True to Isobel's word, news of an Overlord meeting came just two days later. Though curious, Alastor couldn't help but feel fully sure of himself and his secret knowledge. So when he walked into the meeting room his confidence practically overflowed out of him and onto the floor.

Disappointingly, neither the Vees nor Isobel were there yet. He had hoped he would be able to saunter in and show them just how unbothered he was with the whole situation. He had even purposely arrived a few minutes late so as to make a scene. He would enter, all eyes upon him, and simply take his seat, not a flicker of disturbance in his demeanor. But alas. Best laid plans.

Rosie smiled sweetly and wiggled her fingers as he crossed the room, around the table, and took his usual seat next to her.

"So what do you think this is all about?" she asked, ready for some piping hot tea.

"Haven't the foggiest idea," he lied.

It was at this point Carmilla rose to her feet. She hated being late for anything and she had waited long enough to start this meeting.

"We meet once again to discuss the situation with those particular wayward souls disturbing the status quo. I had been told that there was new information that would be of interest to all of us Overlords, however, those with that information have yet to arrive."

At that moment, as if the whole thing had been planned, (though from the expression in Carmilla's face, it had not, in fact, been planned at all) the double doors swung wide. Velvette and Valentino, both with self-satisfied smiles on their faces, walked in followed closely by Vox, who to everyone's great confusion and surprise (that is everyone except Alastor) had Isobel on his arm.

They all came to attention as the Vees crossed the room and sat in the empty chairs, which happen to be right across from Alastor. Rosie stiffened and instinctively gripped Alastor's arm like a warning, but he remained still and calm. Isobel took up her place just behind Vox, a role she had occupied before except instead of standing with the pontificating box and his two subordinates, she had been just behind Alastor's shoulder.

He glanced at her only briefly but could read everything in an instant. Her face was a mask of quiet dignity. Though clear eyed and focused, she did not make direct eye contact with anyone, especially not with him. The only gaze she would meet was that of Zestiel. It was only for a moment, but held much weight.

She wore a dark blue dress with a single red stripe running the length of her body. Alastor noted its puffy sleeves, something Isobel would never choose on her own. It was far too fashion forward, too fussy. This must have been the work of Velvette, the makeup as well. It was too heavy with red cheeks, large winged eyeliner, and fake lashes. Even when Angel used to do her makeup, it never looked this trashy. Then to top it all off, her dark chaos of hair had been tamed into a slick, neat French twist.

Under the table where no one could see, Alastor's fingernails dug into his own thigh as he fought a sudden urge to vault over the heavy furniture between them. He wanted to grab her and throw her down on the table top. Ripping her hair out of that ridiculous bun, he would take her right there in front of them all proving exactly who Isobel truly belonged to.

However, his inner turmoil could not be perceived by those around him. He had long ago mastered the art of masking his true feelings and intentions, a skill that once again served him well.

A silence had fallen over the room in which both Vox and Alastor's glares met. There was just the slightest hint of disappointment in Vox's eyes at the lack of reaction from his foe as Alastor simply sat waiting, like the others, expectantly for the Vees to speak.

A brief hesitation. Probably not noticed by any of the others. This was not going exactly as Vox had envisioned, but he pressed on, tearing his eyes away from Alastor's stupid smile as he addressed the room.

"As you all can see the stories of Isobel's untimely death have been greatly exaggerated."

Carmilla's eyes narrowed with suspicion. This information had obviously been kept from her the last time they met, and though she knew the other Overlords that shared her table had their secrets and could not be trusted, she did not appreciate the lack of disclosure.

"I see that," she said as calmly as she could muster. "I suppose this is the reason you are not worried about the potential mutiny of souls?"

"You got it." Vox leaned his elbows on the table as he addressed the group. "As you can see Isobel is one of us now. She's going to bring all of her little followers into the fold."

Oh, he was quite pleased with himself. Pleased as punch. It made Alastor nauseous.

Vox continued, "Once they are in, we'll take care of them. Bring these souls to heel and soon they will all be working for us. New employees of Vox Tech under new contracts, ones they won't easily get out from, I can assure you."

There was a flinch. Subtle. Just at the corner of Isobel's eye. No more than a twitch of the brow. Alastor saw it and understood. Something was wrong. This must not have been the deal. Vox had thrown a curveball, a wrench in the gears. However, she said nothing. How could she? In this setting she was at their whim. But Alastor had seen that expression before. The slight cock of her right eyebrow. A tremble in her top lip as if it was just about to break into a sneer. Her eyes seemed to grow several shades darker, the color of a storm out in open sea. Isobel was pissed. She reserved that expression for those she truly disdained. It was the same expression she now used whenever she saw him.

"This is good to hear," Camilla said seemingly satisfied, maybe even a little impressed. "I can assume with you three, uh, I mean, four… handling the situation, none of us should have to concern ourselves with the Lost Souls of the Shepherd."

It did not escape Camilla's notice that this would mean an increase in souls owned by the Vees, perhaps a massive increase. No one really knew how many sinners belong to the cult at this point. With so many new souls at their beck and call, their power would rise. It would worry her if she wasn't completely confident that they would find a way to fuck it up somehow.

The meeting continued. Vox bloviated over the well laid plans he and his cohorts had created. They had been working on this for months now and no one had any clue. Alastor heard none of it. He spent the rest of the time making sure to control his face and avoided looking directly at Isobel. He was incredibly grateful when it was finally over.

The Vees made sure they left first, Vox ushering Isobel out of the room like a true gentleman. Alastor waited, giving them plenty of time to depart before making his way to the bottom floor, down the street, and around a corner. Once satisfied that he was away from prying eyes and ears, he finally allowed himself a laugh. A chuckle that grew into heaving guffaws, a true belly laugh.

They thought they had him. They thought they could get a rise from him, that they could make him sweat. Those Vees had no idea who they were dealing with. With a deep sigh, he brushed a tear from his eye and blithely strolled down the street. He spun his cane and whistled a little tune. He couldn't wait to see Isobel again and gloat over his performance.

Of course once they entered Vee Tower all cordial pretenses were dropped. Isobel was practically dragged by the wrist to the 19th floor. Vox opened the door to her room and threw her down on the floor perhaps a little more forcefully than needed. She knew he was going to be upset, counted on it even, and she was ready. So with an exasperated sigh, peppered with just a touch of boredom, she picked herself up from the floor, rubbing her bruised wrist.

Vox had not said a word since they left the meeting, but now he let loose with all of his fury and frustration.

"What the fuck was that?" he raged, pulling at his antenna and storming about the room.

"I told you, you were expecting too much."

"Not even a twitch, not even a raised eyebrow," he continued to lament, obviously not listening. "Everyone else was completely shocked. You could see it in their faces. Mouths opened, dumbstruck, none of them knew what to say. But not Alastor. He just sat there with that fucking smug smile of his."

Isobel ducked as Vox sent something small and made of glass hurling across the room. It smashed on the far wall.

"I warned you," she said.

"Bullshit. Warned me what?" He was now in her face, but Isobel folded her arms and stood her ground as his TV screen of a face flashed and crackled with rage.

"I warned you not to get your hopes up. I told you that Alastor didn't care if I was dead or alive, but you didn't believe me. You just had to do this big, flashy reveal."

Vox reached out his hands, each finger tensed into a claw as if he was going to rip Isobel into a million pieces. But he hesitated, stopped himself just before touching her, and instead, with a cry of frustration, he turned away. The wall became the receptacle of his anger as he punched a hole through the drywall. Dust and crumbs exploded from the blow. Isobel was grateful he had turned his back to her. He was unable to see her flinch.

"What did you expect would happen exactly?" She pressed. She was scared and her only defense mechanism was to talk. For better or for worse, she yammered on. "You thought Alastor was going to be taken aback? Shocked? Did you think he was going to clutch his pearls and faint from the surprise like some southern debutante?"

"No," Vox placed both hands on the wall, each on either side of the hole he had made, and hung his head. "Yes, maybe, something. There should have been something, some kind of reaction. It should have thrown him off his game, at least, for a moment."

"You have to remember, Alastor, left me to die. Whatever bond you thought he and I shared, in the end meant nothing to him. Why would he care if I suddenly showed up in a boardroom?"

There was a pause. Vox's breathing had slowed and Isobel thought his anger had dissipated. She was incorrect.

Standing to his full height, Vox slowly turned around, his eyes narrow and suspicious. This was a new kind of rage. This was not the loud, shrill vexation that she had come to know from him. This was a deep seated wrath.

"He knew," Vox growled.

Isobel swallowed.

"What?"

"Somehow he knew. It's the only explanation." Vox now advanced on her. Wild eyed, not really acknowledging her, his brain moved down several theories all at once. "He must have known you were still alive. Known that you were with us. And somehow, he knew you were going to be at that meeting today."

"That's impossible." Isobel took a step back.

Vox extended his index fingers pointing at imaginary plot points, moving them like he was connecting dots only he could see.

"Only four people know you're here. And I know for a fact neither I, Valentino, nor Velvette are saying shit to Alastor." His eyes finally focused and settled on her. "That only leaves you. You told him."

Isobel desperately tried to control her breathing, control her face, control the trembling in her voice.

"How could I?"

"I don't know, and I don't care."

In a flash like electricity, Vox had her. One hand gripped her by the throat and the other ripped into her hair. The clip holding up her bun dung deep into her scalp and she was sure blood would follow. He pulled her violently, knocking her from her balance. All she could do was hold onto his wrists to keep herself upright.

He peered into her eyes so close she could hear the subtle hum of the TV screen, feel the heat. A flash of bright blue static distorted his left eye as his pointed teeth gnashed.

"You had one purpose here, and that was to make Alastor squirm. I planned the whole thing, every detail, and yet, you failed. And if you have no purpose, what good are you to me? I may not own your soul, but I can do whatever I want to this, oh so fragile body of yours." Isobel choked as Vox's grip around her throat tightened. "If you do not have a use, I'll just give you to Valentino. I know he has lots of ideas on what exactly to do with you."

The light in Isobel's eyes began to fade as her vision started to tunnel. Everything was going black. And then Vox released her. He dropped her on the floor in a gasping, coughing heap.

Satisfied he had made his point, he crossed to the door. Looking back briefly, he sneered as one does when seeing an unsightly pile of garbage, before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

After what felt like long minutes, Isobel was able to prop herself up to sitting. Her chest ached with every inhale as she desperately tried to take in as much air as possible. Her heavy eyeliner and mascara streamed down her cheeks as black tears.

In a small, weak voice she spoke into the silence.

"I know you're there."

Alastor materialized from the shadows. He had been there the whole time, saw the entire interaction. Several times he had to stop his more basic instincts urging him to interfere. It was as if his very bones willed him to act. But what was he going to do? Throw himself between Vox and Isobel? Protecting her would have been chivalrous, no doubt, but in the end it would not have done him any good.

He took a step but said nothing. Isobel was still on the floor, her back to him. He black hair had fallen and now cascaded down her back in knotted tangles. He could pick her up. He could wipe the tears from her face. Wrap his long arms around her small frame, stroke her hair, and whisper in her ear that everything would be ok. He could have done all of that, but he didn't. He simply stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for her to turn to him.

He had not appreciated hearing Isobel tell Vox that the bond they shared had meant nothing to him. In the time she had been in Hell they had shared much, not just a bed, not just physical satisfaction. They had shared their thoughts and feelings with each other. (well, whatever feelings either could truly possess.) He had not been lying when he told her that what he could feel, he felt for her. He was so very fond of her, but she made it seem that it had been nothing to him.

He would have to make her repent for that. Just a little. He would make her come to him for comfort. Her green eyes would be glistling from the tears. She would throw her arms around his chest and sob. And only then would he hold her, and kiss her, and make her whole.

"You should go," she said in a quiet, yet clear voice.

He hesitated, confused at first, but then he understood. He had gotten it wrong. She would not be turning to him and running into his arms. She would not be seeking his touch and warmth. There was no comfort that he could give.

Silently, he did as she asked, though there were parts of him screaming to stay.

Isobel could almost feel Alastor depart. When she was sure she was alone, she moved to pick herself up from the floor, but as she did she winced. Turning her hand over she found a glass splinter poking out of a finger. It must have been from the glass Vox had thrown against the wall. She now noticed several larger shards scattered before her. She picked one up and examined the edge. It was easily sharp enough to slice flesh.

With a look of desperate determination, Isobel took the glass blade in her fist, holding the jagged point over her arm. Just one slice, quick, easy. She brought the point down on her skin, but then stopped.

Her arms shook and her hand released its grip, letting the glass fall to the floor.