can portal Octavia to him during your 'dates.' Efficient and dramatic. I approve."
Emily floated lazily over Lilith's desk, her fingers tracing the edge of a paper absentmindedly.
"It's good that Octavia's ready to see Stolas after all that stuff with Blitz," Emily mused, her voice light, like she was commenting on the weather.
Charlie stiffened.
Like, visibly stiffened—shoulders locking up, her wings twitching slightly. The color drained from her face, and her golden eyes went wide, staring straight ahead like a deer caught in the headlights of a hellhound-drawn carriage.
Vaggie's gaze snapped to her immediately, sharp as a blade. She studied Charlie for half a second before her eye narrowed dangerously.
"Charlie…" Vaggie's tone was low, warning, her arms slowly crossing over her chest. "Please tell me you already told Octavia the plan. And that she knows she's going to see her father."
Charlie didn't respond. She didn't even blink.
Vaggie leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Charlie."
Charlie swallowed hard, her throat working like she was trying to force down a lump of molten lead. "I… might not have… talked to her.. Since the ball?"
Emily turned mid-air, her glowing eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "How is it possible for this to just keep getting better?"
Lilith covered her mouth to hide a snort, her shoulders shaking slightly with barely contained laughter.
Vaggie's expression darkened to something between I'm going to kill you and I'm going to kill you slowly.
"Charlotte Morningstar," Vaggie hissed, stepping forward, her hands now on her hips. "You got yourself into a Goetia courtship contract —and accidentally got engaged to one—without telling her the one part of the plan that actually matters?!"
Charlie shrank slightly under the combined weight of Vaggie's fury and Emily's stifled laughter. "In my defense… it's been a really busy week."
Vaggie looked like she was about to explode, but Emily floated between them, grinning like this was the best soap opera she'd ever seen. "I mean, technically, she's not wrong. It has been busy."
Vaggie shot Emily a glare. Emily only shrugged, unbothered.
Charlie groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Okay, okay! I'll tell her right now!"
Charlie fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. The screen glared back at her, Octavia's number already saved with a little owl emoji next to it. She hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she tried to think of the right words.
"Hey, Octavia."
She hit send quickly, and started on the followup message.
"Just wanted to give you a heads-up about our 'date' tomorrow. There's… uh… something important I need to tell you."
She stared at the message, contemplating whether to add a smiley face or something to soften the blow, but before she could even hit send—
RIIIIING.
Her phone lit up with an incoming call from Octavia.
Charlie froze like the damn thing had grown fangs.
Vaggie's eye rolled. "Answer it."
Charlie glanced between Vaggie and Emily, both of whom looked equally expectant—though Emily's grin suggested she was only here for the entertainment.
"H-Hey, Octavia!" she squeaked, her voice an octave higher than normal.
There was a pause on the other end, followed by Octavia's dry, familiar monotone.
"Oh, now you decide to contact me?"
Charlie's heart dropped into her stomach. "Uh… yeah! Sorry about that. It's been, uh, really busy—"
"Busy?" Octavia snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You mean too busy to mention that we're apparently engaged?"
Charlie winced so hard it hurt. She shot a panicked glance at Vaggie and Emily. Vaggie looked like she was seconds away from smacking her upside the head, while Emily was covering her mouth to hide a grin.
"I was going to tell you!" Charlie blurted. "I just… you know… forgot—no, wait, not forgot! Just… delayed. Slightly. For, um, strategic reasons."
"Strategic reasons?" Octavia's voice dropped into that dangerous, flat tone that made Charlie break out in a cold sweat. "Yeah, I bet. Funny how my mother and uncle told me before you did. Really considerate of you."
Charlie groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "I didn't mean for it to happen, okay? They cornered me, and I panicked—and suddenly, boom, accidental engagement. Classic political blunder, really."
There was a sharp exhale from Octavia's end, the kind of sound that said I'm trying really hard not to scream right now.
"So let me get this straight," Octavia deadpanned. "You signed a marriage contract with me. Didn't tell me. And now you're calling me like it's a casual catch-up?"
Charlie winced again. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
"It is bad."
Charlie scrambled for words, her brain short-circuiting from sheer panic. "Wait, wait—are you alone right now?"
There was a pause, followed by Octavia's clipped response. "Yeah. Why?"
Charlie sucked in a breath, glancing at Vaggie and Emily for moral support. They both gave her the kind of look that screamed don't make it worse.
"Okay, good. Because—uh—this is important." Charlie leaned forward like Octavia could somehow see her through the phone. "It's a fake engagement."
Another pause. Then Octavia's flat, unimpressed tone came through. "I'm sorry. A what?"
"A fake engagement!" Charlie repeated, voice squeaking slightly. "Look, here's the deal. The contract gives us a year of 'dating,' right? No actual commitment. Just… public appearances and all that." She swallowed hard. "But the whole point is to give you cover. When we're on these 'dates,' you can sneak away to see your dad. No one will question it because everyone will think we're just… doing couple stuff."
There was a long silence on the other end. Charlie could practically feel the judgment radiating through the phone.
"So," Octavia finally said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "let me make sure I understand this. You panicked, agreed to a marriage contract, didn't tell me for an entire week, and now you're saying it's cool because it's just a cover story so I can visit my banished father?"
Charlie winced. "Yes. Exactly. When you put it like that, it sounds—"
"Stupid. It sounds stupid."
Charlie groaned, slumping back against the couch. "Yeah. That."
Another heavy sigh from Octavia. "You are… astonishingly bad at this."
"I know," Charlie mumbled.
The line went silent for a beat, then Octavia's voice came back—sharper, her sarcasm thinning into something more raw. "Did you even consider that maybe I don't want to see him?"
Charlie sat up straighter, her stomach twisting. "I—" She glanced at Vaggie and Emily, both now watching her closely. "I just thought… I mean, I assumed you'd want to—"
"That's the problem," Octavia snapped, cutting her off. "You assumed. Like you know what's best for me, even though we haven't spoken in years. Do you have any idea what it's like? Watching him walk out of my life like it was nothing?"
Charlie's throat went dry. "I didn't mean—"
"He chose Blitz over me. He let himself get banished. Do you know what that felt like? Sitting there, watching the trial on TV, knowing he'd rather save him than stay with me?" Octavia's voice cracked, just slightly, but she bulldozed through. "So, yeah. Maybe I don't want to see him. Maybe I'm better off pretending he's already dead."
The words hit Charlie like a punch to the chest.
She gripped the phone tighter, her heart racing. "Octavia… I'm sorry. I didn't think. I was trying to help, but I didn't stop to consider how you felt about it."
Another pause. The anger on the other end simmered, but it didn't boil over.
Finally, Octavia sighed—a long, exhausted sound. "Just… pick me up tomorrow. Noon."
Charlie hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"No. But do it anyway."
Click.
Charlie stared at her phone, her heart pounding, the abrupt click echoing in her ears longer than it should have.
She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands, guilt twisting in her chest. "I screwed that up so bad…"
Emily floated over silently, then gently perched beside her. She reached out, threading her fingers through Charlie's hair with a soft, comforting touch. "Hey," she said quietly, her voice warm and steady. "You didn't screw up. You did good."
Charlie peeked out from between her fingers, her eyes glassy with frustration. "She's mad at me."
"Yeah," Emily admitted with a soft chuckle, "she's mad. But you told her the truth. You owned up to your mistake. And guess what? She still said to pick her up tomorrow." Emily tilted her head, giving Charlie a gentle smile. "If she really didn't want anything to do with you—or her dad—she wouldn't have said that."
Charlie let out a shaky breath, leaning into Emily's touch. "I just… I didn't want to hurt her more."
"I know," Emily whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Charlie's head. "That's why you didn't. You care, and that's what matters. She'll see that eventually."
Vaggie crossed her arms, her expression softening as she nodded slightly. "She's right. You didn't screw up—you're just not a miracle worker. She'll come around."
Charlie managed a weak smile. "I really hope so."
Emily grinned. "I know so."
The drive was quiet, save for the low hum of the limo's engine and the occasional bump in the cracked road beneath them. The further they got from Pentagram City, the more the neon lights faded into the distance, swallowed by the jagged mountain border between the First and Second Circles.
The transition was stark. The chaos of the city gave way to barren, rocky terrain—vast, open stretches of land broken up by deep fissures in the ground, glowing with a dim, hellish red. The road itself was precarious, winding through sharp cliffs and uneven ground, the occasional broken streetlamp flickering weakly in the distance.
Inside the limo, the atmosphere was comfortable, but tinged with something else—anticipation, maybe. Or nerves.
Charlie sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, trying not to fidget. Vaggie sat beside her, arms crossed, quiet but ever watchful. And Emily, as always, had made herself at home, stretched across the seat with one leg lazily draped over the other.
Razzle, in the driver's seat, let out a soft bleat, drawing Emily's attention. She turned, propping herself up on her elbows to peek over the divider.
"What's up, Razz?"
He bleated again, flicking his ears.
Emily gasped dramatically. "You didn't!"
Another bleat.
Charlie, despite her nerves, smiled faintly. "Do I even want to know?"
Emily grinned. "Razzle was just telling me about the time he totally wrecked some asshole's ride for cutting him off in traffic."
Charlie chuckled. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."
Vaggie sighed, shaking her head. "Why do you understand goat?"
Emily gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you, Razzle is a very articulate individual. Also, Joybringer. I speak ALL languages."
Razzle made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuff.
Vaggie rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
The limo continued forward, winding around a particularly sharp bend in the road. As they crested the hill, the landscape ahead came into full view—vast, empty stretches of jagged stone, the occasional flickering torch or distant building dotting the horizon.
And then—
"Hey," Vaggie murmured suddenly, her voice quieter now. "Do you see that?"
Charlie followed her gaze out the window.
A figure stood in the distance.
Far from the road's edge, barely visible against the darkened landscape, a demon stood perfectly still.
They weren't walking. They weren't moving at all. Just standing there.
Staring at nothing.
"…Weird," Charlie mumbled.
Emily, now interested, turned her head to the opposite window.
Another one.
This one stood at an equal distance, just as still, just as silent.
Charlie felt something cold press against the back of her mind.
As they drove further, more of them appeared. Not in groups, never clustered together—always alone, spaced far apart. Each one standing utterly motionless, hundreds of feet from the road.
Vaggie shifted uncomfortably. "That's… not normal, right?"
"Nope," Emily muttered.
Charlie swallowed. "They're not moving."
"They're not doing anything," Vaggie pointed out.
"Yeah, and that's worse."
Silence settled in the car for a long moment, the figures disappearing behind them as the limo pressed on.
Then—
Charlie shook her head. "Whatever. We have bigger things to deal with."
Emily cast one last glance out the window before sighing and nodding. "Yeah. Right."
Still, the unease lingered.
The limo hummed smoothly along the cracked streets of Imp City, the outside world a blur of neon signs, soot-streaked buildings, and the ever-present haze of Hell's oppressive sky. Inside, the atmosphere was… tense, but with an undercurrent of nervous energy.
Charlie sat stiffly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, trying not to fidget. Vaggie lounged beside her, arms crossed, her sharp gaze flicking occasionally toward Charlie like she was still deciding whether or not to lecture her again. The faint tension between them wasn't hostile—just lingering, like the echo of an unresolved argument.
Meanwhile, Emily had zero interest in the tension. She was half-hanging over the divider between the front and back seats, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who was driving.
"Well, obviously, you can't just eat twenty marshmallows at once," Emily said, grinning as Razzle responded with an enthusiastic series of bleats, his tail flicking excitedly against the driver's seat.
Vaggie snorted softly, glancing out the window. "I don't know what's worse—Emily having a full conversation with him or the fact that it's making sense."
Charlie cracked a small smile, though her nerves were bubbling just under the surface. She stole a glance at Vaggie, her fingers inching toward hers on the seat.
Vaggie noticed but didn't pull away. Instead, she sighed and gave Charlie's hand a quick squeeze, her expression softening just a little. "You're overthinking again."
"I know," Charlie muttered, her thumb brushing over Vaggie's knuckles. "I just… I don't know how this is going to go."
Emily turned, her glowing blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "You mean you're not used to fake-dating a Goetia princess while technically being engaged and juggling your actual girlfriends? Weird."
Charlie groaned, hiding her face in Vaggie's shoulder. "You're not helping."
Razzle let out a long, dramatic bleat of what sounded suspiciously like agreement.
Emily burst out laughing. "Razzle gets it."
Vaggie rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the faintest smirk. "I swear, one day you're both going to drive me insane."
Emily grinned wider. "We're counting on it."
Vaggie shot another glance at Charlie, noticing the tension still etched into her face. Her jaw clenched, like she was making an important decision.
Without a word, she reached over and casually pressed the button on the door panel.
Whirrrrr—
The divider between the front and back seats began to rise smoothly, cutting Emily off mid-sentence. She blinked, realized what was happening, and tried to pull back—too late. The window stopped right at her waist, effectively trapping her midsection between the two compartments.
Vaggie's grin was pure, unfiltered mischief. "Oh no," she said, deadpan. "Looks like we've got an infestation of annoying angel in our passenger space."
Before Emily could respond, Vaggie leaned forward and smacked her on the butt, quick and sharp. Emily yelped, wriggling in protest—but there was nowhere to go.
"HEY! That's assault!" Emily squealed, trying to twist out of reach.
"No," Vaggie replied sweetly, "this is assault."
She darted in, fingers jabbing into Emily's sides, launching a ruthless tickle attack. Emily shrieked, laughing uncontrollably, wings flapping uselessly against the glass as she tried to squirm free.
Charlie's stress cracked like glass under a hammer. She burst out laughing—real, belly-deep laughter that she hadn't felt in days. Wiping tears from her eyes, she dove in to join the chaos, poking at Emily's exposed ribs.
"CHARLIE, TRAITOR!" Emily wailed between gasping giggles. "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE NICE ONE!"
"I'm sorry!" Charlie cackled. "It's just—look at you! You're a trapped tickle piñata!"
Razzle, still driving up front, let out a series of amused bleats, clearly enjoying the chaos.
Emily erupted into uncontrollable laughter, squirming and thrashing like a caught fish. "STOP! I HAVE RIGHTS!"
"Oh my God—" Charlie wheezed between giggles, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.
Feeling bold, Charlie joined in, reaching over to tickle Emily's ribs from the other side. "This is for the Harem posters!"
By the time Vaggie finally pressed the button again to release Emily, Charlie was doubled over, gasping for breath from laughing so hard. Emily flopped dramatically into the backseat, hair and feathers a mess, her face flushed but her grin undeniable.
"I hope you both get crushed by falling fashion racks," Emily muttered breathlessly.
Charlie wiped her eyes, still giggling. "Worth it."
Vaggie just leaned back smugly, clearly satisfied with her handiwork. "Feeling less stressed now?"
Charlie nodded, her smile lingering. "Yeah… yeah, I am."
"Razzle, take note," Emily huffed. "If I mysteriously disappear one day, it was them."
Razzle bleated softly, clearly laughing at her dramatic flair.
The limo glided to a smooth stop in front of Stolas's mansion—or what was left of it. Towering pillars of jagged ice framed the once-regal estate, casting eerie, crystalline shadows across the snow-dusted steps. The lavish burgundy walls were veined with frost, windows rimmed in delicate spiderwebs of ice. The grandeur was still there, but it was suffocating under a thick layer of cold, like the house itself had been frozen in time along with its former prince.
Emily whistled low under her breath, leaning forward to peer out the tinted window. "Geez. Looks like Elsa had a meltdown."
Vaggie snorted. "More like someone's overcompensating."
Charlie didn't respond, her golden eyes fixed on the steps leading up to the frozen palace. There, standing alone amidst the frost, was Octavia.
She was hunched slightly, her arms crossed against the cold—though she didn't seem to be shivering. Dressed in her usual dark, punk-inspired clothes with a black jacket pulled over her shoulders, she stood out sharply against the icy backdrop. Her expression was unreadable, hidden under the shadow of her bangs, but she tapped her foot impatiently, clearly annoyed to be there.
"Okay," Charlie muttered, smoothing her jacket unnecessarily. "Let's do this."
As the limo door clicked open, she moved with mechanical precision, slipping inside without a word and settling into the seat opposite Charlie, Vaggie, and Emily. The door shut with a soft thunk, leaving the four of them cocooned in awkward silence.
Octavia's pink-rimmed eyes flicked briefly over Emily and Vaggie—her gaze sharp, like she was trying to measure them in a single glance. Then, without preamble, she exhaled a sharp breath through her nose and muttered, "I… uh. Sorry. For snapping at you."
Charlie blinked, caught off guard.
Octavia's gaze stayed fixed on the floor, her fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of her sleeve. "I know you were just trying to help," she added quickly, her voice a little softer, like the words were physically painful to say.
Charlie's chest tightened. She reached out instinctively, her hand hovering in the space between them before she thought better of it and let it drop. "It's okay," she said gently. "I get it. I'd be pissed, too."
Vaggie leaned back, crossing her arms, but her sharp expression had softened slightly. Emily gave Octavia a small, easy smile, her earlier antics fading into something calmer.
Octavia finally glanced up, meeting Charlie's gaze for a brief, fragile moment. "Yeah, well… thanks anyway."
The silence settled again, heavy and awkward, broken only by the soft hum of the limo's engine. Charlie shifted uncomfortably, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her suit jacket before she cleared her throat.
"So…" she began, forcing her voice to be light, casual, as if this wasn't the most emotionally charged car ride of her life. "Where do we need to head to see your dad?"
Octavia's gaze slowly turned toward her, flat and unimpressed, like Charlie had just asked her what color the sky was.
She didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared with that deadpan expression that seemed to be her default setting. Then she blinked once, twice, and finally muttered, "I don't know."
Charlie blinked back. "What do you mean you don't know?"
Octavia rolled her eyes, leaning back into the plush limo seat with an exhausted sigh. "I mean, I don't know. It's not like my mom's been super keen on me sending postcards to Banished Dad. I haven't exactly been allowed to talk to him."
Charlie's heart clenched, guilt creeping in like a slow, cold tide. She glanced helplessly at Emily and Vaggie, hoping for some kind of backup, but Emily just shrugged, and Vaggie raised an eyebrow like you got yourself into this.
"Well," Emily piped up after a beat, ever the optimist, "he's a big, dramatic bird man. How hard can he be to find?"
Octavia gave her a look so flat it could've ironed fabric. "You'd be surprised."
Charlie groaned softly, dragging a hand down her face. "Okay. New plan. We start with places he liked, right? His mansion's out—obviously." She gestured vaguely to the ice-covered ruins they'd left behind. "What about his favorite spots? Like… I don't know, tea shops? Star observatories? Creepy owl perches?"
Vaggie snorted.
Octavia's lips twitched—just barely, like the idea of smiling was foreign territory. "Yeah. Sure. Let's check all the creepy owl perches in Hell. That should narrow it down."
Charlie slumped dramatically against Vaggie's shoulder. "This is going great."
Vaggie patted her head with mock sympathy. "You're doing amazing, sweetie."
Octavia crossed her arms, her expression souring as if the words themselves left a bad taste in her mouth. "We could go check out I.M.P. Headquarters," she muttered, glaring out the window. "Where Blitz works."
Charlie perked up slightly, hopeful despite the venom in Octavia's voice. "Blitz? Oh! I've met him. He's… uh…" She trailed off, glancing nervously at Octavia's growing scowl. "Energetic?"
Octavia snorted, her lip curling. "Energetic is one word for it. I've got a few others." She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Like 'obnoxious,' 'reckless,' and 'walking midlife crisis.'" She huffed. "I can't believe my dad gave up everything for him."
Emily, still half-hanging over the seat, grinned. "Oh, he's that bad? Sounds like a fun guy."
"Fun isn't the word I'd use either," Octavia snapped. "He's like if bad decisions had a mascot."
Charlie gave an awkward chuckle, trying to ease the tension. "Well… uh… maybe he knows where Stolas is?"
Octavia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yeah. Probably. Because of course he would. My dad can't seem to function without Blitz being involved in everything."
Vaggie leaned over to Charlie, whispering with a smirk, "She's really holding back her feelings, huh?"
Charlie elbowed her gently, trying to suppress her own grin. "Shh."
Octavia's glare flicked between the two of them. "I can hear you."
Vaggie didn't even flinch. "Yeah, we know."
Emily tilted her head, her wings flickering with curiosity. "Wait, what's I.M.P.?"
Octavia groaned, like the very question physically pained her. "Immediate Murder Professionals."
Emily blinked. "That's… concerning."
Octavia huffed but didn't argue.
Vaggie crossed her arms. "So… let me get this straight. We're going to a hitman office run by your dad's boyfriend?"
Octavia muttered under her breath, "Kill me now."
Emily clapped her hands, clearly loving the drama. "This is so much better than reality TV."
Charlie groaned softly, slumping in her seat. "Yeah. Because it is reality."
Vaggie rapped her knuckles on the limo's divider, signaling the driver. "You heard the girl. To I.M.P. Headquarters."
As the limo pulled into the chaotic streets of Imp City, Charlie glanced at Octavia, whose grumpy expression remained etched in stone. Despite everything, though, Charlie felt a little spark of hope. Maybe—just maybe—they were getting somewhere.
Emily sat sprawled comfortably in her seat, glancing back and forth between Vaggie and Octavia with growing amusement. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied them, a mischievous grin creeping onto her face.
Vaggie noticed first. "What?" she snapped, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
At the exact same moment, Octavia scowled and echoed, "What are you looking at?"
They both turned their sharp glares on each other, realizing they'd spoken in perfect unison. The brief flash of surprise between them was enough to send Emily into a fit of laughter.
"Oh my—" Emily wheezed, doubling over with a grin. "You two are like—like two sides of a sour lollipop!"
Vaggie's eye narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me?"
Octavia's feathers ruffled slightly, her scowl deepening. "We are not alike."
Emily wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, grinning ear to ear. "No, no, seriously. Look at you—same crossed arms, same 'I'd rather be anywhere but here' attitude, identical glares that could curdle milk. It's like I'm sitting between Grumpy and Grumpier."
Vaggie huffed, shifting in her seat. "I do not have an attitude."
Octavia snorted. "And I don't glare."
Charlie, failing miserably to contain her laughter, clutched the edge of her seat. "Oh no… she's right."
Vaggie glared at Charlie. Octavia glared at Emily. Both glares were equally fierce—and hilariously identical.
Emily leaned back, still chuckling. "Honestly, I feel like I'm in the presence of royalty. Queen of Grumps," she pointed at Vaggie, then at Octavia, "and the Princess of Pouts."
Vaggie groaned, covering her face with her hand. "I'm going to strangle you."
Octavia crossed her legs with an exaggerated sigh. "Good. Then I'll help."
Emily burst into laughter again while Charlie giggled beside her, the limo rolling smoothly through Imp City with an atmosphere that, despite the sarcasm and scowls, felt just a little lighter.
The limo rolled to a smooth stop in front of the I.M.P. headquarters—a towering, grimy black-and-gray building with jagged horns jutting from its side, like someone had slapped devil horns on an office complex and called it a day. The windows were dusty and cracked in several places, and the faint outlines of something suspiciously red decorated the brickwork. A single flickering light above the door buzzed ominously, offering no real name, just an air of "you probably shouldn't be here."
Charlie squinted through the window, her golden eyes narrowing. "Well… this looks… charming."
Vaggie snorted, arms still crossed. "Charming in the 'needs to be condemned' kind of way."
Emily leaned forward between them, eyeing the building with a skeptical frown. "Wait, this is where he works? What is this place? It doesn't even have a sign."
Octavia groaned, her voice flat and unimpressed. "It's I.M.P. His precious little murder business. Goes to Earth and…" She drug a finger across her throat.
Emily's face twisted with immediate discomfort. "Yeah... That's deeply concerning."
Charlie sighed, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the cracked pavement, her heels clicking sharply against the uneven ground. Vaggie followed, glancing up at the building with her usual scowl, while Emily lingered a second longer, frowning at the entrance like it might bite.
Octavia finally slid out of the limo, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "Let's just get this over with."
They approached the door, which had seen better days—probably around the time Hell was still cooling. Charlie hesitated, her hand hovering over the rusty handle.
"Are we sure we should just… walk in?" Emily asked, eyeing the place like it might collapse with a strong breeze.
Octavia rolled her eyes. "What, you think they have customer service? Just open the door."
With a deep breath, Charlie yanked the door open. A weak, half-hearted bell jingled above her head, like it regretted being installed in the first place. The small lobby was dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper in a shade of red that probably wasn't supposed to resemble dried blood—but definitely did. A dusty potted plant sat in the corner, long dead but somehow still standing, much like Charlie's hopes for this visit.
To the right of the door was a grimy metal directory mounted on the wall, its faded letters barely legible under the flickering fluorescent light. Charlie squinted at it, her gaze trailing down the list of businesses crammed into the building:
7th Floor: I.M.P – Immediate Murder Professionals
7th Floor: Soul Sucker Debt Collections
7th Floor: Infernal STD Testing (Results Not Guaranteed)
Emily leaned in beside her, tilting her head. "Well, at least they're diversified," she muttered, pointing at the STD clinic. "Good to know they care about health and homicide."
Vaggie snorted, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "It's Hell. The bar is literally underground."
Charlie sighed, pressing the elevator button. The doors creaked open with a groan that sounded vaguely like a death rattle. They stepped inside, crammed into the rickety space with flickering lights overhead and a faint smell of something burnt.
As the Elevator lurched upwards, Octavia's reflection flickered with the faulty lights, her face set in that usual mask of disinterest—but her fingers fidgeted slightly, betraying the tension beneath. After a long, heavy silence, she spoke, her voice quieter than usual.
"Hey… uh, Charlie?"
Charlie glanced over, surprised by the shift in her tone. "Yeah?"
Octavia's eyes didn't move from the doors, but her fingers clenched tighter. "Don't… don't leave me alone in there. I know I'm not exactly the cheery type, but… I just… I need a friend right now."
The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Octavia rarely let show.
Charlie's heart squeezed. She reached out, gently resting her hand on Octavia's shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."
Before the moment could settle, Emily piped up from the corner, her voice bright with mock offense. "Excuse me," she huffed, crossing her arms dramatically. "I'm standing right here, thank you very much. I'm a friend too, you know."
Octavia snorted, a small, genuine sound slipping through her guard. "You're like… aggressively friendly."
Emily grinned, completely unbothered. "That's called being supportive. You'll learn to love it."
Vaggie rolled her eye but smirked faintly, the tension easing just a fraction. "I think she's got enough love in the room without you adding more to the pot."
Emily shot her a playful glare. "You're just jealous I'm everyone's favorite."
The elevator dinged loudly, interrupting their banter. The doors creaked open, revealing the grimy hallway leading to I.M.P.'s front door, with a crooked sign barely hanging onto one hinge.
Charlie gave Octavia's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We've got you. All of us."
Octavia nodded, her usual scowl softening just a little as they stepped out together.
Charlie hesitated at the door, her hand hovering just inches from the handle. She peered through the narrow glass pane, her golden eyes softening at the sight inside.
Stolas sat slouched at a metallic desk, scrolling lazily through his phone, his expression distant—tinged with an exhaustion that went deeper than lack of sleep. His usual flamboyant posture was gone, replaced by something fragile, almost hollow. The vibrant feathers of his plumage seemed duller, his regal air dimmed beneath the weight of loneliness.
On the nearby couch sat two imps—one feminine and muscular with wild dark hair, the other just slightly taller, dressed sharply with a large red bowtie. They were sharing a bag of snacks, the taller one casually slinging an arm over the other's shoulders while they talked quietly. Their conversation seemed light, but it couldn't mask the heavy air that filled the room, pressing down on everything like an invisible weight.
Charlie swallowed hard, her fingers curling around the door handle.
"Ready?" she whispered, glancing at Octavia.
Octavia didn't answer at first. She was staring, her sharp gaze locked onto Stolas—her father. The same man who used to read her bedtime stories about constellations and tuck her in with promises of eternal love. Now he just looked… small.
Octavia's jaw tightened. "Yeah," she muttered finally, though her voice was more breath than sound.
Charlie gave her a soft, encouraging smile, squeezing her arm gently before pushing the door open. The small bell above gave a pathetic jingle.
Stolas didn't even look up.
The two imps on the couch looked up first. The larger one's eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, while the smaller one blinked in confusion, glancing between Charlie, Emily, and Vaggie, not having noticed Octavia lurking in the back.
"Uh… can we help you?" the taller imp asked, his tone polite but wary.
Charlie cleared her throat, stepping forward with an awkward smile. "Hi. We're, uh… here to see someone."
The Taller Imp's expression shifted from mild confusion to wide-eyed recognition when he saw Charlie. "Wait. Are you Princ—?"
At that, Stolas finally glanced up from his phone. His red eyes met Octavia's across the room.
The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. His breath hitched, his entire posture rigid as his eyes locked onto his daughter.
Octavia didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
Millie was the first to break the heavy silence, her voice soft but filled with understanding. "C'mon, Moxxie. Let's give 'em some space."
Moxxie nodded, glancing between Stolas and Octavia with an expression that was equal parts sympathy and curiosity. "Yeah… uh, good luck with… all that. Come on Millie, let's go.."
Charlie caught the names—Millie and Moxxie—as they slipped out the door, leaving behind a stillness that felt almost suffocating.
Stolas stood slowly, the scraping of his chair against the floor sharp in the quiet room. He didn't say anything at first, his tall, regal frame seeming smaller somehow. His eyes—those brilliant red eyes that once held nothing but warmth and playful mischief—were dim, shadowed by grief and regret.
Octavia didn't move. She stood rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest like armor, her jaw clenched so hard Charlie worried it might snap. But her eyes… her eyes betrayed her. They shimmered with unshed tears, flickering with emotions she refused to voice.
Stolas took a hesitant step forward. Then another.
"Via…" His voice was soft, fragile. A man's voice, not a prince's. Just a father's.
Octavia's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't respond.
Stolas swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn't dare. "I… I didn't think I'd ever get to see you again."
Octavia's jaw tightened. "Whose fault is that?"
The words hit Stolas like a slap. He flinched, his shoulders curling inward slightly. But he didn't stop. He stepped closer, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—that wasn't just hate.
"I never wanted to leave you," he whispered. "Not ever."
Octavia's breath hitched, so faint Charlie almost missed it. But she didn't move away when Stolas reached out, his trembling hand hovering just inches from her shoulder.
Charlie felt Vaggie's hand slip into hers, grounding her. Emily stood quietly beside them, her usual light-hearted demeanor gone, replaced by something softer, more reverent.
Finally, Octavia's arms dropped to her sides, her fingers curling into fists. "You did leave," she rasped, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she'd carried. "You left me."
Stolas's face crumpled, a tear slipping down his feathered cheek. "I'm so sorry, my little star. I thought I was doing the right thing."
Octavia stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she surged forward, her fists pounding weakly against his chest. "You're an idiot."
Stolas didn't defend himself. He just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the safest place she'd ever known. She sobbed against him, her fists slowly unclenching as she clung to the father she thought she'd lost.
Charlie felt her own tears sting, her heart aching with a bittersweet kind of relief.
Sometimes, love was messy.
But it was still love.
Stolas and Octavia stayed locked in their tearful embrace, the room filled with the soft sounds of muffled sobs and half-formed words. Apologies tangled with reassurances, anger melted into relief, and years of unresolved pain spilled out in messy, fragmented sentences.
Charlie, Vaggie, and Emily stood quietly nearby, giving the pair space but unable to look away. It was like watching a fragile glass sculpture finally mend itself, piece by trembling piece.
Eventually, the storm passed. Their breathing evened out, the tears slowed, and Octavia stepped back, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her gaudy pink dress, leaving black streaks of mascara smudged across her cheeks.
Stolas chuckled weakly, brushing a feathered thumb under her eye to wipe away a stubborn tear. "Look at you…" His voice was raw, thick with emotion. "What are you even doing here?"
Octavia sniffed, straightening her spine and wiping her nose with the kind of stubborn pride only a teenager could manage. Then, with a wicked glint in her still-reddened eyes, she turned slightly, her gaze landing squarely on Charlie.
Charlie felt her heart seize. Oh no.
Octavia's smirk grew, sharp and unapologetic. "I'm here with my fiancée," she announced, her voice dripping with faux sweetness as she dramatically gestured toward Charlie. "You know, Princess Charlotte Morningstar."
Stolas blinked.
Charlie choked on nothing, her face turning the exact shade of her father's favorite wine. "I—um—what?" she squeaked, her hands flailing slightly as if she could physically catch the words and shove them back into Octavia's mouth.
Emily immediately burst into laughter, nearly doubling over, while Vaggie's eye twitched violently as she clenched her fists.
Stolas just stared, his expression frozen somewhere between awe and absolute confusion. "I… beg your pardon?"
Stolas's warm, understanding smile didn't last long. It morphed into something sharper, his feathers fluffing slightly as a protective edge crept into his voice. "Wait—fiancée? As in engaged? To her?" His red eyes narrowed, flicking from Octavia to Charlie with growing suspicion. "Charlotte Morningstar, you're far too old for my daughter!"
Charlie snapped her head up, her face still flushed but now tinted with a healthy dose of indignation. "Excuse me? I'm not that old!" she squawked, throwing her hands in the air. "I'm only—well, okay, technically I'm over two hundred, but that's not the point!"
Emily slid to the floor in a fit of laughter, wheezing like she'd run a marathon. "Oh my God, this is gold."
Vaggie, still fuming, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "She's not dating your daughter," she growled through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at both Stolas and Octavia.
Octavia, utterly unbothered by the chaos she'd unleashed, shrugged lazily. "Well, according to the contract, she is." She shot Charlie a smug glance. "So, you know, technically…"
Stolas's feathers puffed out more, his regal posture stiffening. "Contract?! What contract?" His gaze darted back to Charlie, narrowing with suspicion. "Did you force my daughter into some sort of political arrangement?"
Charlie groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "No! I didn't force anyone into anything! Your brother-in-law and sister cornered me, I panicked, and somehow I left with a fake engagement. It's not real!"
Stolas's piercing gaze didn't waver. "So, you're telling me you're pretending to be engaged to my daughter… for what, exactly?"
Emily finally managed to sit up, wiping tears from her eyes. "Don't worry Mr. Stolas. It's just to satisfy's Charlie's wing Kink."
Vaggie's head creaked toward her, slow enough that Emily could swear she heard stone grinding as she turned. "Emily. Shut the hell up. Ignore her. She's stupid." Vaggie said, turning back to Stolas as Emily stuck her tongue out at her.
Charlie sighed, gathering what little dignity she had left. "Look, the whole thing was to help Octavia see you without anyone interfering. The 'dates' give her cover. That's it. No romance. No actual engagement. Just—political loopholes."
Stolas blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly, his feathers settled, and he gave a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest. "Oh, thank the stars. I was about to duel you."
Charlie's jaw dropped. "Duel me?"
Stolas nodded gravely. "Yes. For honor."
Octavia rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out. "Dad, please."
Emily was back to cackling on the floor. Vaggie looked like she was seriously debating joining in just out of spite.
Charlie cleared her throat, standing up straight and clapping her hands once to regain control of the chaotic energy in the room. "Okay, back to the point!" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering laughter. "We'll do these 'dates' once a week, or however often Octavia wants. I'll pick her up, we'll portal here—now that I know where to go—and that's it."
Stolas's dramatic flair melted into something softer, genuine gratitude shining in his eyes. "Charlotte, I… truly, thank you." He placed a hand over his chest, his voice quieter, almost reverent. "I didn't think I'd get to see her this often. You've given me more than I could've hoped for."
Charlie flushed slightly, waving it off. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't duel me, and we're square."
Just as the tension started to ease, the door flew open with a bang. Blitz barged in, talking animatedly to Loona behind him. "—and that's why you don't mix tequila with experimental body modifications, Loona. You end up—" He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locking onto Charlie.
A beat of silence.
Then Blitz squawked like an offended parrot. "OH HELL NO!" He pointed an accusing finger. "You're here for your stuff, aren't you? Well tough shit! I swipped that stuff fair and square!"
Charlie blinked, completely thrown off. "What?"
Blitz didn't wait for clarification. With the speed of someone powered entirely by bad decisions and too much caffeine, he sprinted out of the office, yelling over his shoulder, "YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME, COPPERS!"
Octavia just sighed and muttered, "God, he's such an idiot."
Loona let out the most exhausted sigh known to demon-kind, stomping over to the desk like this was just another Tuesday. She rifled through a drawer with all the enthusiasm of someone sorting through expired coupons, eventually pulling out several ziplock bags, settling on a clear ziplock bag with horrendous handwriting scrawled across the front:
"Hazben Hotel - Charlee Mourningstar"
Inside was a chaotic assortment of random knickknacks—some fancy coasters from the bar, a decorative spoon (where the hell did that even come from?), one of Alastor's cuff links, a hotel room keycard, and—was that Charlie's spare glitter bowtie?!
Loona slapped the bag onto the desk without ceremony. "Here. Blitz is an idiot."
Charlie gawked at the bag. "Why—why did he steal my bowtie?!"
Loona shrugged, completely deadpan. "Honestly? Probably because it was shiny."
Emily peeked over Charlie's shoulder, snickering. "Oooh, look, he got a coaster. Real high-stakes thievery here."
Vaggie squinted at the bag, unimpressed. "Is that… my pocketknife?"
Loona barely glanced up from her phone, lazily waving a clawed hand in Octavia's direction. "Hey, Octy."
Octavia shifted slightly, her usual scowl softening into something almost resembling a smile—just the faintest curve of her lips. "Hey, Loona."
Charlie, still trying to regain some semblance of control over the chaos, stepped forward, crossing her arms with exaggerated exasperation. "So… was this whole brilliant plan of mine worth it?"
Octavia rolled her eyes so hard it was practically an art form, but the grin she shot Charlie was genuine this time, a sharp, crooked little thing. "Yeah. Guess it was."
Charlie fought back a smile of her own, shaking her head. "Unbelievable." She turned to the door, waving over her shoulder. "I'll be back after sundown. Have a good time Octavia." She rolls her hand in a circle, stepping through the portal with Emily and Vaggie close behind.
Loona gave a noncommittal grunt, already half-scrolling through her phone again.
Octavia's grin lingered as she watched Charlie go, her heart just a little lighter than it had been that morning.
Vaggie groaned dramatically as she flopped onto the plush lobby couch, sprawling out like the day had personally offended her. "I swear, if I never have to deal with another awkward family reunion masquerading as a mission, it'll be too soon." She rubbed her temples, glaring at nothing in particular. "And Stolas—really? A duel? Who does that?!"
Charlie chuckled softly, dropping into the seat beside her while Emily casually leaned against the armrest, looking far too pleased with herself.
"But," Vaggie continued, her voice softening just a fraction, "Octavia's… a good kid. Solid head on her shoulders. Even with all the crap she's dealing with."
Without missing a beat, Charlie sighed dramatically and slipped Emily a crumpled five-dollar bill.
Vaggie squinted, suspicious. "What was that?"
Emily grinned like the cat who caught the canary. "Oh, just collecting on a bet."
Charlie laughed, unable to help herself. "Emily bet me that because you two are basically the same flavor of grumpy, you'd end up liking Octavia before the day was over."
Vaggie stared at them, her eye narrowing. "I don't—" She paused, realizing mid-protest how true it was. "…I hate both of you."
Emily winked. "Love you too, Glarebear."
Charlie snorted, collapsing back against the couch with a wide grin, the tension of the day finally melting away.
Charlie's grin lingered for a moment longer before her expression shifted, a flicker of something more serious behind her golden eyes. She glanced at Emily, catching her gaze with a subtle tilt of her head toward the hallway. Emily raised a brow in silent question, but Charlie's quick, pointed look was answer enough.
Stretching her arms overhead with an exaggerated yawn, Charlie stood. "I think I'm gonna head up to our room for a bit. Long day, you know?"
Vaggie waved her off lazily from the couch, not even opening her eye. "Yeah, yeah. Go have your existential crisis in peace."
Emily snorted but pushed off the armrest, trailing after Charlie with an easy, curious swagger. "Guess I'll join her. Make sure she doesn't start monologuing dramatically to herself."
Vaggie gave a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgment, already sinking deeper into the cushions, clearly too drained to care.
As soon as they were out of sight, turning the corner toward the elevator, Charlie's playful demeanor slipped away, her steps slowing. Emily noticed immediately, her teasing grin fading into something softer.
"Okay," Emily murmured, her voice quieter now, filled with genuine curiosity. "What's up, Char?"
Charlie didn't answer right away. She waited until the elevator doors slid shut behind them, leaving just the two of them in that small, reflective space. She finally turned, her expression a mix of exhaustion and something more complicated—uncertainty, maybe.
"I just needed a minute," Charlie admitted quietly. "Away from… everything. From pretending like all of this is normal."
Emily nodded slowly, her bright eyes filled with understanding. "Yeah. I get that."
Charlie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, leaning back against the cool metal wall. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, Em. I feel like I'm just—reacting. Making things up as I go. And I hate that."
Emily stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You're doing better than you think. And even if you are making it up as you go… you're still doing it with your heart in the right place."
Charlie managed a small, tired smile. "Yeah, well… my heart's an idiot sometimes."
Emily chuckled softly. "Good thing you've got us to balance that out."
Charlie's smile grew, just a little. "Yeah. Good thing."
As the elevator doors slid open, and they exited onto their bedroom floor, Charlie's expression shifted from exhaustion to something more hesitant—nervous even. She didn't speak immediately, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve as the silence stretched between them. Emily tilted her head slightly, waiting patiently, her easy smile softening into something more attentive.
Charlie finally broke the silence, her voice quieter than usual. "That's not why I wanted you to come up here."
Emily's brow arched slightly, curiosity piqued. "Oh?"
Charlie took a deep breath, then turned to face Emily fully, her golden eyes earnest and vulnerable. "I've been thinking a lot since my mom came back… about everything. About us." She hesitated for just a second, then blurted, "I want to propose to Vaggie."
Emily blinked, her surprise flickering briefly across her face before she schooled it into something softer—gentler.
"But," Charlie rushed on, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to explain, "I wanted to tell you first. Because… we love you so much, Emily. I love you. This isn't me trying to—" she struggled for the right words, her hands flailing slightly in frustration, "—to close ranks without you, or put her above you. It's not like that. It's just… Vaggie and I have been together for years. You and I—us—we've only been together, what, four months?"
Emily's expression remained unreadable, which only made Charlie babble faster.
"I don't want you to feel like you're less important. You're not. You're everything to me, to us. But Vaggie's been waiting for this, and I can't keep her waiting just because I don't know how to say this right. I want you to have the time you need with me—with us—but… I can't keep putting this off. I want to marry her."
She finally stopped, breathless, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs as she waited for Emily to respond.
Emily didn't speak right away. She just stepped forward, gently cupping Charlie's face with both hands, her thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. Her touch was grounding, warm, and filled with that easy, radiant affection that had drawn Charlie in from the start.
"You're an idiot," Emily said softly, but there was no malice in her voice—just warmth and a faint laugh. "Do you really think I'd feel like you were leaving me out because you're proposing to Vaggie?"
Charlie's breath hitched, her eyes stinging with relief she hadn't realized she needed. She nods hesitantly.
Emily leaned her forehead against Charlie's, their noses almost touching. "I love you both. And I know you love me. That's all I need. Propose to her, Charlie. She deserves it. And when the time's right, we'll figure out what that means for us."
Charlie let out a shaky laugh, her arms wrapping tightly around Emily. "I was so scared you'd be upset."
Emily chuckled softly, hugging her back just as fiercely. "I'd only be upset if you didn't let me help plan the proposal."
Charlie pulled back slightly, her grin finally returning, bright and genuine. "Deal."