Charlie's Angels - Pieces

by Kkat FoE

Preparations are underway for the wedding of Charlie, Vaggie and Emily! But Alastor has clued Charlie onto a great mystery that has ensnared both the Radio Demon and her own mother. As Charlie investigates, a threat to everyone in Hell and Heaven alike begins to take form. One with personal ties to herself and others in the Hazbin Hotel.

7. They Shall Be Satisfied

Chapter Six

...They Shall Be Satisfied

(Day Six - Part Two)

Week One, Day Six - ?, morning:

In the dream, she was young again. A small child watching in wonder as her father transformed a glowing duckie of light into a beautiful, seraphim swan.

Charlie loved her father. It was almost painful to feel her mother wrap her arms around her, chiding her gently about being out of bed so late. She had lessons tomorrow.

Her mom lifted her up, carrying her back to bed. Her dad was sad to see her go. He reached out briefly. But said nothing. Mom was right.

Mom was soft and strong and warm, holding her, carrying her to her bedroom. She magicked back the covers and laid Charlie down. Charlie could tell she was dreaming because her nightlight was sitting on the dresser, and the little guy only appeared in her dreams.

"Seek him tomorrow after lessons," her mom said with a smile, gently stroking her forehead before tucking her in. "I'll talk to him. Maybe coax him out of his workshop to join us for lunch."

Little Charlie squeed at the thought. Lunch with mom and dad! "I'd like that," Charlie said with enthusiasm.

"Now go to sleep, love." Her mom leaned over and kissed her head.

"Song?" Charlie pleaded.

Her mother shook her head. But after a moment of quiet, she sang. A beautiful, bittersweet melody.

"Charlotte," she began, looking away, back in the direction of dad's workshop.

"I see the pain behind his eyes,
The way he tries to hide,
From the monsters lurking inside."

"But when he's with you he shines,
A joy that could lite up Pride,
An angel burning away the night."

Her song drew the delicate notes of a guitar and the soft play of a violin. Her mother turned back, smiling at her.

"And in the end, I pray that he can win,
Because you're the greatest thing worth fighting for."

In the dream, Charlie knew she dozed off before the song finished. She really had been up beyond her bedtime. But she was already asleep. This was a dream. She stood beside her bed, beside Lilith as she sang, watching her younger self sleep.

"More than anything... more than anything,
He needs to be your father more than anything."

She hadn't understood the song then. She'd wondered if dad actually had monsters in his head. Chronic depression wasn't a thing a small child understood. In a very real way, she supposed he did. Even that young, he was so rarely there for her unless she sought him out. But when she did, he was every bit the father she loved and needed him to be. At least for a long while.

Charlie found herself crying in her own dream. She watched mom stand up, looking down at her lovingly. Then slipping out, being careful to shut the door quietly.

She was Conquest even then, wasn't she?

Charlie looked away. To her nightlight. She couldn't really see him. Just the light.

"We're about to meet," he told her. He sounded nervous.

---

Week One, Day Six - Charlie's, Vaggie's and Emily's bedroom, late morning:

Charlie sat in bed, reading from the Book of the Loa. Beside her, Emily was laying across the bed, poking at the laptop she had borrowed.

"Why do so many of these writers think I have a penis?" the young High Seraphim of Heaven asked with innocent curiosity.

Vaggie held in a groan. She wanted to reach over and close the laptop. But that wouldn't deter Emily. She couldn't tell her wife that hiding this from her was for her own protection. Although that would be the truth.

Charlie looked up. "Huh, what?"

"Because they're degenerate Sinners," Vaggie offered. "And because Lust is a Ring."

Vaggie's own headspace was just as preoccupied. She sat in Charlie's favorite chair, re-reading the letter from Velvette. The bitch who turned Vaggie into an unconsenting porn icon from one badly-timed moment of mild indiscretion. Now, she was offering a gift. The dark clouds in Vaggie's thoughts wanted to chase Velvette down and destroy her. Not that she would. Not unless Velvette actually threatened Charlie or Emily. Or the hotel. Or anyone in it.

Part of her wondered if the social media Overlord was trying to buy some peace. Not that she needed to. Vaggie wasn't acting as the aggressor. Nobody in the Hazbin Hotel was. Except, okay, Crymini and Cherri Bomb. But that was a whole other thing. And Cherri Bomb was an angel now, so it wasn't as if the Vees had anything more to fear from her.

Or maybe, just maybe... No, there was no way the gift was legit. At least, not an act of kindness. But maybe that didn't matter. She'd dreamed of a beautiful wedding dress when she was younger. And now she was being given one. She should take it. No matter that it was from Velvette. In spite of who it was from.

Emily continued to expose herself to Hell's internet. "Did Vanexa really used to be a nun?" Emily asked.

"I don't know," Vaggie replied. "Nobody here actually knows anything about her. Except maybe Husk." A pause. "Who said she was a nun?"

Emily checked the author of the story she was reading. "Fifinella."

Oh fuck. Vaggie knew where that name came from. And suddenly had a suspicion.

"I should talk to her," Emily decided.

"Talk to... Fifinella?" Vaggie asked carefully.

"Vanexa," Emily said, closing the laptop. "I bet she needs a friend."

Charlie closed the Book of the Loa and set it on her nightstand. "That's a wonderful idea, Emily. And it would be a good thing to do today." Charlie's lesson plan for today was canceled. She had worked up a lesson on open communication, but most of the hotel was absent. Husk and Angel Dust were off on a planned trip. But the hotel felt emptier than that.

Lute. She hadn't seen her former nemesis all day. Granted, they'd slept in - a combination of having woken up in the middle of the night from dreams and the lack of Husk brewing coffee to lure them from the room - so it wasn't as if there was a group breakfast this morning.

Lute was probably in her room. Being Lute.

"I had a dream of my own last night," Charlie said, drawing Vaggie's attention. "Old memory of when I was young. Mom singing me to sleep." She sighed. "It was during one of dad's stretches of depression. He'd remove himself from us. Spend day in and day out in his workshop. I... didn't understand it then. I knew he loved us. But it seemed he just never wanted to be there. I hardly knew him at all."

"Charlie..." Vaggie moved from the chair, dropping the letter. She sat on the bed, taking her wife's hand gently. Emily moved as well, sitting beside Charlie.

"He's doing it again," Charlie said. "I can tell. He wants to be here for us, but he isolates anyway. I don't know if he thinks he's protecting me, or if he's protecting himself... or if he just can't help it."

"How can we help dad?" Emily asked.

Charlie shook her head. "I don't know. But I'm going to try. We're getting together again today. I just..."

The doorbell rang.

Charlie brushed off what she had been saying. She got up out of bed and walked to the door. She stopped and looked back; Vaggie knew she was double-checking that everyone (namely Emily) was dressed. Then opened the door.

Vanexa was standing in the doorway, holding a dead rat by the tail.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel, noon:

Vanexa sat at the bar. Without her Master home, she didn't feel like wearing the gear; so she was wearing a shirt from a Verosika Mayday concert. It was long enough that she didn't need to wear anything else. A book lay open before her. Things Never Born. Next to it, her phone displayed the latest chapter of "The Newcummer", an amateur story by a new writer shipping her with half the hotel populace, including several unoriginal characters. It wasn't very good. But it offset the dryness of the Goetia treatise on deep realms. Between them, the dead rat.

Her Master was gone, leaving her to her own devices. Without work, the days had no structure. She'd long forsaken her old life where such freedom would be reveled in. So she read. Books had their own structure to them. Paragraphs on numbered pages. They took her mind away from here. Educated. She valued both. They were quiet and unobtrusive. Unlike angels.

"Good morning, Vanexa!" Emily said cheerfully, invading the bar with her light. "Or good noon, I guess. It's noon."

"Yes," Vanexa answered laconically. And scrolled a little on her phone. Now the writer (she wouldn't call him an author) was shipping her with the hotel's halos. She closed out of the story. She could do better.

"Why do you still have the rat?" the halo next to her asked, her brow furrowing.

"I was thinking of regifting."

It took her a second. "Do not give Husk a dead rat!" Emily protested.

"Why not?" Vanexa questioned mischievously. "The hotel gave me one."

"Keekee's..." The halo trailed off. "I don't know. I'm told that's a cat thing, but she's never done that to any of our guests before." Emily opened several extra eyes, looking around for the cat. "She's changed behavior when stressed before..."

There was a knock and a flurry of rushing red out of the corner of her eye. Daylight from outside washed into the room as Charlie opened the door for her father. Lucifer. The devil from the Bible. Wow, did the Good Book get it wrong. Vanexa didn't understand why he knocked. Didn't he have a permanent room and office here?

"Were you really a nun?"

Here we go.

"Trained to be one," Vanexa told Emily. "But they kicked me. Too many bad habits."

Emily's playful scowl read as: I see what you did there and don't appreciate it.

"I'm sure you tried your best," the halo offered, trying to coax more information out of her. Vanexa saw through what she was doing. She wasn't the first.

"Not really," Vanexa said with a smile that showed fangs. "I seduced a priest."

Charlie's strained voice could be heard from the front of the lobby. "No dad, we looked at wedding tuxes yesterday."

"Oh. Right. Right!" Lucifer said, sounding a bit lost. "So... what were we doing today?"

"We're just hanging out, dad," Charlie told him. "I want to spend time with you."

She wanted to convince herself he was okay. Maybe she thought she could help him if he wasn't.

That's going well. Lucifer was a mess.

"I don't actually know how human religions work," the highest angel in Heaven admitted. "That's bad? I mean, if you both consented..."

"I was seventeen," Vanexa added.

"Seventeen what?"

Oh my god! "You can stop now," Vanexa growled, ears dipping back.

Emily looked taken aback. "Stop what?"

The tall, purple vixen huffed. "This. Trying to figure me out. Trying to uncover whatever trauma or sob story you have convinced yourself must excuse why I'm something that makes you uncomfortable." She grasped at her invisible chain and rattled it. She might not see it, but she knew this halo could. "Why I want this."

"That's not what I was doing!" Emily protested.

Right. She heard Charlie's halos freaking when her Master bestowed her new chain. She was disinterested, not deaf.

"I wanted to get to know you," Emily said in a voice that sure sounded earnest. "You seemed lonely. I thought maybe you would like a friend."

"And that's going to be you?" Vanexa looked at her, eyes lingering on the ring of light above her head. "God's disowned me. But you're going to save me?"

Vanexa nodded towards the King of Hell and his daughter. "If you want to save someone, rescue your drowning fiancee."

Emily frowned. "I'm keeping some eyes on them," the high halo said. "But I'm not going to inject myself into it unless Charlie really needs help."

"Souls save themselves," Emily told her. "It's up to you to become a better person. We're just here to help. And to try to make it a little easier. Ultimately, you have to make the choices."

Oh really. And here she'd been taught a carpenter would save her. Vanexa's eyes narrowed. "Free Will, huh?"

Emily nodded firmly. "Free Will."

Vanexa smiled slowly. "This hotel has some of the most interesting books. I read one yesterday called The Story of Hell. Familiar with it?"

The halo nodded. "That's Charlie's book. I've read it."

"Lilith... that's Charlie's mom, right? Book says she rejected Adam because he wanted to be in control." Vanexa watched Emily nod, a questioning look on her face. "Also says Charlie's parents got thrown into the pit after giving humanity Free Will."

Vanexa leaned closer to the halo. "So how did Lilith choose to run away if she didn't have Free Will already?"

The angel was ready with an answer. "She did." Emily was smiling back. The smile of a woman up for the challenge. "The version I learned is that what Lucifer offered was understanding of right and wrong. Without it, there was free will, but the choices weren't substantial. It was like choosing pizza toppings. There aren't any good or evil choices."

Emily rolled her eyes. "No matter what Molly says. There's nothing wrong with fruit on pizza."

That wrenched a laugh out of Vanexa. "So you're down here because you deserve it. I thought it was because you're the Ambassador."

Emily stuck her tongue out at her. "Lucifer gave humanity the ability to make meaningful choices. To choose to become better." She shrugged her wings. "At least, that's what I was taught. The truth is probably some mix between. It usually is."

The angel rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. "Sera once called it weaponizing Free Will, but she was just being extra Sera that day."

Vanexa contemplated that. The angel was less egregious than she expected. Still... "And the Elders of Heaven cast Lucifer down for that."

"By doing that, dad made it possible for Evil to exist in the Living World. And Evil seized that. Ripped itself up from Below, creating the pit in the process. Eve became its conduit for entering the world, and order was shattered." Emily shook her head. "It was a mistake. But it was a bad one with horrible consequences."

"Free Will was a mistake," Vanexa repeated, shocking the halo.

"That's not what I said!" Emily protested. But then cringed back. Vanexa could see the moment the halo realized that is exactly what she said.

"Free Will isn't a mistake," the angel insisted.

Vanexa stroked her chain.

---

Week One, Day Six - Nowhere, just after noon?:

Niffty stared at the coffee cup.

It was a bit melty-looking. The handle was a loop that didn't connect. There was an image on it that looked like the uncomfortable threesome of different images meshed together. She bet it could hold coffee, but only because it was supposed to.

The coffee cup sat on a counter whose surface was uneven. It looked stained, but that was just shifts in the material. It was clean, but Niffty doubted it had ever been cleaned. Nowhere didn't seem to know what dirt was supposed to look like.

The counter was in a room that lacked parallel lines. The front room of a gas station that looked like a patchwork of a dozen gas stations, like it was plucked from a dream. Or the imagination of someone who couldn't quite manage a cohesive image in their head. The warped hexagonal window stared out at a landscape that invoked a small, deserted town rather than actually was one. There were cars half-sunken into the landscape, with tires that weren't round and license plates whose numbers were a mix of Russian and kobold. The signs outside were the same way. Sometimes, she could tell what something said, but not by reading it. If she tried, the shapes in the words weren't made of letters.

"It's like being inside of AI art," Velvette commented. "Everything was painted by an artist with a wealth of examples but no real understanding of what they were rendering."

Niffty felt things were shifting when she wasn't focusing on them. Something behind the painting was trying to get inside her head. Come on in. I'll bake cookies!

The Super Queen Bitch gave the wall of pinups a scan before moving to the cot Lute was sitting on. "Makes the porn interesting. Even in Hell, girls don't look like that. Usually."

The cot was surrounded by stuff that wasn't from Nowhere. Boxes of tissues. Magazines. Throwing darts. A box of chocolate bars with a legible (Cherry Ripe). A bottle of hand lotion. A six pack of warm beer (Cascade) and a collection of beer cans. A notched knife the size of her arm.

Scattered about the 'gas station' were a number of carvings made from what Nowhere mistook for 'wood'.

That was where Izzi slept.

Niffty still had the piece of his jawbone that Cherri Bomb let her keep before becoming an angel. It was in her collection. She sometimes slept with her collection, in the cupboard where she kept her dead rats. (In jars of formaldehyde, just like Sevvie suggested.)

Niffty frowned. Izzi made Nowhere sound so much cooler.

"My apologies," Velvette smirked. "Maybe I should have given you undergarments."

"They would have just gotten chopped up," Niffty said sagely. Angels got naked a lot. Especially protective ones. She'd fixed Lute's and Emily's clothes a ton. Maybe Heaven should make clothing out of angel skin? It wouldn't get destroyed so easily. On second thought, that would make it really hard to sew.

"If you'd kept even a thread, I could have just fixed it for you," Velvette told her. "I suppose I can sacrifice part of my own ensemble to create a new one. It won't be exactly the same; I never make the same outfit twice. But it will be close."

"Sacrifice your undergarments," Niffty suggested.

"What makes you think I'm wearing any," Velvette shot back with a smirk.

The friendly-wicked Overlord sat on the cot next to Lute. "Turn," Velvette ordered Lute. The bad girl angel obeyed. Not submissively. Soldier-like.

Lute didn't ask what Velvette saw.

"Your back has healed," Velvette volunteered. Niffty pranced over to look. "There are scars, a web pattern," the fashion Overlord said, tracing one of the faint red lines on Lute's albino skin. "They are very faint, but anyone who gets close enough..." Velvette's voice trailed off. She pulled her hand back.

Niffty blinked at her. For a moment, she sounded vulnerable, which wasn't like the Super Queen Bitch at all. Niffty's eye darted between Velvette and Lute.

Oooooh. Niffty's shipping radar was suddenly triggering air raid sirens. Velvette and Lute!

It was a shame she didn't ship women. Her friends were fun together. But she knew writers on the website who did, and needed to know right away so they could start new stories!

"They look badass," Velvette insisted. "But if you don't like them, I can get you makeup that will cover them."

Niffty looked at Velvette as she pulled out her phone. Putting makeup on your back is hard.

Velvette gave her a little smile. "I can teach Niffty to apply it."

"I'm fine," Lute replied. She waved the stub of her left arm. "I don't hide my battle scars."

Velvette chuckled appreciatively. "No, woman, you don't."

Niffty's phone proclaimed a lack of service. The little woman scowled. Nowhere sucked. She couldn't call anyone. She couldn't read anything. And it made her thoughts feel all slidey.

Lute shifted a bit and looked at her. "Seviathan told you to stab his sister?"

Niffty nodded.

"On the call from inside Dead Angels?" Lute asked. Niffty liked how she said it. But she had to shake her head.

"Nope," Niffty corrected. "On our second date." It was a good memory.

Back in high school, my sister Helsa once cut another student apart and mailed all her pieces to different districts. My sister wanted to see how long it would take a girl to pull herself back together before trying to do that to Charlie before prom.

If I meet Helsa, I'm gonna stab her.

Oh please do.

She got to fulfill a promise today! That made today an especially good day. The happiness made her nerves feel on fire.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel, noon:

"So, dad, where would you like to go?" Charlie asked. By making him choose, she hoped to help him engage. "We have all afternoon. Evening too, if..."

One of the front doors opened, letting the red-tinted light of noon in. A small demon strode in, pulling a trolley behind him filled with suitcases and boxes labeled Do Not Touch or Look At. The demon was a tiny fellow, just a little over Niffty's height. An anglerfish demon sporting a glowing lure and wearing a dark gray lab coat.

Something about the lure struck her as familiar. The lab coat did too. It took her a moment to figure out why. She'd seen Sir Pentious in a lab coat before! Not often, since he preferred his stylish tux thing. But a couple times over the six months, when he was busy doing science.

The demon stopped, looking around. "Where is your front desk? Where do I check in?"

Charlie's heart filled with delight. A new guest? Yes! A new guest! She heard Emily squeak happily from over by the bar.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" Charlie squeed cheerfully. "My name is Charlie. This is my dad," she held out a hand towards her father. "What's your name?"

Lucifer waved awkwardly, looking vaguely confused and even more vaguely concerned. Charlie felt her smile falter just a little.

"Baxter," he replied.

"Baxter!" Charlie bounced just a little. "It's so wonderful to have you here! The Hazbin Hotel is a place of refuge, rest and rehabilitation! We are here to help anyone who wants to work towards being a better person." Beaming, she added, "Potentially with the chance to get into Heaven!"

"Front desk?" the little demon in the lab coat asked again with clear annoyance.

"Oh, we don't exactly have one," Charlie explained. "We did, but it's a bar now. But Husk can give you a key to a room!" She turned towards the bar where Vanexa and Emily had been sitting in time to see Emily swooping towards them. The bar behind the vixen was empty.

Oh, that's right. Husk was away. "Or he could if he was here. I'll get you one! We're so glad you're here, Baxter!" Oops, she'd already said that. Well, it didn't hurt to say it again.

Charlie moved quickly behind the bar, stooping and looking over the small rack next to the refrigerator where Husk kept the keys.

"Hello again," Charlie heard Emily say. Oh! She knew Baxter? Charlie didn't think Emily knew many demons in Hell who weren't living in the Hazbin Hotel.

"Ah, it's my angel," the demon said.

His angel? Charlie felt confused. But she knew Emily would tell her as soon as she asked, so Charlie put that aside for more pressing questions.

"Do you have a floor preference?" she called out to him.

"First, please," Baxter answered. "I have a lot of equipment."

"They have an elevator," Vanexa noted above her as Charlie went through the keys. That was true, but Charlie was happy to put the new guest on the floor he wanted. She chose a key.

"Equipment?" Emily asked. There was a note of suspicion in her voice that surprised Charlie. "Are you here because you are interested in redemption? Or are you here because you want to study my ability to break chains."

Wait. Was that where Emily knew Baxter from?

"I can pursue both," the anglerfish demon insisted. "It's called multitasking."

He looked around. "Where is the cat? If you're both willing, we could reproduce the experiment a few times. It would help gather more data."

"We are not doing that," Emily said bluntly.

Vanexa stared at the small man. Her fingers stroked the air beneath her neck. Charlie was sure the vixen could somehow feel her chain. Even though it was one so weak Emily could barely see it with all her eyes open. "I can already tell I'm not going to like you."

"You are freakishly tall, woman," Baxter retorted.

Ooookay. Time to interrupt.

Charlie walked out of the bar, key in hand. "You'll be in the last room on the first floor, right across the hall from Lute." She paused. "Unless that's not okay..." She should probably explain Lute first.

Her father was staring at Baxter with a perplexed expression. "I swear we've met."

Baxter motioned for the key. "My neighbors don't matter. I just need a room to set up the door to my lab."

Charlie had started to hand him the key, but stopped, drawing her hand back. "Um, you want to build a lab in the hotel? I don't think the room is big enough for that. Sir Pentious had his airship."

"Just needs to be big enough for the door." Baxter blinked. Then scowled. "Pentious is here?"

"Mr. Pentious is in Heaven," Emily informed him. Then asked, "Where's Frank?"

"Waiting in my lab," the anglerfish demon said, snatching the key from Charlie aggressively. She drew back with a soft oh. "Which I will be going to as soon as I can exit this conversation."

He turned and gave her father a stiff nod. It was an awkward show of... respect? But those were exceedingly rare from Sinners, so she was warmed to see it.

Lucifer bit his lower lip. "It will come to me," he told the new guest.

"No, it won't."

Baxter started towards the left side hall. The wheels on his trolley squeaked as he pulled it behind him.

Lucifer huffed out a breath. "Charlie, duckie, looks like we need to reschedule. I'm going to be around forever, but new guests only get one first day. Make the best of it."

"Dad..." Charlie hesitated, feeling torn. But he was right. "Tomorrow. I promise."

---

Week One, Day Six - Heavenly Kirkbride, Heaven, noon:

She walked slowly up the cobblestone path, eyeing the majestic yet welcoming building before her. All about her, angels walked and flew about lazily, enjoying their day. None of them could tell that an angel among them used to be a demon.

Or they could and just didn't care. But Cherri Bomb wasn't counting on that.

Both Emily and Sir Pentious had offered to come with her at least this far, but Cherri Bomb had refused. She didn't need the buddy system in Hell; she definitely didn't need a chaperone in Heaven.

Besides, easier to get cold feet this way.

The building was surrounded by the healthiest, greenest grass divided by polished cobblestone paths and adorned with perfectly trimmed topiary. Trees offered shade, with a combination of dogwood and Japanese maple decorating the grounds with large splashes of pinks.

All leading to a Heavenly postmodern take on the classical Kirkbride - wings swooped out from a golden central tower, dominated by seven-story windows along a curving latticework of silver with golden highlights and flourishes in the form of doves. At the end of each curving wing, a second nearly identical wing began a slight step back. And from them, a third. The six-winged structure was vaguely seraphimic in design, and a sort of stepped crescent moon in footprint. All gleaming with peaceful beauty in the noonday light.

It was all so tranquil and peaceful and healthy that it made Cherri Bomb's bones itch.

"Welcome to the Heavenly Kirkbride!" the small bumblebee angel greeted warmly as the front doors slid open, granting her access to a sunlight-flooded reception foyer. "Heaven's home of healing."

Cherri Bomb stopped in her tracks fighting her gut instinct to call this off and leave the way she came.

"I'm Eustice," the feminine bumblebee mini-angel introduced himself cheerfully. "And I am happy to assist."

"Cherri Bomb," she told him, wondering for the first time if she would have to change her name in Heaven. How many angels were named after weaponry? Would they make her go back to her mortal name? God, she didn't want that. "I have an appointment with Doctor Rogers?"

Eustice blinked. Then his smile somehow brightened. "Cherri, it's wonderful to finally meet you. Congratulations on Winning!"

Right. That's what happened.

"I hope you're enjoying Heaven. As much as you can." A pause. "I'm impressed," Eustice admitted. "Most new angels have more of a reaction the first time they meet a cherub."

That just confused Cherri Bomb. "Why?" It wasn't as if the mini-angel was much smaller than Niffty. Although maybe cherubs were a class of angel rare enough they were not normally seen, like seraphim?

"We're not common outside of Cherub Towne."

Oh. Heaven's imps. Got it. Mentally filed. If she was going to live up here, she probably needed to know that. But honestly, she couldn't care less about angelic hierarchies.

"Anyway, the Carls have their offices on the seventh floor of the first wing," Eustice said. "I can lead you there."

Cherri Bomb nodded.

"The Carls?" Cherri Bomb's singular eyebrow lifted. The bumblebee angel's familiarity suggested Emily wanted the red carpet rolled out for her. "E set me up for special treatment, I take it?"

"Doctor Jung and Doctor Rogers," Eustice explained as he flew down a hallway, pausing for her to follow. "They became friends up here and share a floor."

Okay, she knew about Jung, and he wasn't a therapist. But the bumblebee read her confusion, explaining, "The Heavenly Kirkbride is Heaven's center of psychiatric study as well as therapy. A lot of souls arrive with psychological trauma. The Kirkbride was built to give angels the best possible aid, and we're always striving to be even better."

"And if you mean Emily, no... well, maybe a little. She did personally request Doctor Rogers," Eustice said as they passed by other angels who had stopped to admire an indoor water wall. "But that's just a patient recommending her own therapist, not special treatment from the High Seraphim."

The way Eustice said that so openly shocked Cherri Bomb. I guess this shit doesn't have the stigma it does in the Living World. The Embassy push to offer therapy services made a bit more sense now.

"I heard about you from Molly," Eustice said with a smile. "She's part of my polycule."

Oh!

Eustice laughed. "We just cuddle."

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel, just after noon:

The anglerfish demon was halfway down the hall, his trolley of equipment and luggage in tow, when the lighting dimmed with a reluctant buzz, and the shadow rose up from behind him

"Baxter!" Alastor said with false warmth.

"AAAH!" The jittery angelfish screeched, jumping nearly a foot from fright. Then spun, masking panic with anger. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"So sorry to have startled you," Alastor lied genially as he walked around the tiny man, making him turn. "Didn't get a chance to welcome you back earlier."

He twirled his microphone cane before tossing it to his off hand. He bent, extending his hand downward in an offered handshake. Normally, Alastor would say it was quite a pleasure to meet, even if it wasn't true. But they had already met. "A lab in the Other? What a fascinatingly risky idea."

Baxter looked at the hand like it would bite him. Ah well. Alastor straightened back up. "I never thought I'd see you set foot in this hotel."

Baxter scowled. "I brought my lab with me. As soon as I get to my assigned room, I can set up the door." He drew up as best the little guy could, hiding his anxiety behind arrogance. "Then I can step foot back out."

Baxter skittered past Alastor, dragging his trolley.

Alastor watched with amusement. "Looking for redemption, are we? You do have quite the resume to atone for."

Baxter's pace increased, clearly hoping to speed walk out of the social interaction. "Of course not. There is no redemption for people like us."

And that brought them to the real question. "So, Baxter," Alastor asked. "Why are you here?"

Baxter glanced back at him as he reached his door. "The pursuit of science. Why are you here?"

Alastor gave a jaunty smile. "As I tell everyone: to watch damned souls struggle to find redemption and fail."

Baxter gave him a flat stare. "Ah. A sadist. Boring." The tiny scientist fished out his key. But didn't move to unlock the door. Instead, he kept staring.

"I'm interested in the struggle, but not invested in an outcome one way or the other. Bias compromises the experiment."

Alastor didn't buy it. "Come now. When Carmilla offered up a sacrifice, I'll admit I had a suspicion."

Alastor let that hang. The most fascinating part of this interaction was Baxter himself. In Alastor's experience, people with social anxiety grew more agitated as a conversation continued. Baxter was growing visibly less.

"What does Carmilla Carmine want with my hotel?"

The anglerfish demon rolled his eyes. "I don't work for Carmilla any more," he claimed. "I no longer have any need to be chained."

Now he lifted the key to his door and slid it in. "Besides, we had irreconcilable differences."

Alastor watched as Baxter opened the door to his room, then wheeled his trolley of belongings inside, not bothering to turn on the lights. He had his own. "And what would those be?"

Baxter turned to face him "I'm not going to answer that," the anglerfish scientist said, his originally neurotic demeanor having melted into one of cold calculation. Baxter adjusted his glasses. "You should know."

Baxter closed his door. Alastor let him.

---

Week One, Day Six - Heavenly Kirkbride, Heaven, early afternoon:

"...I joined that fight because it promised to be a fierce scrap. Once in an afterlife chance to take the fight to the fucking angels and draw their blood for a change!" Cherri Bomb announced. "Sure, we were probably going to die, but fuck if we'd make it easy this time. And I wasn't about to let Angie have all the fun alone."

She stopped, staring at the shelves lining the blue wall. Between the books and the stuffed hippo was a little, round mirror. Cherri Bomb stared at the single large eye staring back at her, a familiar stranger. When she was a demon, her pupil had been a giant X. Common among demons, sure, but it had reminded her of Izzy.

That reminder was gone now. The pupil in her eye was a golden star. Like the shade she used to wear over it when she and Angel Dust went out on the town.

Anthony.

Better associations. There weren't many changes to her Heavenly body, save for the halo and wings. Nothing that caused dysphoria. But the eye...

Heavenly bodies were made to be comfortable, she guessed.

Her drip had changed more than she had, and it was just a riff on what she wore before. Just more intact and with more white. It was fine. Sir Pentious had gotten the same treatment. Unlike him, she intended to get something with more black as soon as she figured out where and how.

"That had been the big thing, really," Cherri Bomb admitted. She shifted so she could see the doctor in the reflection. "Getting to fight alongside my friend. For something he really believed in. Enough to put his life on the line for."

Carl Rogers listened. He wasn't taking notes, at least as far as she could tell. But then, angelic memory even of the non-seraphim kind probably meant he didn't have to.

He had invited her to just talk. Whatever she wanted to. This was a Getting to Know Each Other meeting, not an actual therapy session. She hadn't committed to anything.

At the start, she hadn't wanted to talk about anything. Cherri Bomb couldn't begin to trace back how she'd gone from that to what she was venting now. Talking about killing angels in front of an angel? Well, if this cunt was going to "help" her, he needed to know the shit he would be in for. And if it scared him off? All the better to do it now.

"And how has your time in the Hazbin Hotel changed that?" Carl asked. He rarely spoke up, letting her drive the one-sided conversation. She must have gotten under his skin or something.

"It hasn't," Cherri Bomb laughed before his question started to get under her skin and she found herself doubting her answer. Her eye shifted left to right. "I mean, it has, sure. I'm not trying to hold a turf anymore. Not running out and engaging in random acts of chaos. But it's not like I've stopped." She remembers her night of fire with Crymini. "I just... pick fights more selectively now, I guess. Good causes or some shit."

Carl was quiet. Listening without a hint of disapproval. Or approval. Which was annoying, and made her want to explain, if just to get something out of him. "I mean, the cunts I blew up just before getting up here were in severe need of getting blown to bits. We didn't know how sick they were going in, but we did know they had been preying on innocent people. And Crym and I were there to take away the weapons they were using to permanently murder souls."

"Not that I was thinking about that when I let the rocket fly," Cherri Bomb clarified. "But I was thinking about it when we climbed up to the roof."

She turned to stare at him, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "Did I mention I blew up eight people just before coming to Heaven?"

Carl waited for her to say something more. Cherri Bomb waited for him to answer. After a stretch of silence, he finally gave in. "Earlier, when you spoke of the thrill of fighting, you used an interesting word: addiction."

"Yeah." That might have slipped out.

Carl gently asked, "So, I guess my question for you is: is your addiction to violence and chaos something you want to change?"

---

Week One, Day Six - Vees Tower, early afternoon:

Vox frowned as he tossed the arm of the intern into the water. Things were too peaceful. Without the sexy disaster that was Valentino, everything seemed to be unnaturally calm.

The arm brought the sharks. He reached into the bucket and pulled out the intern's stomach and some of his intestines, tossing it to them. Making sure they both had something to go after.

It was nice to take a break from looking over applicants. But the quiet was getting to him.

Even Velvette was off the grid. That never happened. He'd worry Alastor had picked her off too, but another Reacquisition Day hadn't triggered. Was Velvette in danger? Surely not. The doll could handle herself. So what was she up to?

Vox didn't believe for a moment that Velvette was looking for who killed Valentino. Why? He had already figured out who was responsible.

The sharks each chomped onto a different part of the intestine and started fighting each other for it. That brought a smile to Vox's screen.

Now he just had to figure out how to strike at Alastor, fast and hard, without bringing Lucifer or Heaven down on the Vees.

His smile was interrupted by an incoming call. He couldn't tell who it was from, but his personal number wasn't available to just anyone. And this call was from a 777 number. Those didn't exist.

Vox dumped the rest of the intern chum into the shark pool, then turned and flicked the call (and a few droplets of blood) to a nearby screen. He was surprised when a serpentine angel appeared.

Since when did Heaven start making calls?

A closer inspection showed a red sky in the background, and some trees. The only place in Pentagram City to find trees like that was the park in city center. Next to the Heaven Embassy.

"Vox, ssssir? I wassss hoping to have a word with you," the serpent angel said apprehensively.

Vox found it warming to think he made angels nervous. After the last two hundred years, they should be.

"How did you get this number?" Vox asked with measured annoyance. Wait.

He looked closer. This was the angel who did the whole light show the other month. That announcement that the princess's insane redemption scheme worked. Just before Heaven shut the angel's broadcast down by lasering the old Embassy to smoke.

Yes, definitely the same angel. Vox never forgot a face.

"Um... you gave it to me?" the angel said.

"I don't give my number out to angels," Vox replied.

The serpent angel blinked, then leaned forward, making an odd motion with his hands. "When I worked for you?"

Vox stared. "The only angel I've had do work for me had distinctly fewer arms."

"When I wassss a Sinner?" the serpent explained, seeming distraught.

Vox gave him a blank look.

"You had me spy on the hotel."

Raised electronic eyebrow. Not familiar. He must have been really bad at it. "Which hotel?"

"The Hazbin Hotel!" the serpent angel hissed, practically shouting. "Are all Overlords like this? I thought it was just Alastor!"

That got Vox's attention.

"Say that again?" Vox demanded, voice crackling.

The serpent angel cringed back a bit. He steepled his hands together apologetically. "I'm sorry. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong... um... foot. Please let me start over."

What was that about Alastor?

"Mr. Vox, ssssir," the angel began again. "I have a project I would like to work with you on. I am certain it could be very profitable."

Vox put down the bloody bucket. In the background, he could hear his pets feasting. They could use something new to bolster profits while dealing with the loss of Valentino. "Okay. I'm listening. Make your pitch."

---

Week One, Day Six - Nowhere, afternoon?:

Velvette watched Niffty spastically race about, hunting... something with the oversized knife she had found by the cot. The Overlord wasn't entirely sure the something the little gremlin was chasing was even there.

Velvette couldn't tell how long they had been in here. It could have been hours. But it couldn't have been days. She didn't feel any more hungry or thirsty than she did when they arrived. Which she absolutely should, even if it had only been an hour. The Overlord's brow furrowed.

Does time work differently in Nowhere? Or just not at all?

It would explain why Izzi hadn't starved to death in this liminal petrol station.

"You offered Vaggie a wedding dress," Lute spoke up from her place on the cot, pulling Velvette back from the rabbit hole. "Was that you being nice?"

"Hey, I've fucked with that woman a lot," Velvette responded. "I can be nice too."

"Why?" Lute didn't sound like she was buying what Velvette tried to sell her. Fine.

"Keeps her guessing," Velvette smirked. "Nothing messes with you like someone you hate being nice. Plus, good advertising for Velvette's."

Lute was smiling. A nasty little smirk. It said: You're an unabashed bitch, and I love it.

Velvette could have admitted it was also because her favorite model had earned more than a modicum of respect through the whole thing. Lute probably suspected that; Velvette knew Lute felt the same. But why rain on the mood?

From the corner came a long, mad cackle. Niffty was hunched over, tearing at something with the knife. Whittling whatever she thought she had caught.

As long as she doesn't start whittling her fingers. Fuck, where did that thought come from?!

"The longer we stay here, the more gremlin she gets," Velvette observed, feeling a hint of worry. For the gremlin. And for them. Something about Nowhere was like having Valentino's tongue writhing over her brain. "I don't think it's good for her."

You had someone stashed here for three years?

Velvette's brow furrowed. The thought felt accusatory. Not necessarily incorrectly. Lute was Adam's lieutenant. That choice could very well have been hers. But the tone of the thought felt slightly... alien.

"I don't think it's good for any of us."

So how fucking dodgy is it that Six-Degrees-Bee built a lab in this shit? Spent... what did that wrinkled bitch say? Almost a decade in the Other? Explains some things. Maybe that fucker shouldn't be on my bucket list. More like a No Fly list.

Lute looked aside. "No. It's not."

"So when were you going to tell me?" Velvette asked. "Or were you waiting for me to figure out you can't get us back?"

Lute's eyes met hers. "I can get us out."

Angelic ichor doesn't work for this magic.

"We ain't bleeding the bug," Velvette said sternly, her voice almost drowned out by Niffty's burst of laughter. She was beginning to wonder what this place was doing to Lute.

Lute, look at her. Does it look like she has any to spare?

Lute looked over at Niffty. "She'd be willing. I think she'd enjoy it. Niffty likes pain."

And you didn't think I'd be willing to spill blood for you. Even after you shredded yourself protecting me and the gremlin.

It was an unkind assessment. But not an unfair suspicion.

"Bloody Hell." Velvette turned and walked over to where Niffty was hunched. "Fifinella? Can I borrow your pretty knife?"

---

Week One, Day Six - Heavenly Kirkbride, Heaven, afternoon:

"How'd it go?" Eustice asked as Cherri Bomb reappeared in the foyer.

"I don't think this therapy thing is gonna work out," Cherri Bomb said. "I'm not looking to be fixed."

Eustice cringed just a little. "We're not here to try to fix you, Cherri. We're here to help you be the best you that you can be."

Cherri Bomb laughed, "If I'm really up here, I'm already a far better me than I thought I was."

"You... don't think you're really up here?" the bumblebee cherub asked with concern.

Cherri Bomb didn't want to go into that.

"Let me ask you something," she diverted. "Did this place help Adam become the best Adam he could be?"

Ouch. That was a little vicious. And unfair. But not unwarranted, given what the demons of Hell had suffered under Adam and his Exorcists. "No. Adam was the first human soul in Heaven. Psychiatry and therapy weren't even things back then. And no Heaven-born angel had any real concept of the human condition."

Eustice sighed. "Look, I didn't know him. But I know enough to know he was a mess when he got here, and nobody knew how to help him properly. Heaven... we're doing a lot better now. But by the time mortal souls like the Carls started joining us, it was too late by millennia for Adam."

"Besides," Eustice said pointedly, "We can't help anyone who doesn't want to be helped."

That took the angry wind out of the new angel's wings. He heard her mutter under her breath, "...Sinners have to want to come here." She clearly wasn't thinking about Heaven just then. But he could guess the association.

Cherri Bomb took a deep breath. "Okay, look, if ya want t' help, how about helping me find something to do so I don't go out of my mind with boredom in this place."

Eustice brightened. "Oh, no problem. I've got just the thing." He flitted over to a glass terminal wall and tapped at it, bringing up an interface.

"Here you go! Heaven's Help Wanted postings." He flew back to give the new angel a chance to look. "This is where angels post requests for aid."

"There's hardly anything," Cherri Bomb noted immediately. "Is this just for this building?"

"Nope, all of Heaven," Eustice grinned. "You've kind of got to be quick. There are far more angels looking for a chance to help out in Heaven than there are angels who actually need help."

After a pause, he lowered his voice. "Not unlike the Living World, I hear."

He looked over Cherri Bomb's shoulder. "Oooh, a new restaurant opening in the Fallstreak District!" It had posted an hour ago, and already had half their staff requests filled. Could be up and running by the weekend. He'd have to recommend checking it out to his friends.

Cherri Bomb tapped at one of the notices. "This one's been up for two weeks." She read it over. "Band looking for a new guitarist..."

Oh dear. Eustice cringed yet again. "Maybe not that one."

"Why not?" Cherri Bomb grinned, apparently taking that as a challenge. "I can play guitar. I'm not saying I'm a pro, and I'm more Slash than Hendrix, but I'm above garage-band level."

"Oh. Um..." Eustice fretted. His words of caution were not about her level of skill. "The band's been looking a while because no one wants to. They've got a bit of a stigma..."

Cherri Bomb was staring with a raised eyebrow.

Eustice tapped his fingers together. "...considering who their former guitarist was."

He could see in her eye the moment she got it. The way her eye widened. Yet the star of her pupil didn't dilate. One corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smirk.

Cherri Bomb wasn't just a new set of wings fresh from the Living World. She had been a demon. She knew.

...So why did he get the feeling that wasn't the deterrent it should have been?

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel parlor, early evening:

Vaggie sighed softly, enjoying the work of Emily's fingers (and occasionally her teeth) as the seraphim preened her.

Charlie sat in one of the chairs watching, her feet propped up on the coffee table. It was covered in boxes and papers. Games that Charlie had brought out for their first day with the new guest.

Only Baxter hadn't shown. He had disappeared into his room just after noon. They heard a few worrisome hammering sounds. Then nothing. No sign of him all day.

"I'm sure Baxter is just settling in," Charlie said abruptly. "Or maybe taking a nap." She looked to her and Emily for confirmation of her theory. "If he doesn't show by dinner..." She paused. "Has anyone seen Niffty today?"

"Oh. Nope," Emily answered as she brushed aside Vaggie's hair and gave her neck a completely gratuitous nibble.

Vaggie let out a pleased grunt. She was going to marry that woman. Both of these women. Very soon now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a ripping sound, like stripping duct tape. Her eye went wide. She turned to see the wallpaper tearing itself apart along one section of the wall. Followed by the wood beneath splintering, the insulation shredding and falling back into a darkened fissure. A strange, almost feline whine filled the air and light burst from within the darkness.

A flashy, pimped purple motorcycle rode out of the black and into the parlor, knocking over the coffee table as it came to a stop. Charlie jerked her legs back. Games spilled across the floor.

The motorcycle that had invaded the parlor had a sidecar. And Niffty was standing in it, dressed in a gothic lolita dress that Vaggie's younger self might have killed for, cheering. "Again! Again!"

Vaggie's blood turned to cold stone as she took in the two women together on the motorcycle.

FUCKING NO!

"Niffty!" Charlie cried out. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere!" Niffty announced. "I didn't like it. Time felt fucky there, and the things sliding into my thoughts didn't like my cookies."

"Lute?" Emily asked, shocked.

Lute let go of Velvette, getting off the motorcycle. She was sheathed in something approaching a little black dress which flattered her way too much. The sort of gown you would wear to a party for the wealthy and powerful.

"My apologies, High Seraphim," Lute said. "But we needed to come straight here."

A rending, crackling sound filled the air again as the wall began to mend itself.

"What kind of portal is that?" Emily sounded more than a little horrified.

Lute and Velvette.

Velvette shut off the motorcycle and slid off it like a lover. Her upper left arm was wrapped in a dark skirt damp with blood. She moved it slightly gingerly as she pulled off her helmet and smiled overly brightly at her. "Hello, Vagyna!" Then turned to Charlie. "Hello, Princess. Sorry to crash your evening, but we've got a bit of an emergency. One I'm told you're whiteboarding."

Charlie made a strangled squeak. "What are you talking about?"

Lute! With! Velvette!

Velvette told her, "We just pissed off Famine."

"What!?"

"I stabbed her!" Niffty announced cheerfully.

Charlie was reeling. They all were. Everything was chaos, and there was a motorcycle in the parlor. Vaggie nearly tripped over the Janga box as she tried to move closer, spear out.

Dammit! How is Lute running around with Velvette? Her chain shouldn't allow that! Vaggie felt the "why" was easy enough. They were practically a rogues gallery team up. But... wait, did she just say Famine?

Emily asked Niffty pleadingly, "You stabbed someone?"

"Niffty!" Charlie whined with distress.

The tiny woman looked up at her with an innocent alarm, wondering if she did something wrong.

Lute came to Niffty's rescue, growling, "It was Helsa von Eldritch."

Charlie blinked. Her expression flattened as she straightened up. "Good Niffty. Well done."

"Charlie!" Emily scolded while Niffty vibrated happily at the praise.

Vaggie could see it all sinking into Charlie. "Wait, Helsa is Famine?!"

"Black horse and all," Velvette confirmed. "Must admit, I was expecting more Plagues of Egypt and less Christine. But fuck that bloody cunt and the limo she rode in on."

"Helsa and Arackniss are top squares people!" Niffty explained, getting a look of horror from Charlie. She dropped back into her chair.

"Top squares people?" Emily asked, confused.

"Yeah," Velvette said smugly. "Like Victor, Alastor and Niffty's mom."

Charlie buried her head in her hands.

Vaggie growled. "Okay! Enough! Everybody shut up!" Her shout shocked even Velvette into miffed silence. "Now, start at the beginning. Lute, you go first. What the actual fuck?!"

---

Week One, Day Six - Vees Tower, early evening:

Sir Pentious sat in one of the chairs lining the hall. There were several empty chairs between him and the demons who were also waiting. He could feel the stares from every one of them. He had smiled, tried waving and even small talk.

One of the ornate double doors, emblazoned with a V, opened and a thin demon with large glasses stepped out. "Pentious! Vox will see you now." The demon looked over the assorted demons also waiting, many of whom had been there hours longer. "The rest of you: go home. The position has been filled."

A small earthquake worth of dissatisfied and belligerent grumbling washed past Sir Pentious as the demons left in a disorganized mob. Vox's attendant led him into the TV demon's office.

Vox was setting aside a pink folder with the words My Resume written in glitter. The assistant moved to pick up a pile of similar folders (all beige) and began feeding them into a shredder at Vox's instruction. "So, you want to connect Heaven's social media with VTCS," Vox said before looking up at him.

"That would be correct," Sir Pentious said. "We sssshould allow souls in Heaven and Hell to talk to each other over a curated sssubnetwork piggybacking on the Heavenly Projector. Honest and open communication between the realmsss would do a world of good for angels and demons alike. And help prevent anything like the Exterminations from being possssible again."

"Congratulations, Pentious," Vox announced. "You've found me in a good mood." He smirked, his screen briefly distorting. "And I do remember you now. Clearly, you've moved up in the world since your brief employment here."

"Th-thank you, ssssir."

Vox leaned forward. "Granted, the astounding level of abysmal failure you managed on that job does not leave me inclined to assume this will go any better."

That was hardly fair. "I was never an infiltrator," Sir Pentious noted. "I am an inventor."

"Yes, well, I am willing to entertain the idea of this project of yours," Vox said, the words filling Sir Pentious with an eager happiness. "But with some stipulations. If you want to make use of the VoxTek Cell Soul network, not only do I need to see what we will be getting out of it..."

Yes. Yes. Of course he would. Sir Pentious was expecting that. And ready to play to the media Overlord's greed.

"...I also need to have oversight." Vox steepled his fingers. "I want to watch this proceed every step of the way. To make sure it isn't being bungled."

Well that was... a bit degrading, actually. But he supposed it was understandable. Sir Pentious couldn't deny that until the Hazbin Hotel, his afterlife had been a parade of dismal failures. Culminating in that thankfully ill-fated attempt to spy on Charlie.

"That can be arranged," Sir Pentious said cautiously. "Ssssave for the work done in Heaven itself. I cannot bring you to Heaven."

"I'm not asking you to," Vox said. "Just a few camera drones."

Sir Pentious raised a finger, needing to point out that until the project was done, Vox wouldn't be able to use them. The lack of a technological communication network between Heaven and Hell was the very problem he was trying to fix.

Vox listened and clarified. "To be brought online once the connection is made, so I can see how it is being handled on Heaven's end."

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel elevator nook, early evening:

Vaggie rode the elevator next to Charlie. They were only going up one floor, but they wanted the privacy the enclosed space afforded. As far as Vaggie was concerned, if any of the others wanted to follow, it better be at a distance, if they knew what was safe for them.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!" Charlie's fists were balled up at the sides of her head. "I was so careful! How does everybody know about this now?"

Vaggie felt that was a very good question.

"And not just everyone, but one of the Vees?" Charlie moaned. "Alastor's never going to trust me again!"

Alastor's trust didn't strike her as the big loss here. Still, Vaggie reached out and gently took Charlie's upper arm. "I don't think this is on you, babe."

Putting on a supportive smile, she encouraged her love, "Why don't you go ahead to the bedroom and get that whiteboard. We'll do this in one of the private rooms."

I do not want Lute or fucking Velvette in our bedroom!

Charlie nodded, pushing past her own despair to focus on the bullshit at hand. "Right." She paused. "Don't kill Lute or Velvette while I'm gone," she said with a grim smile.

"No promises."

Charlie turned to go, but Vaggie grabbed her. "Hey." When Charlie turned, Vaggie lifted herself on her toes and gave her wife a quick kiss. She could see some of the stress leave Charlie's face.

A moment later, Charlie was on the way to their room and Vaggie was feeling the elevator slow to a stop back on the ground floor.

At least this explains a lot. Vaggie wanted to scream. The two most hateable women in her universe were together, conspiring against her. Again. Worse, Vaggie could sense she was just going to have to be okay with this somehow.

And Niffty! Vaggie couldn't believe the woman had consciously betrayed her. Unlike those other two, Niffty couldn't be acting out of malice. So... what? She was just along for the ride?

Regardless, at least she understood Lute's feigned companionship with the hotel maid. She was using Niffty to put slack in her chain. Vaggie was going to have to talk with Husk.

As the doors slid open, she saw Velvette leaning against the wall of the elevator vestibule, staring at her phone. Her eye locked on the Overlord to the exclusion of all else, tunnel vision rendering her presence in hateful clarity.

"Ah, there's my favorite model. Decided about the dress yet?" Velvette asked with a smile, not even looking up at her. She was sporting new, stylish wrappings on her upper left arm.

Vaggie refrained from getting into that. And from redecorating the hallway with the other woman. "How did you even end up part of this, Velvette?"

Velvette answered, "Little over a month ago, Lute called me up. She was having an existential crisis, convinced she'd been the disposable bitch for the Powers That Fuck Us." Her smug little smile faded. "At the time, I was merely tolerating her. But recent events have me reassessing."

Vaggie's face lost some of her scowl. She remembered how upset Lute had been at the revelations about Lilith. Second only to Charlie. That made sense.

"She wanted someone to help her figure out who those PTFU are," Velvette continued. "I presume the next step would be figuring out how to get a shot at them."

Vaggie asked pointedly, "And she turned to you?"

Velvette's smile returned, a little less with the smug. "Social Media Overlord. To Lute, I'm basically Hell-Google."

"And you humored her out of the goodness of your heart?" Vaggie didn't buy it for a second.

Velvette finally looked up from her phone. "Hey, she wanted an investigator. I wanted a contact inside this hotel. It was a good arrangement."

"So you two are just using each other."

"Is there a problem with that?"

Vaggie crossed her arms over her chest. "Not friends then."

Velvette laughed, turning and walking back towards the parlor. "Girl, that's how friendship works."

Vaggie frowned and bit back a corrective retort. Who would she be standing up for? Lute?

"She's right, you know," Lute said flatly, catching her attention. Vaggie had been so focused on Velvette she hadn't even realized the other ex-Exorcist was there.

And of course they were on the same page regarding friendship. They were both terrible. "Great. You two are perfect for each other!"

---

Week One, Day Six - Bleeding Knife Motel, early evening:

Angel Dust tossed off his covers. He could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. Molly was taking a shower. Wow, the walls really were paper thin.

Husk was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at his hands. Little motes of angelic light danced between them. They dissipated as Angel Dust got out of bed, brushing down his Fat Nuggets sleep shirt which had bunched against his chest fluff. "How ya doing?"

"I'm great," Husk rumbled. In the background, Angel Dust heard the shower cut off. "That's the problem."

Angels brow furrowed. "How's that not good news? After everything you did this morning, I'm happy to see you lively. I half expected a recovery coma."

"So did I," Husk said. "That's the problem. Most of my fatigue was the old fashioned kind. From running and flying around, fighting, the adrenaline and being that alert." He clenched his hands. "I healed Razzle. I Created space. And I don't even have a headache from it."

Angel Dust chuckled nervously. "We're kinda lucky to have anything from that." He was no physicist, but he'd gleaned enough from sci-fi trash to be surprised that collapse didn't go nuclear or something.

Husk shook his head. "It was a narrow channel, maybe a foot wide, directly between myself and the mortar. And it wasn't like the air rushed into a vacuum. When what I was doing imploded, the space itself went away."

The noise from Molly's bathroom sounded like a hair dryer. Except instead of an annoying, high-pitched whine, the sound was beautiful somehow. A Heavenly hair dryer. Probably did miraculous things for her hair. Cherri Bomb was the only woman Angel Dust knew who could come close to matching the volume of Molly's coiffure. She must be loving it up there.

"Makes me wonder if I could make that stable."

Angel Dust's eyebrows raised. "That might be a trick even Lucifer can't do," the spider demon cautioned his friend. "Given the overpopulation, if he could, don't you think he'd have done so already?"

Husk got out of bed, stretching. Angel Dust took a private moment to like how that looked. Hey, just because they were best friends didn't mean he couldn't appreciate! He watched Husk work the soreness out of his wings. "Definitely cashing in Molly's offer of a massage," Husk grumbled.

The winged feline demon turned to Angel Dust. "And frankly, I don't know. Lucifer hasn't exactly been focused or playing with a good hand for quite some time. It may simply not have occurred to him." Or been too hard to keep trying. Or he got distracted. Possibly by a duck design that he cared more about. Husk didn't say those things, but Angel Dust could hear them in his head.

"Plus, the overpopulation problem isn't just about space," Husk reminded him. "It's about resources. There's only so much to go around, and Pride's population just keeps growing. To the point Charlie actually believed the Exterminations were Heaven's solution for population control."

Yeah, that myth had blown up. Emily had been pretty open about Sera's claims of an uprising. Not sure where the former High Seraphim got that idea. Hell couldn't rise against Heaven. They didn't even stand a chance in Hell before Exorcists started leaving their shit behind.

Still, regardless of the motivations behind it, the Exterminations had been keeping the population below the point of Hell's absolute collapse. Now? If something radical didn't change, the shortages were going to start any time now. And Hell would fucking eat itself.

"Or maybe there's something about Hell," Husk suggested. "This place wasn't Created by angels. It was created by sin. Maybe only a Sinner can Create more of it."

The noise stopped. The door between the adjoining rooms opened as Razzle entered, giving Molly privacy to change. He snagged the remote for the television and climbed up onto Husk's bed. After a few increasingly frustrated jabs, Razzle determined the television didn't work and tossed the remote aside.

"I actually feel less clean after that shower," Molly called out through the slightly ajar door. A few moments later, she pushed it open to join them. She was in a new outfit; Molly had packed several.

When they had gotten back to the motel, Angel Dust had recommended just tossing what was left of her old one. But Molly insisted they were Heavenly raiment, and she didn't want to leave Heaven stuff in Hell. It was rags, not angelic steel, but he really couldn't blame her. The history of that had not been good.

Husk held out a hand, summoning an orb of light. Then he seemed to think better of his plan and pulled out his phone. "I'm giving Sera a call." Angel Dust could tell he needed a second opinion from someone who actually knew things about fancy seraphim powers. Angel hoped the first questions would be about how he should be feeling.

Welcome to the Pride Ring, home of the five circles. Used to be nine, but Husk did an oopsie.

Molly held out her arms, posing. "Still decent. Although I've got to say, Hell sure did try."

Angel Dust's phone buzzed, gently reminding him that he had been Crymini-free for over a day. He picked it up, noting that it needed a recharge. The outlet he'd plugged the charger into wasn't working. Yeah, this place was a dump. Probably should have gone to the other one.

"Hello?" he said, hearing a familiar voice. "Vagina! What's up?"

He dodged the pillow Molly threw at him for that, laughing. Vaggie talked, and his smile faded.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel private room, early evening:

Charlie's head hurt.

She was so sure. But if Helsa was Famine, that meant she had made assumptions again. Bad ones. No wonder Alastor was stingy with the praise. She'd fucked up.

"The people in the top squares are all supposed to be Sinners. Sinners empowered by forces within the Other," Charlie told the women gathered in the private room with her. Her wives. Nifty. Lute. And, of all people, Velvette of the Vees.

They were in the room off the parlor with the piano. Keekee was perched on the music desk, her tail slowly swaying, staring down at Niffty who was sitting on the piano bench. Vaggie and Lute were standing, opposite each other. Emily and Velvette had taken chairs, the latter looking too comfortable.

Before her was the whiteboard with all its mistakes. "I thought that four of the top squares were the Horsemen. Alastor's confirmed that the Horsemen are part of this. But Helsa isn't a Sinner. She's a Hellborn abomination." And a cunt. "So if she's Famine, then she's not one of the seven."

Charlie growled at herself. "For that matter, neither of our candidates for Death are Sinners. So I've completely fucked it up, and this whole thing is more complicated than I thought."

"Or maybe Alastor got it wrong," Vaggie offered gruffly.

Charlie shook her head. "I don't think this is something he would risk getting wrong."

Niffty sat, kicking her legs, listening.

Vaggie nodded. "Which is why he hedged his bet." It felt like Vaggie was offering her a rope. But right now, Charlie wasn't sure that was a good idea. She might accidentally hang herself with it.

The former Exorcist asked, "Didn't he say he knew of at least six more, other than himself? And for that matter, didn't he say he knew of them rather than actually knowing them?"

"He..." Charlie paused. That... that was right! "Yes, if I remember correctly." She turned back to the whiteboard, suddenly questioning a lot more of it. "He knew Victor and mom, but if he doesn't know the others, not even the six he knows about... he could be wrong, couldn't he?"

A loud, discordant note tore through the room like a gunshot.

Charlie's heart skipped a beat in the split second it took to realize Keekee had jumped down onto the keyboard.

"I think Alastor sees the structure, such as it is, and extrapolated," Vaggie suggested.

"What structure?" Charlie asked, feeling a little desperate. She had an idea, but she didn't trust it. She was certain her wife was seeing something she wasn't.

"Horsemen and their lieutenants," Vaggie answered. "Alastor knew: Four Horsemen. Each had a lieutenant. Essentially, the Lute to their Adam."

"Or the you to their Charlie," Lute offered to Vaggie.

"Yes," Vaggie agreed. "Or that."

That hit Charlie out of Nowhere.

What? No! Charlie's heart squeezed. She let out a whine of protest. "Vaaaaagie! You're not my lieutenant. We're partners! We're equal."

"No, Charlie. We really aren't." Vaggie sighed. "Partners, yes. But by no means equal."

Charlie couldn't bear to hear Vaggie think that way. She turned to Emily. "Tell her."

Emily's eyes widened a moment as she was lassoed into this. The younger seraphim's look eased as she smiled. "You're equal in my heart!"

Emily was clearly happy with her answer. Charlie felt a little punched in the gut.

Niffty was looking between her and her wives with a worried expression.

Disjointed musical notes cried out for help as Keekee began to walk across the piano's keys.

"Bloody Hell," Velvette grumbled with exasperation.

The social media Overlord pulled out her phone, brought up a picture of the whiteboard and started making edits. "Okay, we rearrange the top row. Not a row of seven, but two rows of four. The Horsemen and their right hands."

Charlie put her marital concerns on pause to listen to the Vee in the room. But she and her wives would have this discussion later!

For now, she reached into a bag she had placed on a console table, drawing out her eraser and dry erase markers. She looked at the whiteboard. "Okay. Alastor did say at least seven. But that would make eight, nine including Alastor. And he should know about all of them." Charlie worked it through. "Why wouldn't he say nine?"

Velvette looked at Vaggie. "I assume you arrived here based on Famine having Arackniss?"

Several notes fought each other as Keekee sat down on several of the keys, staring down with strange fascination. Charlie reminded herself that the cat/Key/hotel had taken her PTSD medicine. Between this and the mouse, Keekee had an odd energy today.

Vaggie nodded. "Charlie figured out that the ones who weren't Horsemen were related to Horsemen. And apparently, Alastor knows someone on the board with a chain to a Horseman. I'm thinking that's another lieutenant."

Keekee started pawing at a higher octave G-sharp. Over and over.

"And what about Alastor? Alastor may be many things, but he ain't a bloody Horseman," Velvette scoffed. "These fuckers ain't invulnerable. But they're not easy. I refuse to believe Val nearly wiped a Horseman with Moneyshot."

Charlie's first partner frowned and turned to her. "I hate to say it... by which I mean I really loathe agreeing with her... but Velvette's right. I just can't believe Alastor is a Horseman. Or a lieutenant. The man can barely stand having someone more powerful than him in the room. He's not going to be somebody else's lapdog."

Charlie winced at the reminder of Alastor's endless feud with her father. She put the markers down. Then picked up Keekee and delivered her to the open arms of Niffty. Keekee looked put out. Niffty looked happy. "So that's not it either. Because Alastor doesn't fit. Which means it's even more complicated."

Charlie closed the fall board over the piano keys.

"Um..." Emily said in a soft voice that was somehow louder than a shout, especially in the new quiet..

Charlie turned to her other wife, eyebrows raised. "Yes, Emily?"

The seraphim seemed to curl in on herself a little, her cheeks and ears golden with an expression of shame, making her freckles seem to shine. Charlie moved to her.

"I've... been keeping a secret," Emily said timidly.

"A secret?" Vaggie questioned. "You?"

Lute echoed Vaggie, but with more sarcasm.

Emily nodded slowly.

"Do you... want to tell us?" Charlie asked. And felt immediately foolish for even asking.

"Yes. And... I'm sorry. I know I'm disappointing Alastor by saying..." Emily paused, her additional eyes opening for a moment. "Just like he said I would."

Vaggie moved next to Emily opposite of her. "That's... okay. Alastor wants Charlie to figure this out, right? If the secret has something to do with..."

"Alastor has a chain!" Emily blurted.

Charlie blinked, stepping back. Then shook her head. "Alastor's an Overlord. He has a lot of..."

"Oh blimey!" Velvette breathed.

Vaggie frowned. "Emily... you mean Alastor is on somebody else's chain?"

Emily looked into Vaggie's eye and nodded. Charlie saw Niffty nodding too.

Charlie felt a shot of hard panic. She spun on Velvette. "DO. NOT. TELL. VOX!" Her demonic aspect flared, eyes turning golden in a sea of angry red. "Do not do anything with this! Do not tell Vox!"

Velvette stared back daringly. The Vee reminded her of how smug Valentino looked when Angel Dust stepped between them.

Emily was between them, the light of her halo crackling. "Charlie, please calm down." The angel turned to Velvette. "Please don't do something stupid."

"The High Seraphim is right," Lute interjected. "Famine is after us. We don't need to create more chaos that she can work with."

Velvette clearly didn't like that, but surprised Charlie by giving Lute's words consideration. "You've got a point. I'll keep Alastor's dirty little secret." Velvette smirked warningly, "Until after Famine's dealt with. Or unless he comes for me or Vox. That happens, all promises are off."

Charlie stepped back, still frowning, her demonic aspect not fading. She hated that. But... "I can work with that."

She turned to Niffty. "Niffty, you knew Alastor has a chain?"

"Yep!" Niffty said helpfully.

Charlie glanced at Velvette, then crouched down and asked the hotel maid who had a blank Contract with Alastor, "Do you know who holds Alastor's chain?"

"Nope!" Niffty said, just as helpfully. From Niffty's arms, Keekee stared at her.

Well, it was worth a try.

Charlie returned, almost begrudgingly, to the whiteboard. "So, where does that leave us?"

Vaggie spoke up. "Well, with this new information, I'm thinking our enigmatic hotelier is under Contract with a Horseman. Which would explain why he has insight into all this even if he doesn't know the others personally." With a thought, she added, "And might explain why he wants you to figure all this out, but won't just tell you this shit. Beyond just being Alastor."

"He's skirting the restrictions of a Contract," Lute surmised.

"You'd know how that feels, wouldn't you?" Vaggie shot.

"Yes," Lute answered flatly. Not a trace of guilt.

Charlie ignored their sniping and considered Vaggie's idea. Alastor working for a Horseman? It was strangely less crazy than most of what she learned tonight. "And his Horseman yanked him out of Hell for his mysterious seven-year disappearance?"

Charlie felt something click.

Alastor is the one I've never met! The person he knows with a chain to a Horseman is himself.

What should that tell her about the man that he told Charlie she has never met him?

Lute spoke up, reminding everyone, "I've known where Lilith was for years. Sera knew the entire time."

Charlie couldn't hold back a sharp look. Lute seemed to ignore it, continuing. "Lucifer and his abomination friend knew where Victor was. These disappearances only seem mysterious and sudden from the outside."

Wait... does Alastor work for mom?! But... no. He said correlation does not mean causation.

Velvette interrupted. "Okay, so what have we got? Horsemen include Lilith and Creepy Missy von Eldritch. Lieutenants include Alastor and Arackniss. I thought the princess had more boxes filled. What am I missing?"

Charlie looked back at the whiteboard and thought. Her mind returned to something Vaggie said earlier.

"I don't think Alastor was guessing," Charlie corrected. "Don't forget about Victor. Four Horsemen, but neither Death nor Famine are Sinners. If the lieutenants all are, that's six. Plus the False Horsemen, Victor, for seven."

"Hey, that's right." Vaggie nodded to Charlie with a smile. "Still assumes each Horseman had a Lieutenant and only one. But that would explain hedging his statement."

Despite everything, a big smile was rising within Charlie. She felt like she had solved a puzzle. Or at least made serious headway. But that sensation faltered. "Wait, wouldn't that mean mom had someone like that who disappeared too?" The princess of Hell shook her head. "If anyone else I knew about had disappeared at the same time as mom, that would have stuck out."

"If she was trying to keep her family and Conquest separate," Emily offered, "Wouldn't she have gone out of her way to make sure you never met or even heard of her right hand demon?"

Oh. That made a sort of painful sense.

In Niffty's arms, Keekee was staring at the closed piano fall board petulantly. Charlie heard Niffty whispering, "The piano isn't part of the hotel, silly. You can't make it open."

"So what about the imps?" Velvette asked. "The whole Union another lieutenant?"

"I think they're her swarm," Lute answered.

"Famine has a swarm?" the Overlord asked. "Is that a Bible-thing too?"

"No," Vaggie answered flatly.

Lute's expression said she understood that literal thinking. God, did she. But she also knew it had failed her. "We're getting a bit in the weeds Biblically..."

Velvette scoffed. "Not like the bloody book's proven all that accurate anyway, right?" She looked at Charlie. "Lilith's not even in the damn thing, last I heard."

"She's not," Emily confirmed a little dourly. "Nothing about Exterminations either."

"So unless there's a passage about Lucifer the Duck Minister I ain't heard about," Velvette said, shooting a look at Vaggie. "Let's explore the weeds."

Lute gave Velvette an appreciative look. Charlie wanted to say something about the Duck Minister quip, but bit back on it.

"I said Famine was described as a merchant determining inflation," Lute explained. "The passage specifically has Famine increasing the cost of wheat and barley, but not oil and wine. Obviously, Famine can choose what resources he... she shorts. But the passage has additional implications. Oil and wine are luxuries, which may mean Famine spares the wealthy."

"Calling bullshit on that," Velvette muttered.

Lute nodded. But she knew another reason the Hebrews might have emphasized that delineation. "Olives and grapes are also deep-rooted crops, unlike wheat and barley - which made them more resilient to plagues of locusts."

"So the implication is that Famine has a swarm of locusts enacting her will." It was Velvette's turn to impress Lute by catching on quick. "And they actually compared themselves to locusts in their little jazz number."

Niffty cheered, "The imp-lication!"

Vaggie made a pained sound. "Niffty, no."

"So what now?" Velvette asked.

Charlie blinked. "What do you mean?"

Velvette stared at her with disbelief. "I mean: what now? We've got Famine trying to ride up our collective arse. And don't think she's just after Lute, Fifi and me..."

"Who?" Charlie asked.

"...Because Helsa cordially invites you to make love with a cactus."

Charlie's expression went flat. Charming.

"Look, I think the biggest takeaway of today is that these fucking Horsemen can be hurt," Velvette said. "And if they can be hurt, I'm betting they can be killed too. I say we go on the offensive!"

"That's... not a good assumption," Vaggie warned. "You shouldn't expect Horsemen of the Apocalypse to be killable. One of them is Death."

"Says the Exorcist," the Overlord shot back.

"Former Exorcist!" Vaggie growled. Charlie could almost see her flash of self-awareness. "But point taken."

"More stabbing!" Niffty cheered supportively.

Charlie felt things were spiraling. "No!"

This was a lot. After years of wondering and worrying about her mother, after over a month of trying to figure out the puzzle... suddenly, she had more answers than she could handle. Not all of them. Not by a long shot. But still too much too quickly to fully process. She needed time before they made any irreversible decisions.

If Helsa allows us time.

She shook her head, taking a breath. "I mean, if they attack us, then yes, we fight. Obviously. But we're not going to start a war with the Horsemen of the Apocalypse." One of whom is supposed to be War.

One of whom is mom!

"I'd say it's already started," Velvette argued.

---

Week One, Day Six - Streets of Imp City, evening:

Vacation was cut short. They were headed home. There was trouble at the hotel.

In the front cabin, Razzle weaved the Morningstar limousine through traffic, heading for the onramp. Traffic was heavier than normal. Imp City had radio stations that weren't Alastor, and one of them reported something about an early morning accident that had messed things up for hours. Apparently, everyone was having a shitty day today.

"When we get back, I'm taking another shower," Molly promised herself. Then promised her brother, "And then I'm going to start teaching you massage."

"How'd you end up learning that anyway?" Anthony asked. "Part of your practice?"

Molly nodded her head. "I learned it from a friend in the Heavenly Kirkbride, but it was really helpful in my former Good Work. A lot of new angels need help relaxing."

Husk rumbled, "Now there's a name that doesn't scream anything good."

Oooh. Yeah. She'd heard that before. "The Heavenly Kirkbride isn't like the ones in the Living World. It is a center for therapy and psychological study for the betterment of everyone's mental health." Molly told him. "In Heaven, Thomas Kirkbride got to build one that truly matched his utopian vision. He's the administrator there."

Husk processed that. "Well, on Earth, they were nightmares of abuse and neglect."

Molly nodded. "I remember." Mentally, she noted that they didn't have Heavenly materials to build with, or even the engineering the Living World did when she was there, so the buildings never lived up to their ideals to begin with. And that was just the beginning of their problems. "But that's because they were overcrowded, underfunded and understaffed."

Molly smiled. "None of that is true in Heaven. Angels get the care they need. I did."

Anthony looked at her with sudden concern.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Molly said, waving two of her hands. "I was kind of a mess when I got to Heaven. It wasn't long after mother, and... I was having issues. I got the help I needed. I met wonderful people there. And it inspired me to start my own practice helping new angels the special way I could. Heaven, that's where I met Emi!"

The conversation was interrupted as a sudden swerve tossed her and Anthony out of their seats. She briefly tasted carpet. Husk moved to help her up while Angel Dust grumbled, "Now what?"

Molly's eyes were drawn forward at the sliding down of the partition window. Razzle glanced back and made a quick pointing motion towards the opposite side.

"Ahh, fuck."

Molly looked the direction her brother was looking. Through the window, she could see the panel truck weaving through lanes to get close again. The emblem on the side read Black Unicorn Shipping Co. The side panel slid away, revealing three imps standing around what looked like a gatling gun.

"Down!" Angel Dust shouted as he threw himself on top of her, crushing her back to the carpet. It wasn't any more tasty the second time.

A metallic staccato ripped along the side of the limo. Bullets punctured small holes in the windows, but the frame was reinforced. This was a royal limo, after all. As long as they kept low...

Razzle jerked the wheel and sent the limo slamming into the panel truck. The mass of the reinforced limo won. The imps were tossed back, the truck careening into the next lane as the driver fought to keep it under control.

We're practically a lead sled, Molly thought.

Anthony didn't keep low. Before the panel truck's driver got his vehicle under control, her brother had opened the sunroof. He stood up, tall enough half his body was outside, all six of his arms producing submachine guns. Four of them tommy's.

Angel Dust returned fire. They never stood a chance.

Tires blown and the side riddled with holes, the panel truck full of dead or dying imps cut sharply into the lane behind them, colliding with a small family car which it sent into the railings. Then bounced back, turning across three lanes.

One imp woman was still alive in the back, trying to keep the blood from escaping through the hole in her stomach. She gasped in terror as she was presented to oncoming traffic, seeing the incoming grill of the garbage truck. Before she could scream, the garbage truck t-boned the panel truck and the pile-up began.

Molly turned away from the window as Angel Dust dropped back in with a victory cheer.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel private room, evening:

Vaggie stared out the window, watching as the motorcycle circled around the statue of Dazzle and turned towards the open gate. Vaggie suspected that she was just making sure the bitch was actually gone.

"Velvette has left the building," she told Charlie once the motorcycle was through the gate. She turned to her wife. "This is going to be a fun talk with Alastor. Want backup?"

Charlie shook her head. "No. This is something I have to do alone."

Vaggie questioned that. But not aloud. Charlie and the Radio Demon had a weird relationship going on that she didn't understand. But it worked for them. And she trusted Charlie.

"We're going to have to tell Husk and Angel Dust when they get back," Vaggie said heavily. Charlie fretted, just like Vaggie knew she would. Hemmed and hawed and tried to find a way not to exacerbate the complete non-secrecy of her investigation into the Horsemen.

What exactly is Alastor getting out of this?

Actually, one look at Charlie told her. He was getting Charlie out of this.

"I'll take care of it," Vaggie said. "That way, at least it's not you spreading it farther yourself. But at this point, people in this hotel have been directly attacked by... Famine. Everyone here needs to be on the same page on this." Or as close as possible with fucking Velvette in the mix.

"Helsa," Charlie practically spat. "What the fuck? There's no way her being Famine is a coincidence. The Morningstars and the von Eldritches are the two most powerful families in Hell, and both their daughters were slated to be Horsemen?"

"Yeah, that sounds really intentional," Vaggie agreed.

Charlie began pacing. "Helsa is Famine and she's attacking my people!" Her voice was becoming more frantic. "Apparently, the end of the world takes a back seat to her being a massive cunt."

Normally, Vaggie would consider that a good thing. But this was her Charlie. And Charlie was growing hysterical.

"On top of all this, dad's sinking into depression again!" Charlie vented, her pace quickening. "I have two new guests who I've barely spent time with, even though they should be my top priority!" Oh boy. "And it's only a month before the wedding!"

Vaggie stepped into her path, making her stop. She reached up, cupping Charlie's face in her hands. "We'll handle it, babe."

Vaggie held her past the point of tension, feeling Charlie start to relax, shaking just a little. "It's a lot, but we've faced a lot before. And we've always handled it. One thing at a time. You're not doing this alone; we're doing this together. And there's more of us now than ever before."

Charlie sighed and nodded, closing her eyes. "You're right, Vaggie." Her eyes shot open. "Wait, has anyone seen Crymini?"

"Not since yesterday morning," Vaggie admitted. "She took off before Angel could pass out the new phones."

"I know she's tough, but it's a lot more dangerous out there tonight than it was last night," Charlie said. "I probably shouldn't worry. But..."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," Vaggie said. "If Crymini isn't back tomorrow morning, we'll have Emily orb for her."

"Y-yeah. Okay." Charlie looked around. Then up towards the radio tower. "One thing at a time."

---

Week One, Day Six - Heaven, evening:

"Tell us a bit about yourself."

Okay, the drummer was hot. Like the perfect union of a sable, a bear and a sexy firefighters calendar.

Actually, everyone in Heaven was hot. Even the bumblebee cherub had his own androgynous thing going. Not her style, but she knew there would be appeal. The drummer? Her style.

She watched the lager pour from the tap into the mug. The drummer, Mikhel, passed it to her as the foam began to run down the sides of the glass.

"Fuck yes," Cherri Bomb grinned as she took the mug. Frosted too, just pulled from an ice cloud. Cold enough to almost make her fingers ache holding it, but only almost and in a good way. "I was beginning to worry all ya cunts had up here was wine."

"Hells naw," Jaz laughed. The keyboardist, Jasmine - Jaz for short - was an angelfish angel whose scales matched Cherri's Heavenly raiment. "We got all the best stuff up here. Just need to know what to ask for." She hooked a thumb toward the center of the city. "Requisitions in the Courthouse can get you literally anything. Well, base materials and ingredients. And Mikhel is a saint of a brewer!"

There was hope for a good beer and a barbie up here after all.

"So, guitar and vocals, huh?" The base guitarist was a wisp of a man with wings on his head - coatl maybe? - who called himself Razor. The name alone made Cherri Bomb feel more at home than she had anyplace else in Heaven. "I'd like to hear you play. Got an axe with you?"

"Pfft! It's Heaven. Who can't sing, right?" Cherri Bomb suppressed a grin. "But no. Didn't arrive with one at the Golden Gates, and I'm not sure where to shop here." That got some exchanged looks. "Fuck, I don't even have a pad set up yet. Crashing with a friend while E sets something up."

Apparently, the "hotel" that Charlie and Vaggie once stayed at was temporary housing for newly arrived souls. But Penty wouldn't have it.

"Besides," Cherri challenged, "Shouldn't I hear your sound first?" They were looking nervous now.

"When did you arrive?" Jaz asked.

"Four days ago."

Another set of looks. Mikhel broke the awkward. "So... Just so you know, we're looking for a new guitarist because our old one..."

"Was Adam," Cherri Bomb said with a grin. "A misogynistic, genocidal piece of shit who got offed by the devil's daughter's maid."

They were only verbal bombs, but she enjoyed dropping them anyway. "Yeah, cunts, I know."

She had their attention.

"So you know the band..." Jaz began.

"Has a bit of a stigma?" Cherri Bomb jumped to finish that sentence. "Yeah. Don't care. Actually, I do."

Razor looked suspicious. Jaz looked pained. Mikhel looked like he'd just wasted good beer. They'd been burned before. Probably had a few angels sign up just for the chance to give this lot a piece of their minds. Cherri Bomb didn't blame 'em. "Still want to join."

"Why?"

"Ya know what Adam was doing. How he got killed. And what he was fighting to crush: a place in Hell attempting to help Sinners find redemption." Cherri saw a few guarded nods. "Well, meet one of the successes."

She let them gasp and murmur and question for a few seconds. "That's right, cunts. Four days ago, I was a demon."

Razor spit out, "Okay, seriously, why the fuck would a... one of..."

"The word you're looking for is Sinner."

"Why would a Sinner want to join the band Adam used to headline?" Razor shook his head. "If you're really an ex-demon..."

"I am."

"...I'd expect... I don't know..."

"Something violent?" Cherri Bomb suggested. Razor fell silent. The idea of violence in Heaven wasn't as unthinkable as it was a couple months ago, but it was uncomfortable enough that it drew reactions from these angels that Cherri Bomb knew she wouldn't get from Exorcists.

Cherri Bomb put down her beer and walked forward between them. "I got up here because I worked to become a better person than I was, but I was by no means a good one. I died trying to save someone after turning her abusers into bloody pasta. I am seriously questioning how the fuck I got up here."

They asked for a bit about yourself. They were gonna get it!

"But I'm not gonna spend my time up here worrying I'm gonna be sent back. Because I've seen the shit angels can do and remain in the sky. Are the Elders Above such hypocritical fucks that They would even glance my way after Adam? If so, come at me."

Cherri Bomb laughed.

"I'm here. And I'm not looking to fix myself!" the new angel insisted. "I want to be a better person, but not a different one."

She looked around the room. If she had their attention before, they were fucking spellbound now.

"None of you were Exorcists. You weren't part of the shit. Didn't even know about it."

Cherri Bomb's eye widened as she watched the band members reactions. That set of shared looks was different. That wasn't just apprehension. If she wasn't mistaken, that was guilt. They knew!

Of course they knew. Did I really think Adam could avoid bragging to his own band?

"Or you did." Cherri Bomb felt a darkness crawl into her mind, full of sharp daggers.

Great. Band Genocide.

Slow down. Even if they condoned it - and she didn't know they did - that wasn't the same as actually exterminating souls. Or signing the golden page that made it happen.

She could almost hear Charlie urging her to give them a chance to be better.

Fuck, she had a few territorial genocides under her belt. Nobody who didn't come back, sure. But it was enough to put those mental knives away. She'd figure out if this changed anything later.

"You're the first cunts in Heaven that somebody tried to warn me against."

Like you're bad influences.

"Either way, you did know Adam, and he was a garbage fire. Reckon you can handle an angel who's maybe still a little demonic," Cherri Bomb said.

"So, about your sound," Cherri Bomb prompted.

The trio were silent for a while. Hesitantly, the drummer broke that silence.

"We're actually considering changing our sound," Mikhel said. "Name too, frankly. Want to shed the old image, but we still want to play together."

Razor nodded, "Adam was a dick, but he brought the crowds. Rest of us? We don't want to break up just because Adam was a monster. I know it's going to suck; no one wants to hear us anymore."

A broad grin stretched across the new angel's face. "Then fight for it!" Cherri Bomb said eagerly. "Fuck, what better way than to replace Adam with an ex-demon?" She laughed again. "Hell, I've even got a suggestion for a new band name."

"Lay it on us," Razor said.

Cherri Bomb did. "Stigma."

---

Week One, Day Six - Black Unicorn Depot, Imp City, late evening:

On the screen, the Morningstar limo raced towards the end of the road and vanished from the edge of the city, the air rippling and imploding to fill the space.

"We're just letting the fuckers go, boss?" Edjer asked. "We lost a lot of..."

Arackniss cut him off. "She is already recruiting replacements." Famine liked to keep Union personnel at her favorite number. Two hundred and sixteen thousand was a very special number to Her. She was not going to lose it over a family squabble. Especially not when She could replace them so easily.

"Let them go. We've confirmed who they are and seen what they're capable of." Arackniss wasn't so happy about losing people. Imps don't come back. But sometimes that was just the cost of business. And as personal as this was, it was still business. Family business.

The Hand of Famine looked over images collected from the fight. He paused on the image of the dragon. That wasn't entirely a surprise. He knew Lucifer Created the little goat-dragon things from the design Baxter gifted him, and he knew where Baxter had obtained his samples for that design. The only true revelation was that the homunculus could take that form of his own volition.

Arackniss moved to the next image and paused again. No, you are the real unforeseen element. All eight of his eyes opened as he looked at several key images of the winged cat-demon. In each, wielding power incongruous with what he appeared to be. Arackniss lingered on the image of the demon Creating space.

Molly shows up in Hell as an angel, and she's still just window dressing to whatever this guy is.

Arackniss left the images, turning back to Edjer. "They'll come to me when I want them to." A tight smile etched across the dark spider-demon's face. "I have something they're starving for."

Edjer nodded. "Yes, sir."

Speaking of...

Arackniss waved them all back about their work. Then scuttled off to his office, locking the door behind him. He dropped into his chair, turned away from his desk, and pulled out a cigarette and his phone. Lit the first while he pulled up a number on the second. Took a long drag that turned half the cigarette to ash while listening to the rings.

"Johnny?" the sweet old voice on the other end asked. "That you?"

Arackniss breathed out the smoke, long and slow.

"Hello, mom," Arackness said, forgiving the use of his dead name. He always forgave her for that. "I was thinking about family today. Wanted to hear your voice..."

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel private room, late evening:

Charlie directed Lute once again into one of the private rooms off the parlor. She paused when she saw the oil painting on the wall of this one. Her mother, radiating a combination of love and stately power, with Charlie on her lap. She had vague memories of sitting still for that painting. And her mother cleaning pudding off her face before pulling her up onto her lap.

"Is this about me and Velvette?" Lute asked, bracing herself.

"No," Charlie said, then corrected. "Yes? Well, sort of. But not about you spending time with her." Charlie waved her hands.

It probably should be about that. And about Lute using Niffty as a loophole to her Contract with Husk. Charlie felt pained and worried about how this might hurt Vaggie. She was annoyed that something so ironclad had been thwarted so easily. Yet...

"It really is good to see you making friends. I mean, I really wish it was somebody other than Velvette. But that's not my choice. That's yours." She smiled, putting as positive a light on the situation as possible. "And the fact you had to do it the way you did reflects just as badly on us."

The Hazbin Hotel needed to be a place of rehabilitation and redemption, not a prison. Charlie wanted to say Lute could have just come to them. But the truth was, they wouldn't have been open to her spending time with one of the Vees. "I want you to feel like you can come to me about things. And if you want to spend time with Velvette... I just wish you'd let us know."

"Because you don't trust me, or because you don't trust her?" Lute asked, eyes narrowed.

"Should we?" Charlie challenged gently.

Nothing she just professed changed how Lute had violated what little trust they had given her. And today was the first time she had seen one of the Vees not being openly hostile to her people.

Lute stared at her a moment, a hard glint slowly dissolving behind her eyes. "I won't apologize."

"That's fine," Charlie said. For now, they just needed to be on neutral ground. She pressed on. "Lute, I want to know what you've been looking into with Velvette."

Husk's voice rang in Charlie's mind: Guys... Charlie... I think we need to listen to Lute.

"Why?" the fallen angel asked guardedly.

Charlie sighed. "Because I want to know what you see that I don't." Her words clearly surprised the woman. "You have consistently seen things the rest of us have missed."

"Yeah, well..." Lute put her hand to her forehead. Charlie couldn't tell if she was thankful or annoyed to have her input valued. "My perspective is mostly thanks to a religious upbringing, and pretty much everything I was taught is wrong. So..."

"You've proven insightful anyway." Even if almost everything Lute was taught was propaganda and human mythology only loosely connected to the truth, it was clear to Charlie that the fallen Exorcist held more scattered pieces of truth than they did. Not even Emily could connect things like Lute did. "I need that. We all do."

Lute stared at Charlie silently. Charlie guessed she was trying to process that. It had to be hard for her. When they first met, they were on opposite sides of a table, and Charlie was nothing, without value.

How does that feel? To know how little you matter?

Charlie didn't believe Lute felt that way at all anymore. If anything, Lute now seemed to believe she didn't matter herself. And didn't expect the rest of them to value her either.

You matter, Lute. We all do. And I want to hear what you have to say.

Lute's narrowed eyes widened a little, then closed. "I'm trying to figure out who the Adversary is."

Who? "Which one?"

Lute grumbled. "The Adversary," she emphasized. "The Bible makes it clear that God has one. My church taught me it was your dad... but that's clearly stupid." Lute's golden eyes shifted and under her breath, she muttered, "Taught me Lucifer and Satan were the same person too."

"Oh." Yeah, Charlie had heard that confusion from Sinners before. Always awkward. "Uh... yeah, that's not..."

"No shit, Charlie." Lute rolled her eyes and waved a hand. "The Adversary of God isn't a short, cute, duck-obsessed doofus pathetically struggling to be a good father."

Charlie frowned. That was... a description of her father. And it was... wait, Lute found her dad cute?!

"But if there is a Final Game, and the sides are the Throne and some opposite of the Throne from the depths of the Other where Evil comes from? That sounds like the Adversary to me."

The Root.

"I was right to believe in you," Charlie smiled brightly. All this time, while she'd been trying to fill all the top squares, Lute was on a personal quest to uncover the big mystery at the bottom. "So.. have you... found anything?"

Lute shook her head. "Not yet. Velvette's got magical algorithms searching, but the Adversary is a paragon of deception. It's practically made your dad Its scapegoat in the Living World. You would think being down here, closer to the source, there'd be more legitimate information, but..."

Lute paused and sighed. "Power from the Other allowed Famine to hide her identity from Velvette's investigation despite the von Eldritch family being a known quantity down here. The Adversary might be right under our fucking noses, and we wouldn't have a clue."

That was deeply worrisome.

"Sorry I couldn't be more useful," Lute said.

"You have been," Charlie assured her. With a smile and a fist, she announced. "And we're not giving up, are we, Lute? No, we're not. We're working together on this now."

Lute's eyes looked from her smile to her fist to her eyes. Incredulous. Then resigned. The fallen angel shut her eyes, a small smirk lighting up her face. "Welcome to Project Impossible."

Lute reached out, offering Charlie her hand.

Charlie stared at that hand a moment, struck by how much she had hoped for a gesture like this in her first meeting with Adam. And how much she didn't get it.

But she was getting it now. Lute was here, being part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Offering to work together.

Charlie took Lute's hand firmly and shook it.

---

Week One, Day Six - Porn Studio, Vees Tower, late evening:

"...Ugh. All of this is trash. Seriously, Valentino was the Overlord of Porn, and this is the best he could come up with?" A feminine grunt of disbelief followed. "Did he not realize he was in Hell?"

Velvette strode into the Vees Tower porn studio. The basic reconstruction had been completed, but there was scaffolding everywhere and most surfaces were stripped. A post-Valentino remodel.

"Vox, we need to..."

Velvette approached Vox, who was sitting in Valentino's old director's chair, watching a pink feline demon tear through Valentino's scripts like a rabid weasel. "First thing: all of Valentino's writers need to be fired. We can do better."

"Done," Vox stated, sounding morbidly amused.

"...What's this?" Velvette asked.

"Valentino's replacement," Vox said. At the widening of Velvette's eyes and the scowl growing on her face, he charmed, "Not as one of the Vees, Velvette dear. At least not yet. Just as the new CEO of Valentino's porn empire." Vox's screen flickered as his expression changed to a scowl. "Somebody needs to take the reins before Asmodeus' little invasion guts it."

The feline demon swooped over to Velvette on tiny wings, a third eye opening on her forehead. "You're the social media Overlord, right? Have you heard about this website?" The pink thing held up a Voxtek cell phone with her little fanfic project on display.

"Velvette," she frowned. "And I've heard of it, yes." She turned to Vox. "Who...?"

"Great! I'm texting you a list of authors. I need to know who they are so I can set up meetings. They're going to be my new writing staff!" The feline danced over to Vox. "And I need a meeting with Missi Zella."

"Good to see you back from your little vacation. Velvette, meet Emberlynn Pinkle." Vox smiled at Velvette, then took on a stoic expression, raising an electronic eyebrow at Emberlynn. "Zeezi is an Overlord. She isn't going to star in porn."

"Oh, I know! But she runs Klub Kaiju, and I'm sure she knows demons who would be interested!" The cat was grinning in a way that made Velvette uncomfortable. "The macrophile and size queen markets are really underfed!"

Velvette scowled as the pink winged feline swooped back to Valentino's desk. "Of all the applicants, she was the best?" she deadpanned. "Seriously?"

Vox returned a frown. "By far. She has special qualifications. And frankly, she was the only one who seemed... creative. Now, did you see the curve I sent you?" His eyes caught her arm, widening. "You're injured!"

"I'm fine," Velvette insisted. Then nodded. "Yes. We really need to talk. Someplace private." She turned and bade Vox to follow.

"Should I assume this has something to do with your new playmates?" Vox asked, dropping his voice. At Velvette's nod, Vox stood. "You'll have to excuse me, Miss Pinkle. I have business to attend elsewhere. Just make a list of what you'll need."

He turned and followed. As they reached the door, Velvette stopped. "What did you mean, not yet?"

Vox smirked. "She's a Dealmaker."

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel, night:

"...I've got the legs, babe!" Angel Dust said as Razzle popped the limo's trunk. He turned to look up at the Hazbin Hotel. "Home sweet hotel."

Molly giggled, putting a devastating extra sway in her walk. "I've got the hips and the thighs!"

Angel Dust gave his four-legged sister a playful frown. "You've got an unfair advantage."

Razzle flew out of the limo, fobbing the driver's window up while Husk got the luggage. After the early morning events, he was comfortable using seraphim magic to just levitate the lot. It was either that or find a luggage cart. Only a tenth of it was his. The spider siblings overpacked.

"And yet, you have the legs," Molly noted. Then teased, shifting her top. "Now, when it comes to bust...!"

"Oooh you dare!" Despite Molly being quite buxom, Angel Dust was ready to challenge that.

"He also has the neck," Husk rumbled before this little sibling contest could get too one-sided. The spiders turned to look at him in surprise and an unspoken cry for an explanation. Husk shrugged. "Plunging necklines are an invitation to look down, but I prefer looking up. Nothing more alluring than a long, slender, graceful neckline. Angel's got it."

Angel Dust's eyes gleamed. He was touched. Molly fanned herself. "Whoo! This one's a keeper, Anthony!"

Their conversation was cut short by an unexpected screech from a Niffty-sized anglerfish demon in a dark gray lab coat and thick glasses. He was glaring, eyes shifting between Razzle and the statue of Dazzle.

"YOU SPLIT THE SET!?"

---

Week One, Day Six - Alastor's radio tower, night:

Once more, Alastor turned off the ON AIR sign. Charlie was waiting for him again. Patiently. She had arrived shortly into his broadcast, standing outside the door to his tower. Not entering this time. An extra show of respect. Or perhaps trepidation was making her more cautious this time. Either way, this was becoming a habit. But one he approved of.

He got up from his chair, did one last check, then went down the hatch. He took a moment to brush the cowlick of his hair and make sure his lapel was straight. Then pulled open the door to the hotel proper.

"Charlie," Alastor said with a broad smile and charismatically warm tone. "What brings you to my radio tower? Did you have a request?"

There was apprehension in her posture. She looked abashed before she had even spoken a word. Trepidation it was, then.

"Weeeeell, I've got good news, and I've got bad news." Charlie tapped her fingers together.

Alastor schooled himself from squinting. Kept the static from rising too much. He wasn't going to like this.

"The good news is, I've figured out a whole lot more of the puzzle you've given me," Charlie stated, her words coming out a little too quickly. "Not everything, but a lot."

Well, that was promising. It would surprise him if they were due another visit to her bedroom already, but stranger things had happened. Stranger things were, in fact, happening as they spoke. And it seemed their Hazbin Hotel had become a focal point for it.

"The bad news is: so have a lot of other people."

A lot were two words he did not like to hear associated with this. Not in the slightest. He knew it was a risk to rely on Charlie's discretion. He had kept some cards close to his chest. But she'd had that talk with Lucifer in front of practically everybody, including people who were not part of the hotel. It had only been a matter of time.

"Of whom might you be referring, Charlie?" Alastor asked in a tone of cultivated politeness. "And how did that happen?"

"Well..." Charlie hemmed. "You told me to bring Emily and Vaggie into this."

Alastor had guessed from the lack of recriminations from Charlie's first girlfriend that Charlie had made effort to protect them as much as she could, drawing them in as little as possible to seek the information she needed. He had been impressed. But it looked like those efforts had fallen apart on the poor deer. Charlie's look told volumes. They are definitely into it now.

"Plus..." Charlie spoke tentatively, "It turns out Lute has been looking into the Horsemen too, along with Niffty..."

"Ah!" Alastor's smile shifted towards a smirk. He had a genuine fondness for Niffty. Her recent camaraderie with the newer Exorcist angel to the hotel had not escaped his notice. "Yes, they have formed quite a peculiar friendship, haven't they?"

"...and Velvette."

A sudden, sharp radio whine and pop, loud as thunder.

The hallway lights flickered and went out. The radio station behind him plunged into darkness save for a faint reddish glow from lights on the console in the room above.

He could still see Charlie. She was bathed in the green light radiating from his person. Charlie gulped hard, her face falling.

Still, he kept his tone calm and even, almost conversational. "And what is it that these people think they know?"

Charlie took a moment, eyes darting. But she stood firm. "The Horsemen of the Apocalypse are doing things," she said vaguely. A disappointing start, but one she quickly corrected. "Shortly after the Extermination seven years and eight months ago, the Horsemen sequestered themselves along with their... lieutenants is the word Vaggie suggested."

An interesting choice, but largely fair.

"My mother is one of the Horsemen," Charlie continued. "So is Helsa von Eldritch."

Alastor's eyebrows raised. He tilted his head with a crackle of radio static.

The von Eldritch daughter? He hadn't known that.

"And you are one of the lieutenants. The person you said I've never met is you. Because I've never met a free Radio Demon." The lights in the hallway flickered again, sporadically and out of sequence. Then fell back into darkness. "You made a Deal with a Horseman, either War or Death. I don't suppose you'll tell me which one?"

Oh she was a very clever deer indeed.

The lights came back. The green light bathing her shifted to red, then faded altogether.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Charlie," Alastor told her. "And by now, you've guessed why."

"That's okay. I'm pretty sure I know," Charlie replied evenly. She had lost that trepidation radiating off her earlier. "You gave me that book for a reason."

"I must say, I'm proud of you." His voice was soft, somewhat fatherly, and almost completely free of its usual radio distortion. It crept back in with his next words. Before she could look too pleased, he added, "Despite the failure to keep this within a tighter circle."

Charlie's smile faded, but not entirely. She knew she had done well, but she should do better.

"I'll take care of Velvette myself."

"No!" Charlie's reaction was abrupt and quite unexpected. "I'll handle Velvette. She's not going to tell Vox. Or anyone."

Alastor's eyes narrowed. The sound of radio static began to build. He had things to say, but Charlie cut him off before he could open his mouth.

"Right now, she's holding onto that for insurance. You don't mess with the Vees, Velvette keeps your secret." Charlie told him.

No. I'm afraid that doesn't work for me. Sorry, Charlie.

Alastor started to walk past her. "Well, we shall..."

"I wasn't done!" Charlie moved to block him. "She's the social media Overlord, Alastor! If she wanted, everybody would know already. She has a hundred ways to make that happen, even if you took her down first. Let me handle this."

Alastor felt conflicted. There was a level of impudence here he did not like. Yet was this not the strength he knew and valued. Was this not what he was molding her to be? He should allow her to try this. To show her there was still trust. And when she failed, it would be a good lesson.

"All right then, Charlie," Alastor said finally. "I will entrust this to you." He lowered his voice a little. "Please don't disappoint."

Charlie swallowed again but nodded firmly. He pointed and she stepped aside, allowing him out into the hallway. The door to the radio tower closed behind him. From wherever she was, Keekee was paying attention.

"So, what is your next move?" Alastor asked casually as he walked with her down the hallway.

"I need to figure out how to stop the Apocalypse. Or at least keep as many people safe as possible. Not just here in the Hotel." Charlie worked it through as they walked, each word seeming to put her on more solid ground. "The souls in Hell are my people. And I'm about to get married to the High Seraphim, so I think the souls in Heaven are kinda my people too."

Well now. That is unexpected. And quite interesting.

"Mom's still in hiding, but Helsa is very active." Charlie's voice had a slight growl to it when she said the name. "And if I'm right about what you can't tell me, then that means neither War nor their lieutenant have even entered the picture yet."

Alastor fell back a little, watching Charlie Morningstar.

Closer than you know.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel parlor, night:

Night had settled in. Most everyone was gathered in the parlor. Almost like old times. Except there was a heavy cloud of apprehension hanging over everything. So... just like old times.

"Niffty," Vaggie called, getting the small woman's attention. "What have we learned today?"

The hotel maid looked up from playing with Keekee, and the cat used the opportunity to escape. Niffty only thought for a moment before answering. "Love Potion is bad. Really bad. I didn't know." Then added, "I need to be nicer to Lute."

Yes, that's the lesson I was hoping for, Vaggie thought sarcastically. What else did she really expect?

Eager to be helpful, Niffty added, "Oh, and Lute rode the Princess!"

Come again? Okay, there was absolutely no way that meant what it sounded like. "What?" Was Niffty fucking with her? "How?"

"Naked!" Niffty answered. Then non-sequitured, "Helsa's blood has bugs in it."

Auuuugh, I didn't want to hear that. Either of those things. Any of these things! For my mental health, I'm going to pretend this whole conversation didn't happen.

Husk started. "Bugs?"

Vaggie groaned. No, don't drag this out. But Niffty was nodding, meaning the conversation was being kept from its merciful death.

Angel Dust looked up from the couch he was sharing with his angelic twin sister. "What?"

Husk pinched the bridge of his nose. "The imps that attacked us. They did too. I saw the blood of one splatter on a wall. It looked like drops of it were crawling away."

Vaggie felt repulsed. But kept quiet. Molly made enough eww sounds for both of them, shaking her head and stomping lightly.

There was a brief discussion between Husk and Angel about what that could mean, but neither had any idea. It was just gross.

"Arackniss," Molly said softly when the room had grown quiet again. "Do you really think it's Jonathan?"

"I don't know," Angel Dust said, turning to her. "I'd like to think, if we found Johnny, he wouldn't be shooting mortars at us." He frowned. "But then, that kinda tracks."

Husk asked, "Not a good sibling relationship, I take it? Unlike the two of you?"

Angel Dust counted on his fingers, "I was younger, taller, better looking, better at the work... oh, and fruity. His word, not mine."

"I was a snoop and a troublemaker," Molly piped up. "When I wasn't just wallpaper." She sighed. "Girls had no place in the family business. I was essentially decoration for dad until he could marry me off to someone he wanted ties to." The spider angel exchanged looks with her spider demon brother. "Jonathan only paid attention to me when I accidentally got him in trouble."

Vaggie frowned. There was more to Angel Dust's sister than just Poly Molly. Vaggie had dealt with institutionalized misogyny in the Exorcists. She knew what it was like to be psychologically dependent on a man who treated women as sex objects.

"Kinda your fault for walking in on us disposin' of a body," Angel Dust noted.

Molly gasped in protest, "How was that my fault!?"

Husk shook his head. "Wow, your family was something." Vaggie could tell he was getting a similar new look at Angel Dust.

"Told ya sex isn't the only thing I'm good at," Angel Dust smirked at him. "Those other skills don't come from nowhere."

---

Week One, Day Six - Carmine Residence, night:

The balcony was dark. The lights from inside held a beaconing warmth. Carmilla looked down and back, watching her daughters through the family room window. Odette was going over paperwork. Clara was using her phone to help check the numbers against inventory.

Carmilla Carmine was not alone.

"Rumor tells that the peculiar Baxter hath checked into the hotel of Hell's Princess," Zestial said conversationally between sips of his tea. "This was thy doing, was it not? What manner of endeavor hast thou set him to this time?"

Carmilla's glance told Zestial she knew he was fishing. The smallest curve of a smile told him she did not mind. "Baxter is free of his Contract with me. He does as he chooses."

Zestial gazed at the woman. A dance, not a denial. Both statements could be true yet neither truly answered his questions. Zestial believed she was honest with him. So it was curious how much was not said.

He turned to look out over Pentagram City, enjoying the view from Carmilla's balcony, despite having one better at his own abode. "Ah yes. Wouldst be difficult to forget the show." The stage had been set. The actors all knew their lines. It could have benefitted from a musical number. "T'was the intention, was it not?"

The performance was impeccable. It was the premise that confounded him with its absurdity. One such as they did not simply let a formidable asset go because he asked. And should they for greater reason, it would not be in a public spectacle, practically announcing to one's rivals that he was on the market. Unless...

"Thou couldst have chosen any of your Contracts," Zestial pointed out, his gaze forward. "If the procedure is as dangerous as the angel Emily wouldst have us believe, why wouldst thou risk one of thine most valuable souls? Unless thou desired the Overlords to know irrefutably of the separation?"

The Overlords. His eyes found the lights of the Hazbin Hotel on the far side of the city. Or perhaps just one.

"I had Baxter in my employ and under my Contract, but I never truly owned him," Carmilla told him. "I would rather we part on amicable terms."

Had. Past tense. Part. Future tense. "So it is a Favor then," Zestial surmised.

Carmilla's eyes narrowed at him briefly. Then she sighed. She turned and leaned forward on the balcony railing, her eyes finding the same light that his own had.

"They don't know what they're doing," Carmilla said bluntly. "They have no idea what gets a soul into Heaven. They've had two successes, and they were completely surprised both times."

Zestial raised his lack of eyebrows. This was unexpected.

Carmilla's gaze shifted upwards. Towards the distant light of Heaven. "My sources tell me there are angels above Emily. If the promise of redemption is a scam, it is being perpetrated by one of Them. If it is not?"

The widow Carmine turned to him. "There is more to Baxter than meets the eye. He is a genius. If redemption is happening, there is no better soul to figure out how."

Zestial stared into her eyes. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. "Why wouldst thou care? There is no Heaven for the likes of thee. No more than I."

Carmilla laughed bitterly and briefly. "No, there is not."

Her voice grew heavy. "But they deserve Heaven." There was a tremble in the woman's voice. "And if there really is a way, I want to give it to them. But I need to know there's truly a way first."

Zestial did not need to ask whomst she spoke of.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel second floor hallway, night:

Charlie leaned against the wall beneath one of the hallway lights. She stared down at her phone, scrolling through her saved numbers until she reached the image of the yellow rubber duck: Dad.

Today was supposed to be a day spent together with him. Trying to help pull away the blanket of sadness that fell over him with the realizations about mom.

He'd stopped wearing his wedding ring. She knew it was right for him to do so. Especially after learning mom had been sleeping with Sera of all people.

Sera wasn't the woman she had been for thousands of years. She was changing; Charlie would even say she was becoming a better person. Sera truly regretted what she had done. And Charlie understood Sera's actions had been tragically wrong, not malicious. But it was still hard to forgive. She wondered if she should carry a card that said SERA on it.

Charlie's expression etched into a scowl. Mom had been with Sera while the Exterminations were going on. Mom had been the one to agree to them in the first place. She felt a flash of anger towards her dad for not telling her, for letting her blame him for allowing the yearly genocide.

And it seemed there was a lot that her dad wasn't telling her.

Charlie dialed and listened to the phone ring. And mourned the day with her dad that today was supposed to have been.

She began to worry on the sixth ring.

Lucifer answered on the eighth. "Char Char! How's it going?" Well, at least it wasn't Hey, bitch! this time.

"Hey, dad," Charlie began. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she heard him say. His smile sounded forced. "Just... catching up on some old shows. Did you know Yes, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? got renewed for a tenth season?"

"No, I..." Charlie blinked. "..didn't. I don't watch that show." She turned, her shoulder to the wall as she held the phone to her ear. "I thought you said that stuff rots the brain."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you want a little brain rot. Y'know?"

"We still on for tomorrow?" Charlie asked, feeling slightly apprehensive.

She could hear the mild surprise in her dad's voice. He'd forgotten already. "Tomorrow? Oh, oh, yeah. Wouldn't miss it. How about we make it early. There's a new breakfast place I want to try."

Despite the worry, she felt herself smiling. "Yes, dad. That sounds great!"

"Wonderful. Make sure Emily allows you to get some sleep." Charlie's eyes clenched tight as she laughed in spite of everything. Damn. She could guess she was blushing.

She took a moment. "Dad? There's something else I needed to ask you."

"Of course. Anything you need."

"No, it's not..." Charlie sighed. She wasn't looking for help or a hand-out from her dad. Although it was fair of him to jump to that conclusion, she guessed. Their relationship hadn't always been this good. "...I needed to know something. You said the two Keys were given to me as gifts, one from Above and one from Below."

The other end was quiet. Then a soft, "Yes."

Charlie asked, "Did anyone else that you know of receive Keys?"

Another quiet. Then a voice of assurance. "No, no. You were the only one who received a pair."

Charlie's face scrunched. Dad!

Part of her wanted to shout at him. "Dad, someone else received a Key, didn't she?"

"Oh, yes. Frederick's daughter. But she only got one," Lucifer said casually. "And I don't think she's built any rival hotels."

And you didn't think this was worth mentioning?

Charlie couldn't keep the growl out of her voice. "Helsa is Famine, dad!"

"Oh."

Charlie wanted to scream. But she bottled it up. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, dad," she said as pleasantly as she could, her voice sounding strained in her ears. "Looking forward to breakfast." The shift of the topic was so abrupt her dad must have realized she was upset.

"See you then, sweetie." If he did, his voice didn't show it.

Charlie hung up. And slapped the hallway wall with a groan of frustration.

"Ouch," Vanexa said. Charlie looked up to see the tall, purple demon-vixen staring down at her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Charlie bit back her worry and frustration before it could bite the vixen. "Good evening, Vanexa. Did you want anything?"

"You're standing next to the door to my room."

Charlie looked around. "Oh!" Wrong place to have tried for a private call. She needed to keep in mind where the two new guests were staying. "Sorry you had to hear that."

Vanexa shrugged. She moved around Charlie to her door. Charlie felt the vixen's plush tail rub across her thighs, and backed up.

"This place should come with a warning label," Vanexa said as she unlocked her door.

"What?"

Vanexa's ears swiveled forwards, her muzzle taking on a smirk of grim amusement. "Come to the Hazbin Hotel to seek redemption! Side effects include being snared in cosmic-scale plots!" The purple vixen flicked her tail. "Not exactly the promised place of refuge."

Charlie felt a sinking in her stomach. That was... entirely fair. Everything with the Horsemen was putting the people she was trying to help in danger. She looked aside.

Charlie felt the vixen's finger stroke her chin, turning her face back to look at her. She was leaning down (which gave Charlie a blush-inducing look down her shirt). "Don't worry. Not going anywhere just yet. I subbed for Valentino, girl. Helsa is Famine doesn't scare me off."

The vixen's reassuring smile and the way she wiggled her ears made Charlie giggle. "Thanks."

Charlie looked down at her phone.

"Do you remember your parents?" Charlie found herself asking. She immediately chided herself. Yes, she should try to connect with the new guests, but that was way too personal.

"Not really," Vanexa answered as she opened her door. "I thought I knew yours more than I thought I knew mine." She flicked on the light switch.

Charlie cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"Parents sent me off to a Catholic boarding school for girls rather than deal with me," Vanexa answered without a trace of emotional connection. But then a small smile touched her muzzle.

"If I could send any image back to my mortal self, it would be your dad and his ducks." She snorted a laugh. "That would have punched my devil worship phase in the tit."

Charlie felt her brain lock up a little. By the time she could figure out anything to say to that, the laughing, pornographicly-bodied demoness had gone into her room, closing the door behind her.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel bar, late night:

The staff and residents of the Hazbin Hotel were retiring for the night. Most of them, at least. Husk floated a few bottles into place on the back shelves, rearranging them within a little aura of angelic light. It was strangely but wonderfully easy. After this morning, he really expected he would be drained or exhausted. Or... something. But he wasn't. It was low-key exhilarating.

He saw the approaching halo reflected in the bottles. "Still up?"

"Still need a room," Molly giggled. "Didn't really get one earlier. Everything's been a whirlwind."

Husk turned to her with a gruff smile. "It can get that way. Welcome to Hell."

"Worth every star Sir Pentious gave it."

"Still planning to stay the week?" He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a key. "Third floor. You have it mostly to yourself." Technically, Niffty's room was up there, but he didn't think she used it often. He'd find her sleeping in the laundry or in cupboards.

"I think so," Molly said, sliding up onto a stool as she took the key. It disappeared between her breasts. Cleavage-space. "Assuming I don't start picking at my sleeve."

Husk nodded, his expression a touch grim. By now, they were all aware of the tick Emily had picked up from the trauma of her first experience with violence. Molly had been human. She'd been to Detroit. The hand she'd been dealt prepared her better. But she'd still spent decades without having to deal with trauma and stress that were everyday down here.

"Maybe stick close to the hotel," Husk suggested. "You should spend time with Angel. But it doesn't do either of you any good if you traumatize yourself. Assuming you haven't already." The winged feline demon noted gruffly, "We get enough of that from Emily."

"And if it's not too stressful for my brother," the spider angel added. "He looked out for me today."

"Yeah," Husk found himself smiling. "He does that."

"Sooooo, how long have you and Anthony...?" Molly wiggled her eyebrows as her voice trailed off.

Husk's smile evaporated. He groaned, rolling his eyes. Then started to wipe down the bar.

"Oh." Molly looked in the direction Angel Dust had disappeared. "Over, or not yet?"

"Didn't. Don't plan to. Is everyone in your family like this?"

"Only the good ones," Molly giggled. "So why not? You like him. He likes you. And if you asked, I guarantee he'd be down for it."

Husk grumbled. Really? "Well, for one, we're not in love."

"So?" Molly asked, true puzzlement in her voice. The spider angel began leaning back on her stool. "I mean, don't get me wrong, real love makes sex so much better."

She leaned back more. "I mean.." Molly put her hands to her mouth, kissing them then flinging them wide as she tipped back farther, feet kicking up. "...chef's kiss!"

Husk lurched forward to grab her as she fell back. Then realized she'd stopped. It took a moment to realize she was bracing herself with the feet he couldn't see. Because, right, she had four of those. Spider.

Molly pushed herself back upright. "But take it from Poly Molly, organizer of the Heavenly orgies: that's not required to have an amazing time."

Husk just shook his head.

"You and Anthony like each other. Care about each other. I'm betting that alone is HUGE in Hell. Plus, I can tell he's attracted to you, and I'm pretty sure you find him attractive too. Seriously, you two have the best friends with benefits vibe I have seen down here."

What do you even say to that?

Husk chose to say nothing. And eventually Molly left him alone. He sighed, watching her go. She had a natural sway in her walk, without even trying. Fuck. The spider twins were hot, no denying that.

But Husk had known Angel Dust was hot back when the man was sexually harassing him and hypersexualizing himself as a coping mechanism for dealing with being owned and abused by Valentino. That was behind them, and Husk liked the best friend he had gotten on the other side of that. No reason to go fucking it up.

He was going to take Molly up on that massage though. Tomorrow.

Husk shook his head again. And finished wiping the bar. He tossed the bar rag to its bucket and floated down a glass. The feline bartender considered what drink he felt like tonight. No need to just go for his standard. There was plenty of variety, and he hadn't been hitting it as hard as he used to.

But today had been something else. He'd had an outhouse thrown on him. He had saved Razzle. He had Created space, for Christ's sake.

He smiled again, floating the empty glass. Twirling it. Making it dance a little. He could probably Create booze. Although, on second thought, imbibing something he had amateurishly Created would probably be a bad idea. Doubly so given something intended to be poison.

He let the glass rest on the counter, watching the angelic aura fade.

Husk decided to leave it empty. He didn't need a drink.

---

Week One, Day Six - Hazbin Hotel elevator nook, one hour to midnight:

"Lute?"

"Yes, High Seraphim?"

Emily had caught her just as the elevator doors opened to let Lute in. The fallen angel had stopped at her call, turning to face her. The tiny room of the elevator waited patiently.

Lute looked ready for a lecture. Emily suspected Vaggie had already given her one. They were going to have to talk to Husk about the Niffty loophole. But that wasn't what Emily needed to talk to the fallen Exorcist about tonight.

Emily felt a little ashamed that she was glad Lute was in a humbled state. On another evening, Emily would feel the urge to tell her to stop that. Referring to people by their titles was something Sera did. A habit Emily tried to break her older sister out of to no avail. Tonight, however, she wanted Lute in the mindset of talking to the High Seraphim.

"Sera kept the Exterminations secret," Emily said. "From me. From the Court. From all of Heaven." She saw Lute was staring at her patiently. "For months, I believed it was just Sera, Adam and the Exorcists who knew."

Silence from the fallen Exorcist.

"That was naïve of me, wasn't it?" Emily asked. It was too big. By now, she knew other people had known about it. "How many others knew?"

Lute answered, "I don't know for certain. Less than a dozen. It was contained."

Emily had to know. "To who?"

"Aside from Sera, Adam and us?" Lute said. "The big one was Azrael. We had one of the Elders Above in our corner, the one who Created angelic steel."

Emily grimaced. "I heard. The Elders Above never make Themselves known, never give advice. Just sit and judge... except when Azrael goes off and does his own thing. Which he's apparently been doing for over seven years now." She didn't raise her voice. Her tone was clear and cold and sharp as glass. She could see it startled Lute. "Who else?"

Lute stared a moment, then continued. "Pravuil had to have been. The other members of Adam's band, sworn to secrecy by Sera. Noah, who I believe Sera consulted over the Pardon..."

Emily winced. She's just talked with him. He seemed nice. She hated to think he was involved in any way, or even supported it. But he was an old friend of Sera's. One whom her big sister said understood doing what was necessary instead of what was right.

"...And there was a therapist at the Heavenly Kirkbride. I don't know who."

Emily whimpered. "What?"

Lute sighed. "High Seraphim... Emily... not everyone who volunteered to be an Exorcist was able to handle it. Heaven doesn't abandon its veterans to misery."

Except Vaggie. But Emily didn't need to say that to Lute. Not anymore. Instead, she dismissed the fallen angel. "Thank you."

Lute turned away. Emily's eyes caught the web of new scars. "Your back."

"Yes, I am."

"I meant..."

"I know," Lute interrupted. "It's fine, High Seraphim." Lute stepped into the elevator and pushed a button. "I'm fine." The doors slid closed.

Emily stared at the space Lute had just occupied.

I'm fine.

---

Week One, Day Six - Jack's Place, Doomsday District, minutes to midnight:

Crymini's body arched violently as she gasped, her lungs sucking in air. She jerked and thrashed blindly, tumbling from the soft surface she'd been laid on and hitting the floor.

...My boy left...

The nasty, worm-ridden voice hung disjointedly in her head.

She gasped again, clawing frantically, fighting the blindness, the lack of scent.

"Hold, Cryms!" The voice was male, calmingly and alarmingly familiar. "Ease it. Your death was dank, but you're vicious."

Fucking died fucking again fuck!

Her senses were coming back. Smell first. Mostly unfortunately. The smells were rank. But the scent of fluff was familiar and welcome. "Jack?"

...You have something I want...

The sick snatch killed her!

"Yeah. Here Cryms. Take it slow. You've done this before."

Funking hundreds of times. Practically once a month for thirty years. Never got less terrifying and awful. Respawning sucked.

It took some effort to get onto her hands and knees on the floor, breathing hard, letting her senses come back. Rasping, Crymini asked, "How long?"

"Don't know how long you'd been stiff when I found you," Jack's voice told her. She knew Jack. He was solid. Best still-living friend she had in the DD. He'd laughed so hard when she told him her crazy about checking out the Hazbin Hotel. "But you recovered quick. Under a day."

Under a day? "It's never that fast."

"You didn't have to pull together. Whoever killed you did it clean. Preserved you, even. You were practically mummified."

Sight was coming back. A blur focused into a room. Jack's room. He was still in the same cramped, half-collapsed cellar of the same bombed-out store. The light was from the computer screens. Nothing Voxtek. Jack didn't trust. Smart.

Crymini turned slowly, seeing Jack sitting on his oversized swivel chair, staring at her with concern. Took in his tattered ear. Button right eye. The stitching. He was a welcome sight.

Crymini was convinced Hell gave you a body you hated. An extra forever fuck you. God decided she was a bitch and made her one. She was fucking eighteen forever, and Hell gave her a body that looked three years younger, just to compound the insult. Having heightened smell in the DD was a curse. And while she didn't miss bleeding, heat sucked. Not to mention fleas. Thank Charlie for showers!

But Jack? Jack was the fucking poster boy for Hell hating you. He had the body of a stuffed bunny rabbit. And not a cute one. One that had been owned by an abusive child and repeatedly sewn back together. He'd been tech support in the Living World, and now needed the Captain Hook prosthetics he was wearing over his paws just to hunt-n-peck because God didn't give him fingers. Poor fucker could barely masturbate right. He'd been a favorite target for some of the gangs recently wiped by the DD's influx of silver.

She hadn't seen Jack since that night at Neon Ant Farm. They'd danced. Swapped poisons. She'd pitched the hotel. Wanted to see him out of this hellrat hole. Now she was thankful he'd turned her down.

"Crym," Jack said with a worrying tone that made her fur stand on end. "You know we're solid. I always got your back. But for my own self-prez, I gotta ask: did you cross Zestial or something?"

Crymini shook her head. "No. Worse. It was Roo shit."

Jack cocked his head, leaning back. "Oh. Those fuckers."

Crymini looked up at him. "A solid and I took out a Roo pack. Got cornered by, like, their high priestess or some shit." It was easy to slide back into DD lingo. Like she never left.

Jack grumbled. "Hard not to trip over that cult in the DD now. Like fucking hellrats, filling the empty left by the packs torn with angelic steel."

Crymini was getting her breathing under control. Jack was a stable anchor. A solid always made respawning easier. "Why'd you think it was Zestial?"

Jack's answer chilled her. "Death by exsanguination. The Vamp Overlord's the only one I've ever heard tear like that."

"She took my fucking blood?!"

"Every drop," Jack confirmed. Practically mummified.

...You have something I want...

Crymini began to laugh. It was like she had been crushed under rubble and it was finally torn away, letting her breathe.

Guess I'm not Typhoid Puppy anymore!

The relief was so strong it burned.

...My boy left something with you, and I'm here to retrieve it...

Well, the jokes on the Roo snatch. That shit's cured, cunt! Fucking useless now. Have fun!

"Crym?" Jack looked alarmed.

Crymini wiped her eyes. "It's good. I'm good." She was smiling. Happy. "I'm... fucking great!" Bitch did me a favor.

"You sure?" His voice said she scanned far from good.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Crymini got up and sat back on Jack's bed. He'd laid her out on it, waiting for her to come back. Fuck, what a friend.

And she was gonna use him. But not in a bad way. "Be my alibi, Jack. I've been with you since yesterday?"

Jack cocked his head again. "Sure. Who you hiding dying from?"

"The hotel moms," Crymini admitted. "They're getting married in just under a month, and they do not need me dying again adding to their stress."

Especially not for so hilariously nothing.