Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It didn’t hurt when Emily fell from Heaven. One day, she left for Heaven’s Southern Embassy on an unsanctioned diplomatic mission and simply never looked back. 

It was honestly so encouraging, how ecstatic Charlie was to learn that Emily was in town. Charlie gave her an all-day tour of the new and improved Hazbin Hotel, with lots of detours along the way. The place was incredible. Emily received running commentary on every conceivable little detail as they wandered through the glittering lights of the gambling-free casino, the well-appointed radio studio, and past the locked doors of Lucifer’s wing, from behind which echoed alarmingly loud squeaks and bang! Bang! BOOMS!

To be fair, the main reason the tour ran so long was because Emily had spotted Sir Pentious’ portrait on the first floor and casually mentioned that he really seemed to be enjoying his new penthouse suite on Cumulonimbus Ave, hoping that would cheer them all up. She was pretty sure she saw Charlie have three separate emotional breakdowns in the following hour. Apparently, Heaven hadn’t informed them that they’d already had their first successful case. Should’ve seen that one coming.

The tour finally ended at sunset with all of the staff gathered round in the lobby like Emily was someone they even needed to impress. Like there was anything left to convince her of. And there, at the natural endpoint of a very lovely day together, Emily bit her lip and played with her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels a little. “Hey, Charlie? Could I… could I stay here for a bit?” 

You could have heard a pin drop. 

Then Charlie exploded into movement, casting her arms wide, eyes glittering madly. “Of course you can! Stay as long as you want! Stay forever! Here, we have this amazing room free on the third floor with a great view of the vegetable patch out back—” 

And that was that. 

*

Emily met the King of Hell the next morning. Charlie had decided that they should get to know each other over a private breakfast, in order to set everybody at ease. Emily got the distinct sense that “everybody” was really just Lucifer.

The Fallen One made the three of them way too many pancakes and struggled through smalltalk for all of twenty minutes before he broke and straight-up asked for the last fifteen thousand years of juicy gossip from behind the pearly gates. The pancakes were unmistakably Heaven’s original recipe and Emily made all of the appropriate appreciative noises over their fluffiness as she ate them, while he made all of the appropriate scandalized noises as she gave him the most salacious old news she could think of. It was nice. 

Vaggie couldn’t join because she was busy handling a busted window, an exploded tube of super glue, and a somewhat-related neighborly dispute on the eighth floor. Charlie and Emily brought her a plate of chocolate chip pancakes and assured her that she hadn’t missed much. 

All of that was just to say, Hell could be a surprisingly nice place to be. The long, rambling garden behind the hotel was proof as much, and Charlie gladly gave her a tour of it after breakfast. Its single green acre was plump with hydrangeas, the promised vegetable patch, and an eccentric young rosebush labyrinth, which was just tall enough to reach Emily’s shoulder. Charlie was excitedly telling her about how the bed of herbs was actually Husk’s idea when she was suddenly called away to handle something urgent called “sniffing out the last of Angel’s stashes.” Charlie promised she’d be back in ten minutes. Needless to say, Emily wandered the garden alone for the next five hours, studying the plants one by one and allowing the inevitable existential crisis to simply come to her. 

And with it, the question surfaced, as it must: what exactly was Emily doing here?

She wanted to end the Exterminations permanently, and she couldn’t do that from the clouds. She’d already tried. For months, she’d done nothing but try. 

She also couldn’t bear living in Heaven knowing what she knew now. The shame of its sins had suffocated her. Enjoying paradise’s simple pleasures had made her feel sick to her stomach. The sight of its soldiers had made her shudder. Not in fear, but in disgust.

Her primary goals in leaving were to get some breathing room for herself, to find a way to force Heaven to listen to reason, and to make Hell less miserable in the meantime in the hopes of ultimately seeing more souls redeemed. Sir Pentious had already proven that it was possible. Something about the Hazbin Hotel held the key to his redemption, and Emily wanted to know exactly what it was. Besides, she’d felt a kinship with Charlie from the very moment they’d met, and at the end of that fateful day in court, she had sworn to Charlie before all of Heaven that she’d figure something out. When it became clear that Emily couldn’t do that work from upstairs, she had no choice but to either break her promise completely or go straight to Hell herself. Emily had never voluntarily broken a vow in all of her existence, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

She’d need to be vigilant in Hell and remain hopeful that living here could teach her some crucial fact that would make this whole situation salvageable. For Heaven and Hell, that is. Emily’s life as she knew it was already sunk. It had been from the moment she’d learned about the Exterminations—doubly so when she realized who’d signed off on them from the start. In retrospect, walking out of Heaven was just making things official. 

Just another has-been in a hotel full of them. It’d be a terribly uncharitable thought to have if only they didn’t refer to themselves that way. Emily sighed and looked to the false moon that hung heavy in the sky even in the daytime here, and tried not to think about how much Sera must be losing it.

As compassionate as Emily was by nature, she was hard-pressed to feel too sorry for Sera right now. She was… the biggest disappointment Emily had suffered in her existence so far. Sera presented herself as warm, open, and caring. In truth, she was cold, secretive, and cruel. A hypocrite. Her regime’s crimes had been exposed for all of Heaven to see, and the only person she’d cared to cater her apology to was Emily. If that didn’t smack of favoritism, Emily didn’t know what did. And then Sera had approved the next Extermination Day anyway. Six months early. She’d done it knowing full well that the Hazbin Hotel would be the very first stop. How sorry could she possibly be? 

Emily had begged her to stop the next bloodbath, had pleaded and bargained with her in every way she could imagine, but nothing would stay her hand. 

She didn’t doubt that Sera was now wishing she’d taken at least one of those offers—the most generous of which was three centuries of Emily following Sera’s orders literally without question or pause in exchange for simply delaying this past year’s early Extermination back to its regular date while the legitimacy of the ongoing genocide was debated in court. Emily had proposed this in a state of total desperation, her whole body trembling with tension, to which Sera had kissed her on the forehead and gently told her to get back to work. 

Emily didn’t doubt that her disappearance would cause an uproar, provided that the powers that be didn’t immediately cover it up. Even if they did, a heavy hit to morale was to be expected when the person whose sole job it was to keep everybody happy vanished overnight. In some ways, she’d had the most important job in the sky. After all, what was Heaven if not the happiest place?

But she was down here now and would simply have to do her best to bring Hell up to some sort of standard. Surely it didn’t have to be quite so chaotic and uncomfy? And like, on fire all of the time?

And that change would have to start with the people. It had always been her job to help others shine. This time, she just happened to be working with some real diamonds in the rough. 

The hotel currently had nineteen inhabitants, only eleven of which were present at the Battle of Hazbin Hotel. Apparently, they’d gotten a crop of new recruits in the weeks following their grand reopening. Emily saw potential in each and every one of them. Charlie clearly felt the same, or else she wouldn’t have spent hours helping Angel today, presumably at least a little bit against his will. The Princess finally came sprinting back into the garden sometime around sunset—huffing and puffing and adorably claiming that she definitely hadn’t forgotten about her. Emily just waved a hand and told her that it was fine. Then she asked to see the one thing that hadn’t been covered in their tour: the actual plan of attack for redeeming more sinners. Charlie instantly straightened from her guilty slump and dragged Emily to her office on the first floor. She excitedly rummaged through her desk and shoved a bulging binder into Emily’s hands, stuffed to the brim with diagrams, drawings, hopes, and dreams. “It’s all right here!”

“Oooh, and it’s color-coded!” 

“Of course! Always!”

“You’re amazing!”

“You’re amazing!” 

They went on like that for a while. 

The upcoming daily recreation schedule boasted some pretty promising stuff, provided that the people running it took advantage of the opportunity to really build community and knock some emotional walls down. Emily and Charlie were still brainstorming about pinch pots and equine therapy when they reached the dining room, where most of the other residents were already assembled for a spaghetti and meatball dinner. There was a marked community feel to it. Angel had speared a single meatball on his fork and was examining it skeptically while Husk cajoled him to just eat it already. Lucifer and Alastor made some extremely unfriendly eye contact while they claimed their seats at opposite ends of the long dining table. 

The firehose of information from Charlie only slowed to a trickle when she saw Vaggie waving her over. “Anyway, I’ll text you the details. Angels all have cell phones, right?” Charlie said, thoughtlessly dragging Emily to sit down between Lucifer and herself. 

“It’s Heaven. Why would we all have cell phones?” 

Alastor liked that a lot. 

Nevertheless, Lucifer fashioned a phone into being for her on the spot—in retrospect seemingly for the sole purpose of sending her recipes and really bad knock knock jokes at 4AM. Not that Charlie was much better, routinely flooding Emily with inspirational cat memes right before bedtime. The King of Hell and the Crown Princess were more similar than they seemed at first. They just wore pride and shame differently, and in supremely unequal amounts. 

Charlie, for instance, accepted help much more easily. She was the most excited, out of any of them, to see Emily join every volleyball match and macramé class, and, as a consequence, Emily fell into the role of assistant events coordinator quite naturally. She helped Charlie come up with ideas, refine the ones she already had, made sure everyone had a good time, and cushioned the hotel budget by conjuring up any supplies they might need. Vaggie seemed largely relieved to be able to focus solely on acting as security and making sure that her own macramé hedgehog turned out half-decent. Because security was, indeed, an issue. Most demons seemed ready to slit each other’s throats over the last bottle of glitter glue.

Adjusting to the sheer amount of violence down here was a trial, at first. Emily had lived a very charmed life up until this point, and she was sure it showed. But everytime she was tempted to scold herself for being so sheltered and ignorant, Charlie was there to validate her one hundred percent. Case in point, when Emily learned about the bloody terf wars that immediately followed each Extermination Day, she’d been astounded. “That just seems so unnecessary…”

“I know, right?!” Charlie agreed, eyes bright with validation.

When Emily was informed that the Hellborn were somehow even lower on their respective hierarchy than the Heavenborn, she was appalled all over again. “But that’s not fair!” 

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time!” Charlie said.

The same sense of injustice washed over her when she watched the nakedly biased news coverage of the Hazbin Hotel. The admittedly gorgeous Katie Killjoy had a habit of throwing in completely unnecessary jabs at nearly everyone involved in the project. Except, notably, for Alastor and Lucifer. “They’re not even pretending to be impartial!”

“Exactly!” Charlie answered.

Charlie seemed just as glad as Emily to finally find someone so like-minded, who truly saw the world the same way she did. Honestly, who’d have thought the antichrist would so… nice! 

If Charlie stepped completely into her own power, perhaps Hell would already look the way she clearly thought it should. Because it took Emily all of a week to see the truth: Charlie was the second most powerful being in all of Hell. She was just in denial about it. 

As a result, the Crown Princess was having a little bit of trouble connecting with the newer residents. Charlie had never known a life where she didn’t have some sort of assumed moral high ground above everyone around her, and it showed. It had made her presumptuous. Who was she to say what redemption entailed for everyone, or what even constituted a sin? By all rights, she was one of the least qualified people in all of Hell to do it. 

She was half-human, but could she even be said to have free will? And how could she ever hope to fully connect with sinners who were reminded, with each day’s torment, that they’d landed themselves here? Then, at the crux of it: what sort of equitable system would ever allow a child to be born in the Pit without even the briefest time on Earth to determine their divine placement? Charlie was evidence, had anyone ever needed it, that the system was broken. To say nothing of the Hellborn who shared her fate, only with none of the power and prestige that came attached to her rank.

All that was just to say, it was hard for sinners to connect with someone who pretended to be their peer even as she demanded that they permanently set aside what they often considered to be their best tools for survival: violence, addiction, defensiveness, and denial, among other things. Charlie commanded them to feel remorse, that they be vulnerable and open themselves up to all of the hurt that Hell had to offer, meanwhile merely implying that she could protect them if the need arose. The residents who had bled beside her on the battlefield had less hangups about all of that, but the newer folks appeared considerably less convinced. Unless war broke out again tomorrow to win the newcomers over, they’d need to tweak Charlie’s communication style a little. The truth was, she couldn’t successfully speak as the ultimate authority on virtue while also wanting to be everybody’s best friend. She would have to tone down both of those shticks if she wanted to get where she obviously intended to go.

This unstable self-image made itself crystal clear at the grand opening of the new psychiatric wing at Pentagram City Hospital, about a month into Emily’s stay in Hell. In light of her family’s extremely generous donation, Charlie had been invited to speak to a crowd of about a hundred people just before the ribbon-cutting. She had her little speech prepared, the colorful crayon-filled pages crinkling in her hands as the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer all but called her a naive nepo baby to her face. At least, that’s the gist Emily got from where she was eavesdropping by the refreshments while she politely pretended to listen to a mummified nurse tell her his life’s story.

By the time the CMO turned on his heel, Charlie was an absolute wreck, radiating indignation and anxiety. She was supposed to give a speech in exactly five minutes. Obviously a pep talk was in order. Vaggie was busy running interference with the press, and all of the other hotel residents that had tagged along for the free drinks and canapes were scattered at the moment, so it fell to Emily. 

She abandoned the nurse as cordially as she could, curled a hand around Charlie’s elbow, and gently peeled her away from the crowd. Emily guided her down a quiet, secluded hallway, yet to see its first patient. In the presence of a sympathetic party, Charlie immediately began to ramble, agitated and plainly spiraling. “Can you believe that guy?! He said I was stupid! Well, he didn’t say I was stupid. But he sure as heck implied it—”

“Charlie?” 

“—Where does he get off talking to somebody he just met like that? Like I’m, I’m sort of brainless piggy bank—”

“Charlie.” 

“—Would it really kill people to show each other some basic kindness—”

Emily placed both hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Charlotte.” 

Charlie stopped. 

“Who rules Hell?” 

Charlie wrung her hands. “Well, my parents do. I mean, my dad does. When he, uh, feels like it, that is—”

“Charlie,” she chided. “Who rules Hell?” 

A pause. And then, quietly: “My family does.” Charlie swallowed. “I do.” 

“Yes. You do. And one day, it’ll be all yours. Your people need you to get up there and give them a speech right now. You’re not going to let them down. You’re going to do great. I know you can do it. And deep down, I think you know you can do it, too. After the Battle for Hazbin Hotel, this is nothing. Speak from the heart, and they’ll learn to listen. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Charlie nodded, her eyes squeezed shut. Then she looked up, the fire back in her eyes. “Okay!”

They rejoined the main event together, where the big red ribbon and golden scissors were waiting. The event planner waved Charlie forward, who took a deep breath, straightened her papers, and stepped up to the podium. Her speech went quite well, all told. Her bearing was warm and confident, and when the crowd’s attention wandered at times, she kept her cool. 

Alastor sidled up to Emily near the end of the speech, so smoothly that she hardly would have noticed his approach at all if she weren’t already acutely aware of the movements of—in her humble opinion—the most dangerous demon in Hell by far. 

“It appears somebody gave the princess a pep talk,” he said silkily.

“Ah, that would be me. She seemed like she could use the encouragement.” Emily shrugged easily, smiling as Charlie managed to wring a few nods of agreement from the nurses in the crowd by emphasizing that the opening of this wing was actually long overdue.

Alastor leaned in a little, eyes narrowing. “You’re quite good at that, aren’t you, my dear?” 

“It’s my design,” she beamed, hoping not to take too much credit. 

“Hmm, so it is,” Alastor hummed, both hands clasped overtop his microphone. “How fortunate for Charlie, to have no less than three guardian angels to her name.” 

Emily watched Charlie flip to the final page of her speech, proud to see her remain focused even after she’d clearly noticed the ugly faces the CMO was pulling at her. “She deserves even more.”

“Too true!” he said, seeming genuine under all the reflexive facetiousness. Not surprising since, as far as she could tell, the Princess of Hell was near the only being on this plane that he even halfway cared for. “Still, none of them have proven to be the best of public speaking coaches.” 

Emily blinked. “I think all she needed was a morale boost. Charlie’s a solid public speaker. She pled her case quite successfully in Heaven. I honestly don’t think anyone else could’ve done it.” The beginning had been a little rough around the edges, sure, but in the end, it had more than gotten the job done because Charlie had been smart enough to present evidence that spoke for itself. From Emily’s perspective, it was her public persona and not her oratory skills that needed work.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

“How do you mean?” Emily cocked her head.

Alastor cocked his head right back. “Our Charlie is strong-willed and she certainly has passion, but that same passion unfortunately tends to get the best of her. Why, you should have seen her first televised interview! Quite the show, I must say, just not in the way she’d hoped.” Naturally, as soon as the event was over and Emily got a moment alone in her bedroom, she looked up Charlie’s interview with Katie Killjoy on her phone and watched it from start to finish, wincing on every other word. She gave herself a good half hour to gather her thoughts, then conjured up a plate of fresh snickerdoodles and went down to Charlie’s office on the first floor, where the door was always wide open. After two cookies each and thoroughly congratulating Charlie on her successful speech today, Emily finally said what she came here to say.

“So… I watched your interview with Katie Killjoy.” 

Charlie adopted the same wince Emily had worn while watching it, then rubbed the back of her head and laughed awkwardly. “Yep. That. That sure did happen, huh?”

“Can I offer some constructive criticism?” 

“Of course, Em! Construct away!” 

“Okay, so! Your elocution is actually great. You enunciate very clearly and you speak in plain language that’s direct and easy for everybody to understand. You also use energetic hand gestures and an engaging tone to keep your audience interested. Fantastic stuff, honestly! It’s mostly just the rhetoric that I think needs work.” 

“The rhetoric?” 

“Well, you tend to tell people what they should want. Specifically, you tell them that they should want what you want. Sometimes it’s more effective to play to what your audience believes they want right now in order to convince them of bigger things in the long run. Does that make sense?” 

Vaggie and Alastor suddenly appeared in the doorway at the same moment, obviously about to engage in a daily quibble about who should get Charlie’s attention first—an argument Alastor almost certainly incited on purpose and no doubt enjoyed immensely. When the two of them glanced inside and saw Charlie in need of comfort, Vaggie was instantly drawn in while Alastor smoothly backpedaled away like he’d meant to let her go in first all along. 

Emily told Charlie, “Thanks for hearing me out. I’d just love to see you build on what you’re already good at. And don’t take my word for it—get a second opinion and see where that takes you. Again, great job today! And please, take the rest of the cookies!”

With that, she took her leave, somehow falling into step with Alastor, but not before overhearing Charlie ask Vaggie, tone low and vulnerable, “Do I tell people what to want?” Emily just caught Vaggie’s grimace before the office door closed the scene off. Emily’s shoulders slumped with a silent sigh, wings drooping. That was really hard. 

“You had a nice chat, I take it?” Alastor prompted. He was using his microphone as a walking stick, the tap, tap, tap of it strangely melodic as they made their way down the hall.

“Yes, we did. Thank you for leading me in that direction. It was an important conversation to have, I think.” His eyes glowed brighter for a moment, his smile not moving an inch. Was he not used to his machinations being discussed so directly? 

Like him, her purpose in Heaven had been to influence people, though her job had been to guide them down the happiest possible path. Alastor’s job was… not. Perhaps it was rude here to speak of such things openly. 

“Yes, well. I’m sure she’ll find quite the friend in you,” he said, not responding to her last statement in the least.

The thing was, Charlie already had. And as much as she obviously hadn’t liked hearing Emily’s feedback, she always seemed receptive to more, after taking a little time process in between. In the end, just as Alastor had suggested, Emily became something of a public speaking coach. With a single client. That single client was the Crown Princess of Hell, and truth be told, she had quite a ways to go. Thankfully, she seemed willing to go the distance.

The most remarkable thing about Charlie was how open and optimistic she was, even after living all her days in Hell. Emily often wondered if having bare minimum exposure to the outside world was, in fact, what kept her view so rosy. Emily was, after all, speaking from experience.

It was wall to wall profanity, pornography, and indiscriminate violence around here. The violence was awful, sure, but the other two at least had the potential to be harmless. Emily was, admittedly, still getting used to people casually blaspheming every other sentence. In Heaven, only the soldiers spoke so coarsely, and even then, seventy percent of it had been Adam. If nothing else, though, every day here was different and full of surprises. 

After a monotonous few millennia in Heaven, Hell had a gratifying grittiness that thrilled where perhaps it should have grated. She wondered if perhaps a year down here ought to count as an eon in Heaven. That’s just how coddled Heaven’s inhabitants were in comparison. It was ironic, then, how scared most demons were of Emily at first. But they got over that pretty quick once she started talking. It helped that she looked almost nothing like the Exorcists, nor any of Heaven’s other soldiers. She only resembled one other angel, and Emily was working very hard to think about her as little as possible.

So, with some practice, it turned out she could generally handle herself amongst the denizens of Hell just fine. 

Well. 

Except for Alastor. 

He was so unlike anyone in Heaven, was the thing—all red edges and teeth and barely leashed violence. Needless to say, there were no wendigos in Heaven. He was a creature entirely new to her. Seven feet tall and every inch of him dripping pure menace and last-century charm. His presence popped against any backdrop, threatening regardless of the context, smiling no matter the severity of the situation. And he was always so well-dressed.

Alastor was Hell’s most infamous dealmaker and, in her view, he was very much living up to that reputation. He seemed to have scored a deal with nearly everyone at the hotel, short of Angel Dust and Lucifer himself. Alastor always seemed to be in charge, somehow. Even standing next to the King of Hell, Alastor had an air of being the real ringmaster around here. It was kind of unbelievable how he managed to pull that off, if you thought about it for too long. 

She was drawn to him. He knew things. She wanted to know things, too.

Emily, however, wasn’t trying to have a sexual awakening at age two thousand three hundred and three, and thus dutifully ignored all of that as best she could. She hid any and all strange new stirrings behind the bright smile that she shined on everyone equally and hid her fidgeting hands in the folds of her dress. With the amount of time she spent in the hotel’s shared spaces, though, a certain amount of daily contact with him quite literally came with the territory. Oh sure, she had the private suite Charlie had promised and the admittedly lovely view that came with it. But Emily only slept when she felt like it, not because she had to, so she didn’t waste much time in there. She preferred to linger in the lobby, the garden, the kitchen, and the lounges where she could just chat with people. 

In Heaven, you were never really alone. Like, not even when you really, really wanted to be. Someone was always watching. It was apparently quite unsettling for a lot of newcomers, but as a local, that was just Heaven for you. She sought to orchestrate a similar constant stream of company for herself in Hell, in order to recreate something like home.

At least one person always seemed to be up and about, somewhere on the hotel’s seventeen floors. And when there wasn’t, she passed the time reading books that Heaven had long since banned, or she paid Lucifer a visit. His wing of the hotel was all dark carnival kitsch and botanical garden and lightly evil laboratory. His door was frequently locked, but if she gave three light, unobtrusive knocks, it usually opened right up for her. 

The King of Hell could technically be anywhere at any given time, but was most likely to be found holed up in his hotel lab or, as best as she could guess, huddled under a blanket somewhere dark and completely devoid of people. 

Lucifer was a dreamer, a myth-maker, and an absolute font of creativity, even amongst the creators of the universe. That’s why it’d been such a blow to lose him, of all angels. That’s why it had shaken Heaven as nothing ever had, before or since. As scared as Emily had been to meet him at first, she’d also been beyond excited to see what he’s been up to this whole time. 

Ducks.

The answer was ducks.

To be honest, Emily didn’t get the rubber ducks. She didn’t need to get the rubber ducks. It was plain as day that Lucifer dealt with having the weight of the world on his shoulders by pouring all of his energy and attention into literally the most useless project possible. So, there was nothing to get. He loved making them because he loved making them. Simple as that. 

He named each and every new creation, and whenever Emily visited, he regaled her with all of their fancy tricks and gratuitous backstories. Other times, the two of them would wander through his experimental greenhouse together. It was inside the enormous glass apple perched on the southwest corner of his wing, and it was even bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. They’d follow the serpentine path between the increasingly freakish foliage for a few hours, just gabbing. 

On her eighth Sunday night in Hell, they got sucked into an hour-long conversation about Gabriel’s many and varied indiscretions, the remodeling along Heaven’s promenade, and how, even after all these years, Heaven still played the same elevator music. The scandals, though, remained of particular interest to him. 

“No!” Lucifer gasped.

“Yes. And Sera said, Gabriel, if you’re going to keep getting caught with your pants down, then please at least remember to wear underwear.” Emily did the voice and everything. 

Lucifer was so busy laughing that he ended up tripping over a temperamental-looking sundew plant. The oversized sundew shook its tendrils at him and its roots began to churn in the soil. Emily had the strangest feeling that it tended to eat people when it was upset. “Aww, hey. Don’t be like that, little buddy. I didn’t mean it, I promise!” Lucifer told it.

He knelt to pet its stalk and began to sing to the sundew to calm it down. Lucifer’s singing voice was truly beautiful. He offered an ancient hymn to it—one of the first songs in existence, as a matter of fact. As a consequence, it was in the angelic language of Enochian, which tended to sound like music even when simply spoken.

“Oooh, that’s an old one,” Emily said. 

“An oldie but a goodie!” The plant swung crankily on its stalk as the serenade briefly came to a stop. Lucifer picked up the tune again, and this time Emily joined him. They harmonized easily, as all angels were designed to do, and soon the sundew was soothed back into slumber as the lullaby trailed off. 

They lingered there for a moment, crouched around the plant, which now swayed ever so slightly, as if rocking itself in its sleep. “I was wrong about you,” Emily said. “We all were.” 

Inexplicably, Lucifer looked sad for her. “Emily…” 

“I believed everything I was told. It was Heaven, you know? Why wouldn’t I trust every angel that was still there about one that Fell long before my time?” She shook her head and had to press her palms against her eyes to keep from crying. “I can’t believe how naive I was.”

What was there to cry about, really? She got to fulfill her life’s purpose, learn something about herself everyday, and live with all of her wonderful new friends. She had fabulous supernatural powers and was surrounded by people who largely shared her cause of sticking it to Heaven.

But… it was hard. Life was hard. 

She was in an ongoing series of private existential crises that she was quite literally working her way through, hoping to fight her way to the other side through acts of service alone. When times got tough, though, Husk turned out to be an excellent sounding board. That night, Emily wandered down to the hotel bar on the eleventh floor and, within fifteen minutes, Husk somehow had her pouring her heart out to him over a virgin strawberry daiquiri while he dried the same martini glass over and over again. 

“In Heaven, I lived up to every impossible standard I was given. I was obedient, I was faithful,” she was telling him. A cocktail napkin crumpled in Emily’s fist. “I wanted to believe.” 

“And look where that got you,” Husk’s smoked-out voice answered.

What a refreshingly blunt reply. It simultaneously validated her and, depending on how you looked at it, kicked her while she was quite literally down.

“Well, you know what they say,” she chuckled. “The bar is in Hell.” 

Husk actually laughed at that. “That’s how you square spending time around us killers and criminals, then?” 

“Going to Hell and expecting demons not to act like demons just because I showed up? I can’t imagine anything more entitled,” she said, tone light.

Husk smirked. “Don’t want people thinking you’re entitled, huh?” 

“I try not to be.” Husk hmphed. He seemed to appreciate that she knew her way around a conversation, not conceding more than was needed while still making her point. Polite, engaged, and firm, while keeping the bullshit to a minimum. Husk seemed used to talking to folks who made a lot more excuses for themselves and lashed out at him much more readily. Who were hurt in ways that prevented them from fully knowing themselves just yet. They came to him with their problems and almost certainly resented the answers he gave the more honest he was. No wonder Husk looked tired all of the time.

Emily released her cocktail napkin and fruitlessly tried to straighten it back out. “Besides, angels are supposed to lead with love and lack of judgment, unless their job description explicitly states otherwise. Salvation was made for all of us. I’m hardly the arbiter of who’s too far gone to receive it. We were created to love, not to condemn.”

Husk made a skeptical sound in the back of the throat. “You sure Heaven got that memo?” 

“No,” she sighed. “No, I don’t think they did.” Husk hummed, as if encouraging her to go on. “I mean, all we’re really talking about right now is mercy. If mercy doesn’t make sense to Heaven, then what is it for? Is it just—a place? Where angels are?” Her bottom lip wobbled. “Is that all it is?” 

“Would that be so bad?” 

“Yes. Heaven is meant to be the pinnacle of all creation, and angels are supposed to be its keepers. I hold us to a higher standard not because we’re better than other beings, but because we’re fundamentally different. There are no limited resources for us to compete over, no looming threat of mortality to make us desperate or careless. We have no excuse for our cruelty. Nothing could motivate us except cruelty itself.”

“You said it, not me, kid.”

“I did say it, huh?” she answered softly, rolling her glass between her hands. Then she sighed, wings sagging to graze the hardwood floor. “I still can’t believe I left. That I could hurt everyone I cared about like that, no matter how good a reason I had. And it’s not like I’ve managed to actually fix anything since I walked away…”

“Lighten up, kid. You’re doing what you can. Which is more than almost anybody else can say. Don’t run yourself into the ground when you just got here. Place’s been a wreck for ten thousand years. It can burn for one more day.” 

She sniffed, “Everyone was right. You really do give great advice.”

“Gift and a curse,” he grunted, and started closing up the bar for the night.

He was right, was the thing. The burden of perfect was lifted here. You were a saint if you treated people even half-decent. Emily felt like it was high time she cut herself some slack and gave herself some of the same permission. By which she meant she’d continue to be extremely nice, but would be more willing to break some eggs when needed. After all, she had a golden scrap of parchment in her pocket that clearly stated sticking it to the man was a virtue. She pulled Adam’s meeting notes from her pocket and reread them whenever she needed to remind herself why she was doing all of this. 

At this point, she reread it about once a day.

The same time next week found Emily stationed at the bar for another DMC. She and Angel Dust were seated side by side, nursing a mint mocktail and a vodka soda respectively while Husk scraped the snow out of the ice machine.

They were discussing Sir Pentious, as they often did when liquor was flowing. It was sweet, how devoted they were to keeping his memory alive. Angel Dust was spinning a yarn about one of Sir Pentious’s more misguided attempts to claim territory in the Doomsday District, which apparently somehow resulted in twelve people being drowned in melted ice cream and a bra factory being set on fire. He capped the story off with, “He was a real wackadoodle, Saturday-morning-cartoon-come-to-life type of guy before he came to the hotel. A real lost cause if I’ve ever seen one. And the next thing you know, he’s going out in a goddamn blaze of glory.” Angel Dust made a disbelieving sound in his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, the guy totally deserved redemption and all, but I still can’t believe they let a demon into Heaven.” 

Emily waved both hands. “Woah, woah. You don’t understand. No one let him into Heaven. He showed up in the middle of the city. Like, directly in front of the Head Seraphim and I. There wasn’t even the option for St. Peter to deny him entry. If that’s not divine ordainment, I don’t know what is.” 

Husk whistled and made to stand, bumping his head on the roof of the ice maker and getting a glittering shower of frost all over his fur. He straightened and shook it off, and Emily ducked under the icy spray with a giggle while Angel Dust got hit full in the face with it, cursing as it diluted his drink. “And then you had to come down here and see how he managed it, didn’t you?” Husk said.

“I didn’t know that I needed to come live at the hotel specifically. I just knew that I couldn’t stay.” Her eyes flickered to Angel Dust. “And I knew I had to meet you!” 

He lowered his drink mid-sip, looking genuinely surprised. “Don’t tell me I’m famous up there, too.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re an inspiration! The entire court of Heaven saw how much you deserve salvation! You upended everything we believed about the system in seven minutes!” 

“Oh, yah. Cha-cha mentioned something like that when she got back from her trip up north. Said it was just about the only part of the whole thing that went right.” He shrugged, stirring his straw with the tip of his finger. “S’nice and all, but it doesn’t seem like it made much of a difference in the end, ya know?” 

“Are you kidding me.” Emily’s voice went disbelieving and rough. She leaned in, demanding that his startled eyes meet hers. “Okay, I must not have explained myself very well. That’s my bad. Angel Dust, I’m not in Hell on vacation. I’m not here to visit Charlie, or to meet Lucifer, or even to see how Penny got redeemed. I came down here because of you. Your kindness, your bravery, your ability to change. You are amazing. You are everything Heaven could ask for in a redeemed soul and the fact that they would deny you entry to paradise made it impossible for me to partake in it. I won’t sit in the clouds while you or anyone like you burns in an Extermination. I can’t. You did that. You changed me. No one else. Thank you for showing me what I clearly needed to know.”

Angel listened to her rant wide-eyed. His soul sang with recognition. Then he shrugged again, chin curled towards his drink, his grin trembling and a touch too cocksure. “Well, if you wanted a piece of this, angel, you hardly had to come all the way down here for lil ol’ me. I take phone clients, too.” It shocked a laugh from her even as she flushed to the roots of her hair. “To be fair, the long distance fees would rack up real quick and I do charge extra for girls, no matter how cute they are, so—” 

Husk broke it up even as he topped off both of their drinks. “Lay off. You’ll make the poor thing faint.” The conversation naturally shifted to how much Wrathian vodka they had left behind the bar, and they were still stuck on the topic when Alastor showed up for his nightcap a good hour early. Emily excused herself a few minutes later, claiming to hear Candide calling her name. 

It was unusual for her to be caught unaware of Alastor’s movements like that. She was normally hyper-aware of his proximity to her, and often timed her schedule to avoid being alone with him. It wasn’t hard to catch the general pattern, really. He kept odd hours. As in, much like Emily, he appeared to keep all of them. Around sunrise each morning, he headed out to the thirteenth floor balcony carrying a piping hot cup of coffee and a newspaper under his arm. About an hour later, he’d go on a morning walkabout, surveying every floor of the hotel and antagonizing anyone who crossed his path, seemingly for the sheer sport of it. He performed a similar patrol at dusk before beginning his nightly broadcast at 8:00PM, which concluded whenever he felt like it. That was to say, anytime between 9:00PM and midnight, give or take a couple off-the-cuff monologues. He wrapped up his routine with a nightcap at the bar, if only for one last chance to harass Husk. 

Everything between those points of time was highly variable, usually involving running errands around town and doing paperwork and all other sorts of sundries expected of a facilities manager. It was as if he was deliberately making his daily schedule difficult to predict. Given the truly impressive number of enemies he had, that seemed wise. 

Sometimes, when Emily was alone, she’d tune in to his broadcast just for the chance to listen to his voice unobserved. She’d lay back on the cream silk couch in her suite with the radio switched on, eyes closed while she let his voice roll over her. Emily liked jazz just fine, but there was no use pretending that was why she'd joined his audience.

She wondered how many other listeners were there simply for the timbre of his voice and his truly masterful way with words. She wondered what had happened to him in life that made him choose his words so carefully, which childhood fit of carelessness had resulted in such an enduring lesson. And what hardships in adulthood had taught him that his day-to-day happiness could not afford to be hard-won, least of all in Hell.

She was used to living in a place where everyone was happy all the time. Could anybody really blame her for being drawn to the one person who seemed determined to enjoy himself no matter what? It just kind of resonated with her. Even Charlie was struck with recurrent bouts of brooding and wallowing when things didn’t go her way. Not Alastor. On the rare occasions when the tide firmly went against him, he didn’t get down. He got busy. 

He had Emily's work ethic, the only real difference being that he worked purely towards his own ends. And he was good at it. He was slick, resourceful, observant. She loved to watch him wind people up, work them over, and present them with a solution that seemingly only he could provide, and at just the right time. At which point Emily really ought to step in and, say, use her angelic powers to solve their problems for them. And usually that’s exactly what she did when she saw someone in distress. But once Alastor, Charlie, or Lucifer were involved, Emily generally preferred to take a step back and let it play out. She was, after all, an outsider here. It paid to see how Hell worked, and she could only learn so much if she interfered with its ecosystem when it was at play—to say nothing of the power struggles that she could so easily stumble into if she wasn’t careful. 

If nothing else, her private suite was a space away from any possible political intrigue. It also gave her a place to learn how to spend small handfuls of time truly alone. It was a little scary at first, but she’d taken a surprising liking to it. The other day, she’d stood alone in her bedroom and whispered, “St. Peter is kinda pitchy,” before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

And then: “Shit.” 

She stamped her feet, jumping up and down, shrieking with laughter. Privacy was so weird! She wondered if it had this effect on everybody, then supposed the point was that you’d never really know. 

Once she started actually using her suite with some regularity, she finally got around to placing some simple wards on it. Mostly privacy spells and a special enchantment that would alert her the moment she had any guests. That way if she ever fell asleep, she wouldn’t accidentally sleep through their visit. 

She kind of missed doing magic that actually challenged her, but she was hoping that if she lived here long enough, she’d eventually be given a chance to put her skills to use. In Heaven, most of her magical power was put towards fortifying Heaven’s defenses, ensuring the joy of its subjects, and occasionally scrying for sensitive intelligence from beyond Heaven’s borders. Usually Emily and Sera had a few lower-ranking angels who would run around and grab magical ingredients for them, but for the super important spells, Emily would fetch the supplies herself with a few guards and some fellow practitioners in tow. Those were just about the only times Emily had ever left Heaven’s smothering embrace, barring a once-in-a-century diplomatic event. Even in those days, in the depths of her delusion, she couldn’t help but notice how strangely light she felt as soon as she left the gates.

Ironically, Charlie also assigned a chaperone whenever Emily left the hotel. Emily didn’t protest it, preferring to always have company to talk to anyhow. It meant she could pepper them with questions as soon as they came to mind. And she had a lot of them. 

Somehow, it was never Alastor’s turn to be her chaperone. In general, the hotel staff existed in a liminal space of mind where they both deeply distrusted Alastor and also relied on him heavily. Alastor not only tolerated this state of affairs—he thrived on it.

She could only assume that his ultimate goal was to amass as much power for himself as possible, and that he was simply using his position here to do it. He did so by collecting contracts, making himself inextricable from the hotel’s innermost workings, holding the crown princess’ ear, and keeping his finger prominently placed on the pulse of Hell’s increasingly fragile political situation. That was why he was at the hotel. Not because he was bored or because he thought failure was funny—which, for the record, he frequently was and he did—but because it served him to be here. 

She respected that Alastor worked with what he had. He didn’t need the most raw firepower in order to be the most influential, the best informed. She’d hardly been the most powerful angel in Heaven herself, but she had pull, which often mattered far more. 

And Alastor used that same power and pull to handle most threats long before Charlie even noticed them, if he thought he couldn’t twist them to his advantage. Much of his work appeared to happen behind the scenes, only visible when he cared for it to be or when he thought there was a lesson for Charlie to learn.

He was just so unbothered, was the thing. He had no hesitation in becoming everybody’s problem when the occasion called for it and frequently when it didn’t. He was insightful, cunning. He not only saw who everyone around him was; he knew exactly who he was, too. And he clearly took joy in being that very thing and made no apologies for it. Alastor had a heartfelt appreciation for himself that so few people did—let alone demons, who were more often than not wrapped up in self-loathing for landing themselves in Hell in the first place. 

And he was such a handsome devil, and he always held the door open for her, and—

She could only hope that he hadn’t noticed how helplessly fixated on him she’d become, given that he was both extremely observant and quite literally had eyes everywhere. No shadow was fully free of him. Only how much attention he was paying seemed to determine how much he knew. Truthfully, after living her whole life in Heaven, it would’ve been much eerier to not be surveilled at all. It was a taste of home, really. 

Not to say that Heaven’s gaze wasn’t on them right now. Heaven absolutely had spies in Hell. And if they didn’t before Emily had Fallen, then they’d certainly acquired them since. The only question was who, and how many. 

The eyes incorporated all over the architecture in Hell were as good a reminder of that as any, though they were allegedly largely ornamental. The ones on the buildings in Heaven? Not so much. But really, it was the other angels you had to watch out for. Life in Heaven was all about eavesdropping. It was considered normal to pay very close attention to everyone else’s business.

The opposite could not be more true in Hell. Minding your own business seemed to be the ultimate virtue here. To plead ignorance was to plead innocence, and to know other people’s affairs was a great and terrible power. Flaunting that knowledge was reserved for the most dangerous and powerful among them. Naturally, Alastor’s face was permanently fixed in an I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile.

Look, murder wasn’t hot. But the Radio Demon, in a blood rage, surrounded by the prostrate bodies of his enemies and cackling without a care in the world? So sue her if there was something a little captivating about it. She’d spent millennia surrounded by holier-than-thou genocidal zealots who acted like the simple act of shoplifting should consign a mortal soul to eternal torment, and here was a man who pretended to be nothing but the bloodthirsty creature that God made him and openly delighted in being it. There was something so foreign and utterly free in it. He was shameless. And that seemed like such a beautiful thing to be. 

As in life, most beings in the afterlife wore disguises of one sort or another. Demons pretended to be more dangerous than they were, and angels more innocent. Sinners postured and Winners demurred. Even Lucifer wandered his own burning realm in an unassuming wingless vessel. She sometimes wondered if Lucifer’s true form was equally short, or if he’d abbreviated himself in order to become easier to overlook, and perhaps a bit less threatening. It was so odd not to have the answer already—to know another angel by anything but their true form. She supposed she’d get to see his one day. Then again, shapeshifting seemed relatively rare in Hell. Perhaps Lucifer avoided it in order to better blend in, as if that would somehow make people forget his origins. 

The plane of Heaven made matter more malleable. Hell was surprisingly solid by comparison. Emily’s current humanoid winged form had become her default state from the moment she arrived here in it. She could feel that her true form was accessible when she reached for her angelic power, but it no longer felt like her baseline. She could still shapeshift like all seraphim, but it now came with more effort. Her body felt a little more rigid and more attached to this shape. She didn’t mind. She rather liked this form when people weren’t actively talking down to her on account of its baby-face. 

It was also easier to get hurt down here, be it by nicks and scratches from kitchen knives that didn’t automatically correct all of your mistakes or stray splinters from rotting telephone poles. She didn’t mind that either, really. Most physical pain was novel to her. Exotic, for lack of a better word. None of it could harm her unless she let it, and she often did, if only to experience this plane as it was meant to be experienced.

And as she grew more accustomed to this place, her public speaking tips for Charlie grew in complexity and clarity. It was largely the same advice Emily would’ve given to anyone in Heaven, only this crowd called for a much thicker skin and much less virtue signaling. Today, Charlie and Emily were multitasking. They were alone in the rec room drawing a pair of self-portraits as demos for the daily activity while discussing how Charlie could identify what an audience wanted.

“Well, people tell you what to want all the time. How does it make you feel?” Emily asked, palms smudged with charcoal as her own face slowly took shape beneath her hand.

“Bad,” Charlie groaned. 

“Why?” 

“Because it makes me feel—I don’t know. Unseen and disrespected and stuff. Like my feelings don’t matter! Like they think I’m too stupid to even know what I want!” 

“And you wouldn’t want to make anyone else feel that way, right?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie said, then hung her head. “But I have. Like, maybe a lot.” 

“That’s okay, Charlie. All we can do in this life is grow and change and try to improve. It’s nothing more or less than you’d ask of Angel Dust or Niffty or Husk, right?”

“That’s true. I guess I just… feel bad about it.”

“It’s totally normal to feel like that, especially when you’re growing as a person. You look back and realize a few things, and sometimes that doesn’t feel great at first. Don’t let it slow you down. You’re going to keep working on this and you’re going to get better and better all the time.” Then Emily said the most powerful words in Charlie’s vocabulary: “I believe in you.”

“Awwwwww, Em!” Charlie tackled her in a hug and they ended up running a little behind by the time people showed up, but that was alright because it gave everybody a chance to stand around schmoozing and bonding and eating cheeseballs before they got started. The important thing was that the lesson seemed to have stuck with Charlie, which meant they could move onto other ones. Namely: no talking down to people, no losing her cool halfway through a public appearance, and no starting speeches by citing the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. None of that. Never again.

They had a chance to put some of that into practice four days later at the grand reopening of the East Pentagram City Library after it burned down in a fire, purportedly started by a pair of bookish dragon demons arguing over the merits of the various book-to-movie adaptations of The Hobbit. Emily parked herself by the children’s section, determined to keep a watchful, distant eye on her student, rather than hovering. Notably, this time a full hour passed before anything could shake Charlie’s bubbly public persona. She started to hunch self-consciously as a giraffe demon quizzed her about all of the books that he was apparently “just appalled” she hadn’t read. When Charlie next glanced over at her, Emily threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin, projecting an air of rock solid self-confidence. Charlie immediately straightened and her smile turned up a few watts. Emily beamed back at her and gave her a double thumbs up. 

The sense of victory lasted for all of five seconds before Emily spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Katie Killjoy in the crowd. 

Oh, dear.

Katie and Charlie’s eyes met. A terrible smile overtook Katie’s face and she made a beeline towards a terrified Charlie, crooking her finger for the cameraman to follow her. Emily just so happened to make for the circulation desk at the same moment, placing herself squarely in Katie’s path. “Oh!” Emily said as they narrowly avoided bumping into each other. “Excuse me, Ms. Killjoy! Wow, I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m a big fan.” 

Katie peeled her eyes off of her intended prey only to fix them on Emily instead, clearly detecting fresh meat. “And you must be the Other Seraphim. Or, you were.” 

Emily gave her a self-deprecating smile and shrugged, all six wings rustling with the motion. “How’d you guess?” Katie’s evil smile inched even wider, eyes gleaming with interest. Before a no doubt downright violating barrage of leading questions could begin, Emily said, “I have a couple questions for you, if you don’t mind. You see, information travels very differently in Heaven than it does in Hell, and I’ve started watching a fair amount of Channel 666 to get the lay of the land. In your experience, about how many newsworthy stories would you say are cut for time in your average broadcast?” 

A flicker of genuine feeling flew across Katie’s face. Still a passionate reporter underneath the glamorous facade. Called it. “Oh, honey. Where do I even start?” 

They proceeded to have a fascinating conversation about the state of mass media, propaganda, and modern technology, with considerably more cursing on Katie’s end. Emily only left it behind when Angel Dust waved to where people were lining up to meet some therapy dogs. “Looks like my friends are calling me over. I’d better go, but it was so nice to meet you!” 

“Well,” Katie said, hands on the generous swell of her hips. Her painted lips tipped into a surprisingly rakish smirk. “Was I everything you were hoping for and more, angel?” 

“Of course! It was amazing to hear you speak in your own words instead of off a script, and you’re somehow even more beautiful in person. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me!” With that, Emily quickly vanished into the crowd before the conversation could turn back to her. 

As much as Charlie worshiped the ground Emily walked on for the next twenty-four hours for “sacrificing yourself to save me from that big old meanie”, the truth was that Charlie had handled the event quite well largely on her own. It was rewarding to see her grow into herself so much in so little time. It had taken centuries for Emily to learn many of the same lessons and consistently put them to use. Who knew? Perhaps one day she’d teach Charlie how to hold her own in a meeting with Heaven. 

Because according to Emily’s political calculus, Heaven was due to request a meeting any week now in order to manage the PR crisis created by losing yet another angel to the ranks of Hell, and to get a read on how many more redeemed souls they could expect to appear in Heaven the near future, though she was sure they would refuse to actually frame it that way. Emily would only be too happy to participate when the time came. She got the distinct sense that Hell’s royal family could use her help when it came to that particular diplomatic relationship. Lucifer barely talked to his own subjects, let alone foreign dignitaries, and Heaven boasted the most frustrating diplomats in the known universe. 

Given Lucifer’s general hermit tendencies, it was hard to feel anything but flattered by the intermittent deluge of puns and quiche recipes that he sent her weekly. She got a real kick out of them whenever she remembered that she had a cellphone and fished it out of her sock drawer. The only reason she didn’t have five million unread texts was because everyone knew that she barely used the thing, and most of the unread texts she did have were from him. When she got around to turning the thing on, she answered everything promptly and all at once, and with probably too many emoji. 

The phone was a sleek lavender brick decorated with Lucifer’s signature gold flourishes around the screen and a long glittering chain of holographic phone charms and butterfly beads. The background was a picture of her and Charlie with their cheeks pressed together for a selfie. 

The only people in Heaven who had cell phones, generally, were those whom they made more happy than not. Which was to say, very few. People acted like this little device somehow held the power to make them feel less alone, but she’d never seen a single piece of technology make people lonelier. Well, besides the modern weaponry. 

Regardless, there were days where she almost wished she’d left Sir Pentious a similar device before she’d left Heaven or at least given him some means of communication, but she’d thought better of it. He didn’t seem like he’d make the best spy. No sense in setting up Heaven’s first redeemed soul for a stint with the Inquisitors. Might as well let him enjoy Heaven without agenda. 

She’d opted instead to place an extremely basic, but very subtle monitoring spell on him. Often, the simpler the magic was, the harder it was to detect. The spell let her know if he was okay, and that was literally all it did. If he died or was grievously injured, she would know immediately. It hardly counted as insurance, though. There was a lot Heaven could do without physically hurting you. And anyone who’d lived in Heaven long enough ought to know it. She wondered how demons would feel if they learned just how restrictive day to day existence in Heaven was, how utterly ruled it was by its own unique brand of fear.

Then again, perhaps they didn’t bother envisioning life up there at all. It surprised her everyday, just how few demons asked after their family members upstairs. It reminded her, more than anything, of prison inmates trying not to taint the lives of their loved ones while they were still behind bars. Angel Dust, for instance, had only wanted a yes or no answer as to whether or not his sister had made it into Heaven. The immediate, emphatic yes he’d received now seemed to serve one of his primary motivations for staying on the path to redemption. Cherri Bomb, who frankly already hadn’t seemed to like Emily very much, only soured on her further after that. Though Cherri actually warmed up to her a little whenever Emily gave them updates on Sir Pentious and shared all of his adventures in Heaven using a showing spell. 

Cherri seemed to think of him as the one that got away and, in honor of his memory, had taken the three surviving Egg Bois somewhat under her wing. That is, she’d taken a liking to kidnapping them without warning and taking them on highly inadvisable field trips whenever the mood struck her and the Egg Bois all called her boss-lady now. It was all very wholesome as far as kidnappings went, really.

Cherri swung by the hotel more days than not, but refused to join the staff or become a resident. She insisted that she wasn’t interested in redemption, but boy, she sure did spend a lot of her free time around the only demons in Hell who were. Maybe Sir Pentious’ passing had given her cause to think about how she’d like to be remembered.

Emily made sure to give the portrait of Sir Pentious a jaunty little salute whenever she walked by it, like most of the residents did. It was always surrounded by fresh flowers—usually supplied by Vaggie, who had proven a bit harder to win over than Cherri Bomb. Emily still wasn’t fully sure she understood what’d tipped the scales in the end. One day, Vaggie had been as short with Emily as ever. The next, she’d walked in on Charlie teaching Emily how to shave her legs and armpits the normal non-magical way, and after that, their friendship seemed to have Vaggie’s full stamp of approval. Go figure.

Vaggie had been in Hell for just over three years now, and she seemed well-integrated overall, give or take a few of her favorite frequently delivered death threats. Which, depending on how you looked at it, could be taken as perfect proof of her naturalization. As far as Emily knew, the only person beyond the hotel grounds that Vaggie had built any type of bond with was, of all people, Carmilla Carmine. Unfortunately, from what Emily could tell, Carmilla seemed a little… less sold on Charlie. 

Though Carmilla favored Vaggie, she wouldn’t bother with either of them if she didn’t see some promise in Charlie, too. With any luck, Charlie would be able to build that fragile bridge into a meaningful allyship in time. 

Which was a relief because most of the other overlords were much less appealing prospects. The effects of their reign could be felt even here, outside of any of their individual districts. Emily could hardly open her phone without seeing an ad for Love Potion, featuring Valentino and Velvette surrounded by ropes of red smoke against a royal purple backdrop. 

Needless to say, sex was treated very differently in Hell. Angel Dust exemplified its idiosyncrasies and internal contradictions better than anyone. 

One Monday afternoon, Emily and Angel Dust were watching the news together on the antique kitchen TV while they helped Niffty make minestrone soup. The commercials rolled, and the very first one announced: “This show is brought to you by Hell’s Best Sex Toys! Hell’s Best Sex Toys—Go Fuck Yourself!” Their flagship product appeared to be a silicone anal mold of Angel Dust. All the man himself did was laugh and say, “You don’t even wanna know what I had to do to get that thing made. And I made, what, $300 off the whole deal? Can you believe that shit?”

For Emily, who’d never done more than make out with someone before, it was kind of a lot to take in.

Thankfully, Angel Dust didn’t seem offended in the least that she’d opted not to join his “Exotic Dance for Dummies” class, which he taught in his personal wing of the hotel every Tuesday and Thursday night. 

Truthfully, Husk’s wing was much more her speed, with no poles or partial nudity on offer. The casino was open from 10AM to 8PM, which was when Husk took over for Sabine at the hotel bar. Sabine was one of the hotel’s newest residents—a Russian lizard lady who was awake when it was light out and asleep almost as soon as it was dark. Meanwhile, Husk typically took a cat nap in the middle of the afternoon, often right at the craps table if the place was empty. But right now it was alive with the clacking of chips and the ruffling of cards because they were playing Husk’s favorite game: poker. Husk, Emily, and Angel Dust were two hours deep into a friendly hand when Alastor wandered in, seemingly drawn by the ambient chaos created by the game. Angel Dust seized the opportunity to give Alastor his seat so that he could catch the season premiere of Hell’s Next Top Model right as it aired. Emily masterfully hid her panic when Alastor slid into the seat right next to her by focusing even harder on rearranging her poker chips into a miniature recreation of the rosebush labyrinth outside.

“Hell of a poker face you got there,” Husk complimented Emily, likely referring to her ability to accrue enough chips to even sculpt anything at all. He took a deep puff on his cigar and shuffled the cards with palpable relish. 

“Thanks! I usually play against dogs and they can, like, smell fear.” 

They all briefly fell silent as Husk dealt the next hand, then fell into the ritual of bidding and bluffing. At the end of the round, Emily was left with a hard-won narrow lead, the result of a decent hand and a better poker face. Husk passed the deck to Emily for her to shuffle and tapped out his cigar into a gleaming ashtray shaped like a roulette wheel, making it spin. “So. You always have to screw people over with a smile up there?”

“Let’s just say,” Emily said matter of factly as she shuffled the cards with a snap, “that deal-making looks a little different in Heaven.” 

As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket, instantly reminding her why she preferred to let it gather dust in her room. It was a text from Charlie, of course:

SOS MY SPEECH SUX PLZ COME FIX IT!!!

This was followed by a long string of shiny-eyed emoji and rainbow hearts. “Sorry, guys! I’m out!” 

“Duty calls, huh?” Husk huffed.

“Yup!” she said brightly, passing the deck to Alastor. “Have a great game!” With that, she winked away in a glimmer of gold. 

Duty, as Husk said, called. And Charlie’s speech did, indeed, need help. They’d rewritten the whole thing at least four times before Charlie started pacing around her office like a caged animal, seemingly convinced that if she didn’t give the best speech anyone had ever heard, no one would bother to donate to the new orphanage in Imp City. Charlie was supposed to say a few words at the groundbreaking to replace the one that had burned down last summer. Apparently the orphans had actually been the ones to burn it down, but still. That just meant it was even harder to convince people to contribute.

Charlie ranted as she circled the room, her hair increasingly scruffy as she pulled it every which way. “What if I fuck it up? I fuck up stuff all the time! I mean, I got the last hotel totally destroyed, hardly anybody took this project seriously until my dad showed up, and I got Sir Pentious killed! We just got lucky that he was already redeemed!” 

The Embassy clocktower chimed, the sound surely inescapable no matter where you were in the city. Charlie flung a hand out in its direction. “I mean, the next Extermination is just two hundred and three days away, we’ve got at least one resident who’s clearly on the verge of redemption, and no offense, but Heaven probably isn’t any more ready to welcome him than they were to accept Sir Pentious. And we still don’t actually know what gets people sent to Heaven! Like—not everyone can heroically sacrifice themselves in the heat of battle! And frankly, getting more people into Heaven would be a lot easier if we knew what the fuck even got people on the list!”

Emily nodded sympathetically from her seat, sipping her oolong patiently. She didn’t burden Charlie with advice just yet, since they appeared to still be in the ranting and raging phase, not the problem-solving phase. “It’s a lot, I know. And Heaven has already disappointed you plenty.”

“Should we, uh, request a meeting with them, then? Try to settle some of this without more bloodshed? Not to sound shallow, but I really, really don’t want to have to rebuild the hotel again.” Ah. Time for solutions, then.

Emily set her teacup down, shaking her head. “Honestly? No. They need to come to us.” 

“Will they?” Charlie fretted, quite literally wringing her hands. “Come to us, I mean?”

Emily noted the anxiety crinkling the corners of Charlie’s mouth and scrunched between her brows. She stood to take Charlie’s hands in hers and said calmly, clearly, “Yes. They will. And sooner than you’d think. Don’t worry.” Her thumbs rubbed the back of Charlie’s snow white hands. “When you know your path, detours are no danger to your journey,” Emily told her in Enochian, as the platitude didn’t sound nearly as comforting in English.

Charlie blinked, expression blank. “That’s—that’s beautiful! What is that?” 

Emily blinked back at her. “I said that it’s okay to take detours sometimes. We’ll still get where we need to go.” The next day, Emily gently asked Lucifer why he hadn’t taught Charlie to speak his mother tongue. She was uncomfortably informed that Lilith hadn’t cared for Enochian, that the sound of it reminded her of her difficult start in life. Emily rather suspected it was actually because Lilith hadn’t wanted her daughter and husband to have conversations around her that she couldn’t totally understand, but Emily kept that theory to herself. Humans could learn the language, given enough time and effort, but it was difficult and it would never come naturally. Even centuries-old Winners struggled with full fluency, and Lilith was most certainly not a Winner. 

In any case, they had much bigger fish to fry than language lessons right now because Lucifer received a letter from Heaven the very next week. Notably, the first person Lucifer approached with the wrinkled golden letter in hand was Emily. He hunted her down in the second floor library and had her read the invitation over while he paced between the gargantuan bookshelves, lightly tearing out his own hair.

Heaven, in sum, was requesting a meeting at noon in three days’ time. They asked that all three Fallen angels attend, but it was plain enough who they actually wanted there. 

“This is good,” she told him from where she sat on the chintz sofa. 

“Is it, though?”

“Yes, it is. They had to initiate, which already puts them on the backfoot. Heaven prefers to be sought, not to seek.” Emily traced Sera’s shining silver signature at the bottom of the page, gathering her thoughts for a moment. “Our best bet is to drag this out a little and get them to agree to a series of meetings. They can be made to listen, if you make yourself a big enough bother and give them enough time to digest new information. Their first reflex will always be to be unreasonable and unaccommodating, and it takes some work to get past that, but it is possible.” 

“If you say so…” Lucifer said uncertainly, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “I know Charlie wants us to talk to them and avoid more of all the—” He drew his thumb across his neck and made a gurgling noise.

“That’s very important to her, it’s true. I personally believe that it’s certainly worth trying. Still, calling a meeting with three Fallen angels is new territory for Heaven. It’s hard to say exactly how they’ll behave,” Emily said, then cocked her head. “Would you mind if I did most of the talking?” She was very familiar with how the wheels got greased up there, and she was fully aware that Lucifer hadn’t personally waded into politics in quite some time. 

“Holy fuck, yes, please, God—” he yelled before clearing his throat and smoothing his hands down his suit. “No, no, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great!” Emily straightened out the letter, neatly folded it, and returned it to him. “And how would you feel about Charlie sitting in on the meetings?”

“When you say sit in…”

“I think she should probably be there to listen, rather than participate. I mean this in the best way possible, but it would be good practice in self-control for her. She’s super passionate and has a hard time holding her tongue when she sees a problem she thinks she can do something about. This could be a valuable learning experience for her. Every leader has to trust other people to do the heavy lifting sometimes, and she might realize just how much she can absorb when she allows herself to fade into the background for a little bit.”

“You’re making points.” Lucifer stroked his chin. “Yeah, you know what? You’re right, let’s have her sit in. Encourage her to take notes, tell us what she notices, all of that good stuff. Let’s see what happens.”

They brainstormed a list of meeting objectives and presented them to Charlie in her office bright and early the next morning. The Princess of Hell was practically bouncing from the walls with excitement until she heard their final stipulation for accepting the invitation: that Charlie observe only. There was a great deal of griping and groveling—and, frankly, whining—until Emily finally said, “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course!” 

“Then please let me handle this for you.”

“Ughhhhhh, fine, fine, you’re right, I won’t talk. If you let Alastor sit in, too!” Lucifer looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. With the entire tree attached. But in the end, he agreed. 

Alastor was delighted to learn that he was invited, of course. Though Charlie cautioned him, “Al, if I’m not allowed to talk, then you’ve definitely got to zip it.” Alastor mimed zipping his mouth shut, locking it, and tossing away the key. God, he was so cute.

That night, Lucifer officially named Emily as Hell’s diplomatic liaison to Heaven. Like, they announced it on the evening news and everything. The coverage was kinder than anticipated, with phrases like, “seasoned negotiator” and “finally, a hope in Hell.” Admittedly, it was a bit of a thrill to hear Katie Killjoy say Emily’s name like it meant something here. She was finally establishing herself on this plane. Honestly? It felt right.

Of course, Charlie used the opportunity to try to give Emily an office. Emily barely used her own bedroom as it was, and she refused to waste another room on herself when she knew she’d be doing almost all of her work in the hotel’s public spaces, anyway. She could handle anything confidential in her living room. 

One moment she was laughing off Charlie’s offer of the office just down the hall from her own and the next, it was the morning of the meeting. As daunting as it was, Emily relished the opportunity to forge her own political path here, where her reputation in no way preceded her and she could speak for herself, without an overbearing mentor constantly hovering over her shoulder.

She spent a few too many minutes staring herself down in her bedroom mirror, some part of her still expecting to see Sera standing just behind her. Adoring. Judging. Smothering.

The clock struck ten til noon.

Showtime.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that at the end of the day, this was just a conversation. It wasn’t liable to make or break the entire situation as it currently stood, and Sera wouldn’t even be in the same room with her. It was a glorified phone call, really. You couldn’t even physically interact with the holograms unless the angel you were talking to willed it. And yet, the nerves remained.

Emily gathered up her papers and teleported straight to the conference room upstairs, where Charlie and Vaggie were already waiting. It rather resembled the Embassy’s, only done up in decidedly more hellish colors: red, black, and blood stain brown. It wasn’t a bad look. The room was situated smack dab between Lucifer and Alastor’s wings on the sixteenth floor, directly behind the carousels. Emily could actually see them spinning through the stained glass windows. The main focal points of the room were a long, ornate conference table and a rather majestic mahogany fireplace, above which the hologram projector was mounted.

The head of the table was empty, with Charlie and Vaggie seated to its right. Emily took the chair on its left, offering unobtrusive additions to their low, nervous chatter.

Alastor manifested in the seat next to Emily straight out of the shadows at exactly five minutes til. “Alastor,” she smiled. “Thank you for coming!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the world, my dear!” He grinned back at her, rapping the back of his microphone against the table twice. Vaggie immediately dragged him into a comfortable argument about some “mysterious” bloodstains in the fifth floor foyer, which only paused when Lucifer strode through the door with less than a minute to spare.

“Your Majesty,” Emily greeted him with a nod and a smile. 

“Holy shit, please don’t call me that,” he blurted, tumbling into his seat at the head of the table like a spooked animal.

“Fair enough. But in front of them, I might. Is that alright?”

“Anything for the bit,” he said nonsensically, which she figured was a yes. She glanced at the clock.

Ten seconds to go.

“Are we ready?” Emily asked, eyes scanning each of their faces. 

“As we’ll ever be,” Vaggie answered grimly. Charlie’s jaw tightened like she was physically locking it shut and she gave Emily a double thumbs up. Lucifer drew himself up in his seat and nodded, visibly regretting agreeing to this at all.

“My dear, we’ve never been readier.” Alastor said it with a smile that she probably shouldn’t have found half as encouraging as she did. Out of time to answer him, she acknowledged the sentiment with a heartfelt nod.

The hologram blinked on at noon precisely. Sera’s likeness appeared in the seat at the opposite end of the table, Lute standing at attention over her shoulder with five guards lining the wall behind them. Emily refused to shift in place as Sera palpably drunk her in. Likely examining her for damage, of which she would find none. 

“Sera,” Emily said, tone perfectly pleasant and flat.

“Emily,” Sera answered, voice catching on the first syllable.

Emily’s eyes slid to Lute. “Lieutenant.” Lute’s eyes narrowed, her lip curling. 

“Lucifer, Charlotte,” Sera said, not looking away from Emily nor greeting anyone else, though she surely knew their names. And now, after what passed for pleasantries, they came to what this meeting was actually about. 

“Come home,” Sera told Emily. 

“No.” 

The room was cold and still, all eyes on them both. Observing the offer, which no other angel would have been given, and the answer, which came immediately. 

Once Emily felt the silence had stretched long enough to make her point, she shuffled her papers. “Now that we’ve settled that,” she said briskly, as if there had been no pause at all, “I think I should clarify my role here. I have offered my services to Lucifer and Charlotte Morningstar, and they have graciously named me as their liaison for all of Hell’s diplomatic affairs with Heaven. Any questions you have for them during these meetings, you may direct to me first.”

“And is this… a permanent self-appointment?” Sera asked.

Have I lost you forever? she meant.

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

Sera watched her for a moment, then slowly straightened in her seat. Up until that moment, Emily hadn’t quite caught how she’d actually been slumping forward ever so slightly. She suspected Sera hadn’t noticed either.

“I see.” 

The silence stretched as they stared each other down. Sera demonstrated her renewed hope through silent passive aggression. Emily demonstrated her own resolve by emulating her. It was all terribly in-character. Lucifer broke the silence, seemingly out of sheer discomfort. “So! What are your terms?”

Ham-fisted, but as good a place to start as any.

Sera folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Our intentions are as follows: we would like to reestablish regular diplomatic relations with Hell and collaborate on how to return to normal as soon as possible.” 

Translation: we want to keep better tabs on you now that we’ve realized that you’re an actual threat.

“We would like to proceed with Heaven’s routine functions, with no further interference from Hell’s royal family.” 

We want to enjoy our genocide without fear of consequences while keeping Hell weak, disorganized, and minimally populated.

“And lastly, we would like to hear the future plans for the Hazbin Hotel in order to better understand its newfound role between our kingdoms.”

We want to prevent any more redeemed sinners from entering Heaven, and we’re going to bank on your goodwill in order to get the intel to do it.

Emily linked her fingers and leaned forward. “Thank you for clarifying. Our agenda has similar items of interest. We want to end the Exterminations. We want to ensure that all redeemed souls are treated fairly in Heaven—because rest assured, they are coming. To that end, we want to learn what grants a soul formal entry into Heaven. Finally, you’ll be happy to hear that we are, in fact, open to reestablishing regular diplomatic relations with you, should you prove reasonable in your dealings with us.”

There was a pause.

“What you should note,” Emily said, “is that we’re not asking for reparations. We’re not even asking for an apology. We are merely asking for you to put an end to a wrong that you’ve continued to commit for a very, very long time.”

“And why should we give Hell insight into Heaven’s most sacred task?” Sera prodded, clearly testing the waters.

“That depends. Is there a reason why you didn’t inform the proprietors of the Hazbin Hotel that they’d already redeemed their first soul in under a single year of operation?” 

Why did you lie and tell me that you did?

“They didn’t need to know.”

“They didn’t need to know,” Emily repeated slowly. And then once more. “They didn’t need to know? Ten thousand years of demons being tortured in Hell without a single shred of hope for salvation, and when one is redeemed within months of the first genuine effort being made to spare his immortal soul, you simply think to yourself… they didn’t need to know?” 

“It was classified,” Sera stressed. 

“So classified that nearly all of Heaven knew?” 

“Heaven has its reasons. There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Well, you know what I think? I think if you can’t explain it, to me of all people, then you must not have a very good reason.” Emily crossed her arms. 

“Who cares what the reason is!” Lute snarled, throwing her hands up. “We owe these Hell-scum nothing. They killed Adam.” 

“Adam,” Emily reminded her, “attacked a Hellborn. His life was forfeit. You know this.” The articulated fingers of Lute’s prosthetic hand fell to the hilt of her blade, the angelic steel of her new arm glinting menacingly under the overhead lights. She would never be without a weapon now.

“Adam is a hero. And Pentious is a fluke. A glitch in the system. Another demon won’t enter Heaven if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”

Charlie opened her mouth. Lucifer, Emily, and Alastor looked at her, the first two shaking their heads ever so slightly while the third only smiled. Charlie subsided, miming zipping her mouth shut and tossing away the key, shoulders hunched in defeat. Lucifer patted her shoulder while Vaggie rubbed Charlie’s back. 

Emily took the wheel again. “Nevertheless, Pentious is there now. Moving forward, we simply ask that you be more communicative about news of that magnitude. We can’t deal fairly with one another if both sides don’t have the relevant facts. That is why you should give us insight into Heaven’s most sacred task. And in all likelihood, you will see more souls like him in Heaven sooner than you think. After seeing this project up close, I wholeheartedly believe in the Hazbin Hotel and what it’s capable of achieving. It possesses the potential to upset the system entirely. I think you know that. That’s why the idea of it bothers you so much. Which is understandable, to a degree. Change is often difficult and disorienting. All we ask is that you cooperate with us so that we can both navigate this change as smoothly as possible and that you treat those souls well when they arrive.”

Sera’s tone turned beseeching, “You’re just one angel, Emily. It’s not your responsibility to alter the very foundation of Heaven—”

“Then I don’t deserve to be there.” 

And neither do you.

Sera softened. “Is that what you really believe?”

“Yes,” Emily said without hesitation.

Sera visibly discarded her first three answers to that with a shake of her head. “Heaven’s not the same with you,” she settled on instead.

A guilt trip, then. Great. Well, Emily could do that too.

“Walking away was my absolute last resort. I made you some very generous offers,” Emily said quietly, eyes glowing ever so slightly. Serene in the way that so many dangerous things were. “You weren’t interested.”

The guards leaned forward minutely, and Lute’s eyes narrowed in interest. Everyone knew that Emily had petitioned Sera to pause the Exterminations, of course, but the attempt had always been made behind closed doors. No one knew precisely what she’d offered or what she even could offer that she hadn’t freely given Heaven every day of her existence thus far. But Emily was being honest when she said that she’d exhausted every possible option before leaving altogether. Someone who loved Heaven as much as she had could hardly do anything less. 

“And now we find ourselves here,” Sera said, neatly pivoting. Coward. 

At least she was taking Emily seriously now. “You called me the Heart of Heaven, once. Its living conscience.” 

“I remember,” Sera said solemnly. 

“Well, what is your conscience telling you now?” 

“You’ve strayed far from Heaven’s light, Emily,” Sera said, as if that disproved Emily’s argument rather than proving it entirely. 

“Yes. I have. And I wonder if you actually understand why.”

The carriage clock on the mantel struck twelve-thirty, the time told by the forked tails on a pair of devilish cherubs. Sera glanced over their shoulders, doubtlessly at her own clock, and frowned. She obviously hadn’t gotten what she wanted or expected out of the last half-hour. Good. That, if nothing else, made her much more likely to agree to another meeting soon, if only to acquire whatever she’d failed to get out of this one.

“We’re clearly not going to settle this today. I propose that we reconvene in a month to discuss this in more detail,” Emily said, graciously extending the olive branch.

“Very well. We’ll expect you at the same time, a month to the day.” For a moment, Sera’s eyes fell so hungrily on her, it was as if Sera was getting her last sip of air before plunging back into deep, dark water again.

Lucifer’s hands clapped the top of his thighs. “Welp! This was productive, but I’ve got a thing right after this, sooo…”

“This meeting is adjourned,” Sera announced, eyes cool. Still needing to pretend like it was her only call to make. Sera and Emily flipped the switches to end the hologram at the same moment, and Heaven’s entourage vanished. 

Emily blew out a breath, the tension beginning to release from her body. Then she craned her head back and asked Lucifer sideways, “What did you make of that?” 

“How incredible you are.” He said it in Enochian, with sincerity lining every word. 

Emily laughed, startled and delighted. “Thank you! I think you’re incredible, too. But I meant, what did you make of their terms?”

“Oh, they were total bullshit. But that’s Heaven for you! What else did we expect, ya know?”

“Yep, Sera prefers to keep her cards close to the vest at the beginning of any negotiation.”

Alastor drummed his fingers on the conference table, one by one, as if playing imaginary arpeggios. “And just what, may I ask, did you offer her before venturing all the way down here and volunteering your talents to Hell itself?” 

“Everything.” Emily huffed an incredulous little breath, shaking her head lightly. She stared out the window without seeing a thing. “I offered her everything, and it still wasn’t enough. So it was time to go. And now she’s ready to haggle. Funny how that works.”

“Em…” Charlie said, her eyes all shiny and sad. 

Emily shook her head again and smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and she’s finally ready to play ball. Let’s make the most of it.” Emily tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned back in her seat. “So, Charlie! What did you notice?” 

Charlie frantically flipped through two pages’ worth of notes, brimming with glitter pen scribbles and doodled rainbows. “Um, that they never seemed to say what they really meant?”

“Yes, exactly! Well-spotted. That’s standard for them, even among allies. What else?”

The slightest encouragement had Charlie quickly warming to the exercise. “They’re, uh, uh, interested in the hotel now! But not, like, in a good way. And they suck! Oh, oh, and Lute had a new arm! Right?!”

“Right! And it seems like she’ll be actively trying to throw a wrench into what we’re doing here.”

Alastor leaned forward, chin on top of the bridge of his fingers. “Oh, yes. She seemed to have no qualms about openly defying the stated goals of the meeting, and the Head Seraphim made no attempt to rein her in. Perhaps the Head Seraphim privately agrees, or simply has no faith in her own ability to control her?”

“That’s an excellent point,” Emily said genuinely. “What about you, Vaggie? What did you notice?” 

“Yeah, I noticed that I’m glad I don’t have your job.” Emily beamed proudly. Coming from Vaggie, that was practically nominating her for a medal of honor.

“I’m just happy I can help!” Emily neatened her papers and started wrapping things up. “Now, a month gives us a lot of time to mull everything over, so let’s see if we can’t brainstorm any other requests we’d like to make of Heaven, and let’s do our best to bring even more souls closer to redemption in the meantime. Sound good?” There were murmurings of agreement. With that, the debriefing came to a close. “Okay! Great job today, everybody!” 

“Emily, you literally did all of the talking,” Charlie said, trading a rueful look with Vaggie. 

“Well, you were all excellent moral support and you supplied me with valuable insight ahead of time that allowed me to speak knowledgeably about the subject at hand. And I really appreciate that!” As they all rose from their seats, Emily turned and told Lucifer, “Sorry to keep you.”

Lucifer blinked guilelessly. “Keep me from what?”

“Didn’t you have something right after this?”

He stared at her for a beat. Then he smacked his forehead with his palm. “Oh, right! That! You’re so right, I better go do… that… right now, or I’ll be late! Byyyyyyye!” Then he disappeared in a shower of gold sparkles. 

Well. 

She’d had worse bosses.

Chapter Text

On her twelfth week as a has-been in a self-described hotel full of them, Emily turned to Charlie over the crowded breakfast table. “Have anything fun planned for Friday night?” Emily asked.

“Not really. Vaggie likes to spar with Husk on Friday nights, sooo…” Then Charlie straightened, snapping her fingers. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea! Let’s have a girl’s night, you and me!”

“That sounds awesome! We can paint each other’s nails!”

“And eat junk food!”

“And tell each other all of our secrets!”

“It’s a daaaaaaaaaate!” they sing-songed.

Emily turned up at Charlie’s bedroom door at 4:59PM sharp with a bag of ruffled potato chips under one arm and a stack of magazines under the other. She’d taken exactly one step into the room when Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” began to play on Charlie’s heart-shaped speakers. Emily gasped, “I love this song!”

“I love this song!” They promptly danced around the room together belting it out, Emily occasionally lifting Charlie into the air along with her just to make her laugh and wheeze the next few lyrics. Needless to say, girls’ night was a raging success. They ate nearly an entire pack of Oreos, only spilled two bottles of purple nail polish, and made about a dozen crank calls—except they did the version where you said really nice stuff when people picked up. 

“You have beautiful eyes!”

“You are loved!”

“Do something nice for someone else today!”

“Believe in your dreams!”

Then they’d hang up and immediately burst into giggles, elbowing each other even as they dialed the next number. They fell asleep tangled up in each other on Charlie’s bed sometime around dawn—Charlie from exhaustion and Emily just because Charlie made it look so refreshing.

Girls’ night was so much fun that they decided to do the same thing the next Friday, only this time with a movie musical marathon to boot. By midnight, the pizza box was in the recycling bin and Mary Poppins was merrily rolling by on the enormous flat screen TV. The coffee table was covered in gaping bags of chocolate pentagrams, Twizzlers, half-finished friendship bracelets, and a Truth or Dare card game. Apparently, Vaggie hadn’t been very good at playing the original game until it had more structure. 

Charlie collapsed back onto the couch after hopping a lap around the room on one foot and pointed a finger at Emily. “Alright, your turn! Truth or Dare?” she panted.

“Truth!” 

“Okay, uhmm…” Charlie drew the next card off the Truth stack and read it aloud. “What is something that nobody else knows about you?” 

Funny, how if Charlie had asked her that six months ago, the answer would have literally been nothing.

Emily confessed, “Sometimes, when I’m all alone and no one can hear me, I say curse words just because I can.” Imagine her horror when Alastor waltzed out of the shadows a moment later, grinning like that was the funniest thing he’d heard in weeks. 

“Well, well, well. Isn’t that just scandalous.” 

“Al,” Charlie warned, sitting up. “You’re tons of fun and we’d love to hang out, but tonight is girls’ night.” 

“Oh, is it? A thousand pardons, dear Charlie. Then I won’t bother you about your delightful paramour getting into fisticuffs with our latest guest—” 

“Vaggie, no, ” Charlie moaned in horror, disappearing out the door in a flurry of cutesy pajama pants and platinum blonde hair. And then—suddenly, horrifyingly—it was just the two of them. Alone.

“And then there were two.” Alastor cocked his smile at her and blinked slowly, making no secret of watching her. She laughed lightly, politely in response, somehow already wracked with nerves. He came a few steps closer, microphone slanted across his spine. “Well, my dear, I hope you don’t mind me keeping you company until our lovely proprietress returns and this ‘girls’ night’ can continue as planned.” 

“Of course I don’t mind!” she rushed to reassure him. Surely a little chit chat to pass the time until Charlie got back couldn’t hurt…

“You know, I’d hate to impose. I’d completely understand if you’d prefer to, say, use this time to curse while no one is around to hear…” 

She giggled genuinely this time, flushing in an even mix of embarrassment and pleasure. It felt like a gift to be teased so gently by such a scary, scary man.

“Now,” he said, smoothly taking a seat on the ottoman across from her like he’d actually been sitting there all night and was simply returning to his spot. “Just what did I so rudely interrupt?” 

“We were playing Truth or Dare.” 

“Ahhh, something of a tradition at slumber parties, I understand. Shall we pick up where you left off, then?”

“O-oh! Sure! Only if it wouldn’t be a bother.”

“You could never bother me, sweetheart.” Her breath fluttered out of her in one big rush. Mainly because he said it with such certainty.

“So!” He flourished his fingers over the twin stacks of cards, grin spreading. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth, please.” She decided not to address the fact that he likely knew perfectly well that she’d actually just taken her turn. 

He drew the first card from the deck and read aloud: “What's the biggest misconception about you?”

She mulled over her answer for a moment as “A Spoonful of Sugar” played in the background, and the topsy-turvy home on screen righted itself with a cheery tune and a few snaps of the fingers.

“That I don’t have a bad side, I guess. Everybody’s got one, right?” 

“Ooo, ominous.” He grinned, drumming his claws against his thigh. “I like it!”

“Thanks! Okay, your turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Hmm, I’ll follow your lead. Truth for me as well.”

“What is your greatest talent?” 

“Why, performing, of course!” He tossed his microphone into the air and caught it like a baton, twirling it expertly with a little shower of green fireworks. She ooh-ed and clapped, always dazzled by other beings’ unique brand of magic. His, in particular,  could not be more unlike her own. He tipped his microphone underneath his own chin, tilting his head curiously. “And what would you consider to be your strongest talent, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all! My strongest talent is making people happy. It’s what I was made to do, you know?”

“Now that, I believe.” Emily tried really, really hard not to read into that and breathe normally, with mixed success. Alastor’s eyes gleamed as he reached for the cards again. “What will it be this time, doll?”

“I’ll take a Dare.” 

“I dare you to use each of the letters in another player’s name to describe them.” 

“Sure, I can do that! A is for—” 

Attractive.

“Awake. L is for—”

Lovely. 

“Lively. A is for—

Attractive as heck.

“Aware. S if for—”

Sensual.

“Silly. T is for—” 

Terrifying.

“Terrific. O is for—” 

Oh God, he was so terrifying and he was looking right at her with absolutely zero distractions right now and she could feel a single droplet of fear-sweat trickle down her spine. She wondered if he could smell her rising panic. He was just so overwhelming.

“Overlord. R is for, f-for—” 

Ravenous.

“Rakish? Reliable? Rapier wit?”

“Um, actually, I was going to say resourceful.”

“Hmmm. I think I like mine better,” he said, eyes twinkling mischievously. “In any case, you were kind enough to answer my question last time, so I’ll do your name as well. Fair’s fair!”

He drummed each of his fingers on his knee just once.

“Emily. Euphoric. Musical. Intriguing. Luminous. Young at heart.” His crimson eyes crinkled. “Now if that isn’t you summed up in a few words, I don’t know what is!” 

Was that really how he saw her? As something so—precious? She was staring, she realized after a moment. She immediately cut it out, clearing her throat. “Thank you! That’s very kind of you.” Emily reached for safety in the guise of reaching for the cards. “Truth or dare?”

“I’ll take another Truth, my dear.” 

Over his shoulder, Mary and Bert were tap-dancing their way through “Jolly Holiday” in vivid technicolor, inside of an elaborate drawing. It was fascinating, how Mary alternated between delicately returning and rebuffing his playful advances, the two of them smiling as they danced around each other in two ways at once. She danced with others in the film, of course, but she only truly shined with Bert. Emily tore her eyes away from the comforting, familiar scene on screen in order to read the next card. “What is your guilty pleasure?”

“Ah, that’s easy! Leftover Mardi Gras cake. It’s much better once the icing gets stiff, and the cake is dry and firm. I’m not much for sweets, I admit, but even I get a little nostalgic for a slice of stale king cake.” He blinked expectantly at her.

“I, um. Rant at people I’m upset with in the shower. It always makes me feel better. I also really like dipping french fries in chocolate milkshakes.”

“Ahh, very therapeutic.” He said it with an approving nod, as if he were a doctor prescribing an at-home treatment. “Both the ranting and the french fries, mind.” And when she was done giggling, he asked once more, “Truth or Dare for you, darling?”

“Truth, please!” 

“What,” he read crisply off the card, “is the perfect first date?” 

“Well, you know I really like to talk, so… Any first date would just be an excuse to do that! I guess the best thing would be a nice, long walk on a sunny day to see the sights and then get something to eat afterwards. Maybe ice cream?” 

“Mm, simple. I like it. Mine is much the same, only no ice cream for me and the day must end with a kiss. Very important. It hardly signifies as a first date without one. We have to test our chemistry, you understand.” 

“That makes sense,” she agreed in a totally normal tone of voice, and definitely not picturing what it would be like to kiss him at the end of a long, sunny day together. She hovered her hand over the stacks. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth again, if you please.”

“What do you daydream about the most?” 

Alastor tapped his lips with his index finger, his smile changing shape. “Total freedom.” 

“Honestly?” she laughed. “Me too!” Freedom from guilt. Freedom from this terrible broken system that had made her complicit in its many and varied crimes. Freedom to simply be. 

They smiled at each other for a quiet moment before he asked, “Truth or Dare, sugar?”

“Truth!” She was warming up to the predictable back and forth that the game created, forgetting to be completely eaten up with anxiety. As he plucked a card off the slowly dwindling pile, she said, “Sorry I keep picking Truth. I just think it’s more interesting.” 

“Darling, I couldn’t agree more.” His grin broadened as he read the prompt. “How was your first kiss?”

Nevermind, the anxiety was back. 

“It was f-fine, I guess.”

“Mine as well. They can’t all spark fireworks, now, can they?” He said it while clinking his claws along the length of his microphone, as if to remind her that he was, in fact, ready and willing to make fireworks happen at any time. But she was, uh. Probably imagining that.

“And I’ll save you the trouble of asking: it’ll be a Dare for me next.” 

“I dare you to touch your tongue to your elbow.” Without moving his head or his arm, he did just that. He opened his mouth and his tongue simply extended, prehensile, down to his right elbow. And then all the way around his back to touch his other elbow, too. She sat there stock-still and watched, wide-eyed. And with a really, really good feeling that she couldn’t explain in the absolute pit of her stomach. For goodness’ sake, she could shapeshift. She could do the exact same thing right now if she had a mind to, but for some reason it felt very, very different to watch him do it while he made unbroken eye contact with her. And then, in a blink, his tongue was back to a totally normal length, tucked away in his mouth. 

“Your turn, my dear!” She quickly did it the normal way, merely using magic to hyperextend the joints in her shoulder until she was just flexible enough to make her tongue and elbow meet. “Very good. Now, which will it be this time?”

“A Dare, please!”

He drew a fresh card off the stack with a fancy little twirl of his fingers. “I dare you to do an impression of someone until another player can guess who you are.” 

“Okay! Uh. Here goes.” She widened her eyes and waved her arms around in big sweeping gestures, making her voice sound younger and brighter. “Hi! I’m super nice and I believe that everyone deserves a second chance! I love my girlfriend sooooo much and I totally don’t overwork myself and I give great hugs and I love having pancakes with my dad—”

“Hey!” Charlie laughed as she trudged back into the bedroom, looking a little worse for wear. Her bunny-ear headband was slightly askew and she had those stress lines that she always got around her mouth after she let somebody substantially weaker than her push her around. “I do not sound like that!” 

“My dear, if you don’t sound like that, then how could you possibly know who our little angel here was impersonating?” Emily tried and failed not to flush periwinkle at the pet name.

“Out, you,” Charlie huffed with a tired smile. “You’ve had your fun. Girl’s night is officially back on!”

Alastor obliged, fluidly rising to his feet and smoothing his suit jacket with his palm. Emily smiled up at him and told him earnestly, “Thanks for keeping me company, Alastor!” 

And when he evaporated into the shadows with the words, “Anytime, sweetheart,” damn if it didn’t sound like a promise.

*

As far as Emily could tell, her and Alastor’s masks weren’t that different. They both presented themselves to the world as happy, unbothered, and helpful. Alastor’s help just came with a much heftier price tag. Namely, it had one. She’d wondered, in the beginning, if he would perhaps resent having someone around who fulfilled people’s wishes for free with a snap of her fingers when his whole schtick was charging them their immortal soul for doing the same. But he didn’t seem to resent it in the least. If for no other reason than that neither of them had any intention of denying the other their nature. She stayed out of the way when it counted, and he had yet to belittle her for her idealism, which she was given to understand was typically a favored pastime of his. Among… other things.

The danger was part of the appeal, okay?

Everything was part of the appeal. Sometimes she felt like she was going mad with it. She wanted to touch his hair, hear his genuine laugh, take in a lungful of his cologne instead of the bare whiffs of his scent she got whenever they happened to cross paths. She wanted him to look at her. Really look. But that was silly and bad and the fate of the universe was kind of riding on all of them focusing on the task at hand, so she just tamped it down and got back to work.

In Heaven, work had always been her savior. Here, it at least passed the time.

She certainly had more than enough to keep her occupied. She’d spent a good chunk of this week hanging around various sitting rooms with the royal family, trying to get a better idea of what they wanted out of their next meeting with Heaven.

Also, Hell was hot. Like, even hotter than usual. Everyone was staying inside to escape the worst of the heatwave and the entire hotel was honestly starting to go a little stir-crazy with it, five days in. The royal family and co. lounged around Lucifer’s drawing room slurping on slushies and margaritas for hours on end, coming up with increasingly bad ideas until Vaggie finally slammed her drink down. “Fuck it. Let’s go to war. They want to come down here and try to kill us again? Fine. We’ll be better prepared this time.”

“Vaggiiiiiiiiiiie,” Charlie groaned. “Violence isn’t the answer!”

“It was last time,” Lucifer muttered, loosening his tie. 

Charlie inhaled dramatically, thrusting her pointer finger into the air and clearly gearing up to argue. Vaggie dragged a hand through her own bangs and sighed, “Look, I’m not saying we should go up there and storm the Gates. I’m just saying maybe we should actually get ready for the next Extermination. Talk to the overlords and tell them to fight, and hand them an angelic weapon or two while we’re at it. See if we can’t present a united front. We could at least try to make ourselves a less easy target.”

“That’s…” Emily thought for a moment. “That’s a great idea! Like, the very best one! You forced them to retreat last time with less than a month to mobilize! Imagine what you could do with seven months to prepare!”

Apparently few preparations had been made to fend off this upcoming Extermination Day, a result of both procrastination on Lucifer’s part and an overabundance of optimism on Charlie’s. As always, their hubris was stunning, but took on distinctly different flavors. Now, they armed themselves for the day as a kingdom set to go to war. A massive order was placed with Carmine Industries, battle maps of the city were drawn up, and tentative strategies were put to paper. Mobilizing was a smart decision, if for no other reason than that it might move the needle in their next meeting with Heaven, if its spies were doing their job at all. 

Vaggie was in charge of battle operations and making sure that they didn’t fall behind in their preparations. Meanwhile, Emily tried to make sure that those preparations wouldn’t actually be necessary. Failing all else, nobody down here was going to turn down free angelic weapons, and handing half of the demons in Hell something made out of angelic steel could only make life harder for the Exorcists. Not to be cold-blooded about it or anything, but the inevitable rise in demon-on-demon murder seemed a fair price to pay in exchange for, like, total annihilation.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, they nailed down a date a week from now to meet with Hell’s overlords. Charlie and Vaggie ran the idea by Carmilla first, who seemed skeptical but agreed to host the event at Carmine Industries’ headquarters.

Emily helped Charlie draw up personalized invitations for each of the overlords, then hand-delivered them to Alastor for final approval. When he was done reading the last one, he looked up from the page with eyes glittering with excitement at the chaos the meeting would surely bring. “Marvelously done. I can’t imagine a single one of them will say no. You really do have a way with words, don’t you, darling?”

Emily stuttered out some modest reply that she couldn’t even remember giving and spent the next three hours patiently reminding herself that he called nearly every woman of his acquaintance darling or my dear. It’s just that, sometimes, he sounded like he actually meant it when he said it to her. 

He was, however, not wrong about the turnout. RSVPs flooded in over the following days and Charlie was in a complete tizzy, preparing just what to do and say for the event, dragging Emily into multiple political planning sessions and protracted fashion consultations in the process. This would seem a little self-involved if it weren’t for the fact that this meeting was a golden opportunity for Charlie to mingle with the overlords and see if she could make some real allies there. 

Similarly, half of Lucifer’s willingness to participate could surely be put down to his desire to get a read on this new crop of overlords, most of the ones he’d known having last been spotted alone with a certain radio host many years ago. Lucifer likely wanted to see for himself what political predicament Charlie would be wading into when she took the crown, though it would be many years off.

And as these plans took shape, Emily grew increasingly concerned with confidentiality. She wanted assurances that she’d still have some cards left up her sleeve the next time she talked to Heaven and that Hell’s battle plan, should they be forced to use it, would at least have some surprises in store. Heaven should know that they weren’t to be trifled with, not the play by play of what would happen if they tried. That weekend, she dedicated a full two days to performing a simple, but powerful anti-surveillance spell on herself. All it took was a bottle of morning dew, a single unopened white rose, three drops of blood, and a little technical know-how. The spell wouldn’t prevent forms of surveillance that were a physical extension of the practitioner, such as Alastor’s shadows, but it nullified most forms of scrying and cameras no longer liked her very much. 

It was already difficult, but not impossible, for angels to use scrying spells to snoop on Hell. The rings around Heaven created a great deal of interference, and the diametrically opposed vibrational frequencies of their respective planes made establishing a stable connection even harder. Spies were far more reliable.

One of these days, when it was worth the incredibly high risk of being caught, Emily would finally work up the nerve to try and scry on Heaven and see if the signal was any better from the other side. For now, the key thing was that she could guarantee that she wasn’t being watched by them when she was alone.

As the diplomatic liaison for the royal family, she had a duty of care to give them every possible advantage, and up to and including being able to promise them confidentiality during their most sensitive discussions. Frankly, she probably should have done it sooner. But the thought of being completely unobserved all of the time... 

It was eerie. A little lonely, maybe. When late night rolled its deep red over the city and the hotel went quiet, it was easy to feel like the only person awake in the whole world. Charlie had been kind enough to give her free run of her personal library, which at least kept Emily occupied during the hotel’s slowest hours. 

Really, was there anything better than reading a banned book by the fire with a Hell-pig curled up in your lap, snorting softly in his sleep? The night before the big overlord meeting, Emily finished Pale Fire by ten o’clock and leisurely made her way up to the top floor for another. She’d had her eye on Paradise Lost for a while now and figured tonight might as well be the night. She was halfway down the hotel’s longest, spookiest hallway when Alastor came strolling along in the opposite direction. “Oh! Hi, Alastor!” 

“Hiya, sweetheart! Where are you headed this time of night?” 

“Well, I just finished a really great book and was about to pick out another. Hell has such a wonderful selection! Honestly, it’s so hard to choose sometimes.” Just then, a shadow passed over the false moon, making light flicker out of the long row of windows one by one. It was very atmospheric. The vaulted, church-like ceiling looked like the ribbed roof of a mouth and the carpet that ran along the hall resembled a long, lolling red tongue. It was as though they were being held in the muzzle of some enormous, unnamed beast.

“May I be so bold as to offer a recommendation?” Alastor asked as the shadow overtook them both.

“Please do!”

Shadows swirled a book into being in his hand. It was a handsome, weathered green hardback and it was stamped with gold lettering that read The Collected Stories of William Faulkner. Clearly a personal copy, if not an original edition outright. “Now, I’d bet you almost anything that this little number never made it past the pearlies. Do I have that right?”

“Not a single copy!” And she would dearly love to read it and find out why. Still, manners made her hesitate. He seemed the very definition of the territorial sort, not the least of which over his personal belongings, and resources here weren’t limitless like they were in Heaven. For all she knew, he was holding the only copy in all of Hell. “Are you sure you’re comfortable—”

He extended the book to her with that ever-present, unknowable smile. She stopped demurring and accepted it, clutching it carefully to her chest. “Thank you so much, Alastor! I promise I’ll return it in great condition!”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll take excellent care of it. And in exchange, you’ll have to tell me what you thought of it over coffee sometime.”

“It’s a deal!” she said, before her own words caught up to her. Her eyes rounded. 

Alastor, though? His expression was all teeth. “Tempting, but I’ll have to pass. You ought to be a little more careful with those words around here, doll. A dealmaker could get to thinking that you don’t find him dangerous.” 

“Oh, no, no! I know you are! You’re like, the most dangerous demon in H—” Her voice got a bit too breathy at the end there and hey, was the room spinning a little? Also, was Hell in another heatwave? Because the world was tilting and she was sweating, barely managing to shut up before she dug herself a deeper hole. The hallway’s shadows deepened, Alastor’s eyes gleaming brighter to pierce through the gloom. 

“Oh? You think so?” The casualness of his tone was a courtesy at best. He had never sounded more threatening, not even when he’d been matter of factly monologuing while dismembering those alligator demons last week. 

“I—I—” 

She was saved by the arrival of Vaggie, who was carrying a stack of fluffy towels so tall that she couldn’t see around them. 

“—I’d love to help you with that!” Emily blurted out. She snatched a little over half the stack from Vaggie and pivoted to walk alongside her, Alastor’s book tucked under one arm.

“Thanks, Em,” Vaggie huffed with a harried smile. 

“Where are we going?” Emily asked her brightly, her heart rabbiting. She felt Alastor’s eyes follow her down the hall, smiling like he’d just won something that she didn’t even realize she’d lost to him yet.

Chapter Text

Emily retreated to her room and spent the rest of the night reading the first couple of short stories in the book Alastor had loaned her. They were tough things, all lyricism and lies and loneliness. There was something Godly about them, in the vastness hidden in every agonizing little detail they contained. For a man who measured every word before it left his mouth, she saw why Faulkner appealed.

When the clock struck half past eleven, Emily sighed, tucked a hummingbird bookmark between the pages, and ventured out to make sure Charlie at least ate something before the big meeting. The lunch table was bustling, and Alastor seemed content to act like nothing had happened last night, passing Emily the salt with nothing more than a knowing smile.

Maddening. How it only made her want him more, she had no idea. But it did.

After tidying the dining room and giving Charlie a last-minute pep-talk, they were ready to go. Emily portaled Vaggie, Charlie, and Alastor to the lobby of Carmine Industries with twenty minutes to spare. They left Lucifer still combing his hair this way and that in the hallway mirror while he vaguely promised that he’d be right behind them in just a minute—which may or may not have been code for, I’m going to change my bowtie two more times before I’m ready to leave. Do not wait up.

Carmilla met them by the front desk within seconds of their arrival, flanked by her watchful, well-armed daughters. Emily was rather struck by the resemblance. If you forgot the wings and halo, Emily looked like she could be one of them.

It was also immediately clear that Carmilla did, indeed, prefer Vaggie. Carmilla was a remarkably put-together woman, from the polished spartan expanse of her office building, to the carefully constructed sweep of her bangs. She seemed to find Charlie quite haphazard and childish and, if Emily had to guess, had only agreed to host this meeting because she found the notion of another overlord hosting it even more insufferable. 

In the ride up to the conference room, Charlie enthusiastically thanked Carmilla for hosting, then unsuccessfully tried to strike up small talk with her. They were all rescued from the awkward, mostly one-way conversation when the elevator doors dinged open to reveal a perfectly ordinary conference room, barring its panoramic view of Pentagram City below. They all took their seats near the head of the table and the other overlords trickled in soon after, some with an entourage, some not. 

Emily tried to get a read on which attendees were the most likely candidates for Charlie to ally herself with as soon as each of them stepped into the room. Rosie and Charlie appeared to be on friendly terms from the way they happily chatted with each other. But then Rosie sat down next to Alastor the moment the conversation was done, indicating that her actual alliance was with him. On account of his close friendship with Carmilla and remarkably serene vibe, Zestial already seemed to be their best bet.

He was the very picture of what you’d expect from the oldest demon overlord, what with the whole gentleman vampire-spider-scarecrow aesthetic he had going on. He had a rail-thin body, a mask-like face, and a voice that sounded like dust rattling over the cracked flagstones of a castle ruin. It was all very respectable, as far as ancient demonic beings went. 

And then there was Valentino.

Apparently, it was his turn to represent the Vs and he was already making a nuisance of himself, mainly by claiming a seat near the head of the table that had clearly been meant for Zestial and lighting a cherry-scented cigarette as soon as he sat down. He had a missing antennae and the air of someone who had generally forgotten that he even had wings.

Honestly, Emily was already predisposed to dislike him after seeing his treatment of Angel Dust in court, and he was doing absolutely nothing to dissuade her from her initial assessment. Naturally, Emily got stuck with the seat next to him. Figures. 

The initial plan was for Lucifer to kick the meeting off with a few inspiring—read: lightly threatening—words to make sure the overlords took the whole thing seriously before handing the reins to Charlie, who would lay out how they’d pretty please like the overlords to prepare for potential war and explain the long list of resources the royal family was willing to provide them in return. 

The planned start time came and went with Lucifer nowhere in sight. The small talk dragged on. If only this was a purposeful powerplay, rather than persistent poor time management. And from the quietly ticked off look on Carmilla’s face, she knew it. Five minutes past the appointed meeting time, Emily figured she’d do Lucifer a solid and at least get the ball rolling. He could always be impressive and threatening once he got here.

After trading looks and nods with the rest of Charlie’s entourage, Emily stood. “Thank you all for coming, and a special thanks to you, Ms. Carmine, for hosting. I’m Emily, the Other Seraphim, and I’m proud to serve you as Hell’s diplomatic liaison to Heaven. We’ve called you here to discuss the future of the Exterminations. I’ll speak for myself and say that the vast majority of Heaven had no idea they were even happening until very recently. In fact, the only reason the whole of Heaven learned the truth is because the Princess of Hell revealed this information during a session of the Heavenly Court last year. These executions are wrong, they never should have happened, and they must stop. We are currently in talks with Heaven with the aim of putting an end to them permanently. But until we can guarantee that all future Exterminations are canceled, we have a responsibility to prepare for the next one in every way we can. I’ll speak for the royal family here and say that they will no longer permit this injustice to go on unchallenged. What you witnessed on the last Extermination Day was just the start. With only twenty-six days to prepare and a single shipment of angelic weapons courtesy of Carmine Industries, and with generous assistance from the citizens of Cannibal Town, a force of just one hundred and thirty-one demons was able to force Heaven into retreat for the first time in all of history. Just Imagine what we could do with seven months to prepare, if we started today.”

She’d just teed up most of Charlie’s major talking points: injustice, preparedness, strength in numbers. Let’s see, what was left…

Oh, right! Resources.

As she drew a breath to wrap up her spiel, Valentino interjected, “And why should we trust an angel, hmmm? Your kind were turning us degenerate Hell-spawn into smears on the sidewalk practically last week.” 

Sensing an opportunity to address many overlords’ private reservations right off the bat, Emily decided to answer him. “Mm, it makes sense to be skeptical. But I’m just a diplomat. You don’t need to trust me, really. You simply need to rewatch the footage of the Battle of Hazbin Hotel, and see that the royal family was ready to lay down their lives for this cause. They’re prepared to put all of their resources behind this, and they’d like to be able to tell Heaven loud and clear that they can expect an even worse welcome the next time around. And should you agree to join us, those resources would also become yours.”

Valentino harrumphed, gesturing broadly with his long red cigarette holder. “Still, why should any of us risk our own lives just because la princesa over here got in her head to open some trashy hotel? It’s only caused trouble since.” 

Ah. So he was actively baiting her. Interesting.

Emily clasped her hands in front of her and cocked her head at him. “Not to be ironic or anything, but the question is simply this: do you want to live?” 

“Fighting back is the quickest way for all of us to die,” Valentino scoffed. 

“Not at all. Hell suffered next to no casualties in the Battle for Hazbin Hotel, and the one major loss we did suffer resulted in the first reformed demon entering Heaven, proving Charlie’s theory correct. Meanwhile, Heaven’s Army experienced mass casualties, including the death of the leader they’ve followed since the dawn of their crusade. And let me assure you, their new leadership is already showing cracks.” She left them with that juicy tidbit, hoping to stoke their interest in attending future meetings, if only to get more dirt on Heaven. “Now, as for those resources—”

Valentino leaned forward and caught her eye again by angling his face downwards, as if to emphasize the fact that he was taller than her even while he was sitting and she was standing. “Talk sense, chiquita. Most of us demons don’t stand a chance against an Exorcist, and we’ve got ten thousand years to prove it. That’s just how it is.” 

Obviously more words weren’t getting them anywhere. Emily kept it simple this time. “Just because that’s how it is, doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be.”

“And I say it is the way it is, and anyone trying to change it will be the first to die.” Valentino shook his head in mock pity, then licked his lips, red saliva clinging to his teeth. “And you. Why even bother with politics, with a pretty face like that? Why don’t you join me in the studio sometime instead? I could make you a star, you know.”

Oh, gross. Was she being hit on?

Of all the overlords to express an interest…

She answered him over the sudden whine of audio feedback, presumably from a faulty intercom system. “I’m very happy with my job, but thank you for the offer. I think we’d be better served to return to what we invited all of you here to discuss—”

Oh, thank the Lord, she could see Lucifer arriving in the elevator now, just over Valentino’s shoulder. He’d probably scared the pants off of the poor receptionist.

Valentino took a heavy drag on his cigarette. “Are you sure? I could always use another Angel…” On the final word, he blew a plume of sweet red smoke directly into her face just as she was inhaling to retort. Emily choked down a deep lungful of the stuff and stumbled away from the table, fruitlessly trying to cough it back up. 

Her coughing gradually stopped as she went loose-limbed and pliant, her ears ringing. The full dose of that godforsaken pheromone hit her system like a freight train. Her entire body began to pulse with foreign, seemingly sourceless pleasure. Her knees gave out, and when she consequently collapsed backwards, she ended up falling straight into a portal and through the floor. The air rushing past felt like a thousand butterfly kisses on her skin, to say nothing of the tingle of Alastor’s magic as she passed through the rip it punched through space-time just for her. Her wings were too relaxed to even try to catch her. That was alright because gravity kindly decided to deposit her on a perfectly plush bed, where every thread on the vintage maroon duvet felt like a gentle brush of fingers against the rare bits of bare skin she was showing. A pair of shadows kindly plucked her shoes off of her feet and tucked them next to the bed. 

The portal above her gaped open at the conference room ceiling, but she preferred to watch the Spanish moss sway from the live oaks gathered around the bed, vaguely listening to the situation she’d just left behind deteriorate. It was hard to get too invested in the drama when the whole world had just taken on a warm, welcoming sheen and the hanging moss seemed to be deliberately dancing with the wind.

“Nope!” Lucifer said with that alarming false brightness that he only adopted when truly furious. There was a barely audible squeak and the sudden hush of a soul being smote on the spot. It was an ashy, vanishing sensation and it left Emily shuddering where she lay. “Sorry, we don’t do that here. Anyone else wanna roofie somebody for no good goddamn reason? No? No takers? Good! Then this meeting is adjourned.” The final words were growled, inhuman and volcanic. Chairs scraped backwards. Underneath the cacophony of over a dozen panicked exits, Emily heard Charlie and Lucifer trying and failing to calm each other down. 

After a moment, the portal over the bed closed and a new one slashed open a few feet from the foot of the bed. Charlie was suddenly nose to nose with her. “Emily! Are you okay?!” 

Emily blinked up at her. Her words felt very far away. After a moment, Emily nodded with a big, easy smile.

“Oh my God, she’s high. We got the only actually innocent angel drugged and debilitated! What if she gets addicted? What if she hates us now? Oh my God, we’re the worst, I’m the worst, how could I let this happen—” 

Gray hands pulled Charlie away and started talking sense into her. Soothing things. Vaggie things. Emily couldn’t really hear it over the non-stop buzzing of Charlie’s phone and the sound of Alastor dialing up Angel Dust on the rotary phone. Something about it appears you’re a free man and soliciting your expertise.  

It seemed to take longer for Angel Dust to arrive than it should have, and he looked like he’d been crying. Though, he didn’t look sad.

“How big a hit did she get?” he asked matter of factly as he sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned in to get a good look at her pupils, then placed two fingers at her wrist to take her pulse. The soft fur on his hands tickled, and it made her giggle.

“A lungful straight from the source, I’m afraid.” As per usual, Alastor was the only person who sounded totally calm and in control. Hot.

Angel Dust hissed a breath through his teeth. “Look, angel or not, she’s not gonna have any tolerance built up for this stuff. And I wouldn’t ask her to burn it off with any angel mojo or whatever, either. She shouldn’t be doing fancy magic tricks until she’s sober, not if she’s never even been high before.”

“Can’t we just ask Lucifer to fix her?” Vaggie asked. 

Charlie’s hair swished all golden and gorgeous and distracting as she shook her head. Emily wanted to touch it. “He’ll still be destroying stuff in his lab. You really don’t want to bother him when he gets like this, trust me. He, uh. Might keep smiting people.”

“Well, shit,” Angel Dust said. Emily slow-blinked as he lifted her hand and dropped it. It bounced bonelessly back onto the mattress, as if it wasn’t attached to a person at all. Angel sucked his teeth. “Yeah, that’s a heavy hit, alright. Em’ll need to either sleep it off or wait it out.” Angel Dust began patting down his pockets, muttering indistinctly to himself. 

“It seems like we should just leave her alone until it wears off,” Vaggie said. 

Angel produced a slim blue bottle from his pocket with a triumphant noise. “Trust me, you don’t want to leave her alone for this, ’specially the first time. It can be a nasty come-down, but it’s a lot better if somebody’s there for the whole thing.” He placed the glass bottle on the bedside table with a clink. “Most folks are fine to sleep off the high with a little sleeping syrup, but some of ’em feel extra hungover after both of them wear off. Give her about a teaspoon of this if she starts tripping in a bad way, and she should nap through the rest of it. Sometimes it’s worth the trade-off.” 

“Uhh, Angel? Why are you looking at Al when you say all of that?” Charlie asked. 

“What? Smiles is gonna take care of her, ain’t he?” 

“If you insist,” Alastor said in a tone that very much implied butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“I don’t think—” Charlie began.

“My dear, who else do you think is going to stay with her? Do you or do you not have a PR crisis on your hands at this very moment, a press release to prepare, and a group of overlords to convince that your loving father isn’t about to smite every last one of them on a whim? Do you imagine Vaggie will leave you for a moment? And I daresay Angel Dust here deserves some time to process his newfound freedom with Husker at his side.” 

Angel Dust sighed raggedly. “Man’s got a point, Cha-cha. ’Sides, he’s like, the only guy who definitely ain’t diddling her while we’re gone.” 

Charlie’s phone buzzed for the thirtieth time. Only this time, she yelped in panic and stepped away from Emily’s bedside to accept the call. “Hi, Carmilla! Yes, we’re putting together a game plan right now—” 

Charlie’s footsteps faded from the room, Vaggie trailing behind her with the final battle-cry: “And no deals!”

“No deals,” Alastor agreed with a nod and a shark’s smile. 

Angel Dust scrubbed a hand through the fur on the back of his neck and sighed. “Listen, I know you ain’t the touchy feely type, but she’s gonna be clingy. Just hold her for a bit, and if she can’t settle down, give her some of that knockout juice like I toldja. Not like I’m gonna need it anymore.” He sounded almost concussed by the end of that statement.

“Thank you, Angel Dust. I believe we can take it from here.”

“Great, great. Guess I’ll just go… live the rest of my afterlife. Or something.” Angel Dust wandered from the room, high heels steadily clicking down the hall like a train switching tracks before receding beyond the horizon.

The door shut. The latch, then the lock. 

The lights dimmed to something low and warm, with flickers of green from the lit candles already scattered about. The left side of the bed dipped promisingly. Alastor perched himself upright against the headboard, and Emily instantly cozied up to him, nestling into his side. Her movements were sluggish and sloppy, but she still managed to nudge him this way and that until he had virtually no choice but to either move away entirely or lie down next to her. She was seventy percent sure he was laughing at her the whole time, but she wasn’t actually certain. As soon as he was horizontal, her arms were around him and her face was tucked into his chest. And, oh. He was warm.  

“Oh ho! Eager, are we?” 

Emily answered with a contented sound, just short of a coo. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, little bird.” 

She clung to him and simply savored the chance to finally to breathe him in for real. Underneath the complex notes of his cologne, he smelled like incense, worn leather, dust burning on a neon bulb, and the beginnings of an electrical fire. He smelled, in sum, like an old music shop. He smelled like Hell. She couldn’t get enough. 

“Are you scenting me, sweet girl?” he laughed, his tone somewhere between delighted and scandalized. She made a happy, uncomplicated noise of agreement. “Well, today’s your lucky day. I’ve decided to be flattered.”

The pheromone washed everything in soft, inviting tones, and she drifted in the heightened sensations for a little while. The air was still dancing on her skin, and her heartbeat felt like love notes being sent to herself seventy times a minute. Alastor stroked her hair and purred low words in her ear that might as well be Ancient Demonic for all she understood them right now. She pressed into his touch, feeling kept. Even in Heaven, where folks frequently had more eyes than limbs, Emily had never felt so watched over, so safe. 

It was so nice to be held. 

He’d taken off his shoes and gloves, she noticed at length. He normally never, ever took off his gloves. The low, rumbling stream of praise from him never ceased. His words might’ve lost all substance, but his tone more than got the meaning across. He just kept petting her and praising her until it felt like that was what was making her high, not the actual intoxicant coursing through her system. Everything felt good. When you were this high, being stabbed probably felt like being tenderly finger-fucked. 

Wow. What an incredibly out of character thought to have. 

“Wrong thoughts,” she mumbled. 

“Hmm? What was that, my dear?”

“Thoughts are wrong...”

“Why, I couldn’t agree more! Thoughts are wrong. We should just stop having them altogether! It should all just be—light. ” With an artful flick of his fingers, a few dancing green lights winked into being above them. They twinkled like fireflies, swirling around themselves and mesmerizing her instantly. 

She was over two thousand years old. She was born in a city made of light. She had bathed in distilled starlight for the sheer pleasure of it more times than she could count. And in this moment, these simple little conjurings were dazzling beyond comprehension. She watched them raptly. At length, she attempted to reach out and touch them. They danced away from her, leading her to chase them for a bit with her hand. Once she’d officially lost the game of keep-away, she drew a bit of angelic power into her fingertips to tempt the lights closer. It was gratifying, how quickly they were magnetized to her hand once she did that. And as the raw, undiluted flecks of his magic grazed her skin, she realized just how sensual his power really was. It rolled darkly against her own, made her aware of her magic in a way that she so rarely was in Hell. She made a surprised sound of want and grasped for more of his light. 

“Ah ha ha ha! That’s enough entertainment for one night, I think!” With a gesture, Alastor whisked the lights away. Emily made a plaintive noise, but was content to burrow her face into the front of his jacket again. Which, yes, he really was wearing a full three-piece suit in bed. She got the distinct sense that it was what he usually slept in, if indeed he slept at all. 

Emily lost herself to the hand stroking her hair and the sound of his heartbeat. Eventually, she realized that the music that she heard in it wasn’t wholly in her imagination. She raised her head and saw Alastor’s shadow self seated at a piano a few yards from the bed, his microphone resting on the bench beside him. The song he played was unnaturally muted, as though Alastor had manually turned the entire room’s volume down.

“Don’t mind him, doll,” the Alastor that she was wrapped around was saying. Emily briefly pondered whether or not he’d actually been talking this whole time. “He likes to tickle the ivories from time to time. Something of a show-off, really.” His shadow turned just long enough to give them both a flourishing, sardonic bow and began to play faster. 

“Silly,” she said. 

“Me? Silly? Whatever do you mean?” Alastor’s eyes briefly glowed black and white, playing a silent cartoon of two cats chasing each other’s tails around a burning house. Then he blinked, and his eyes flicked back to their regular slitted red. 

She sighed happily and rubbed her face shamelessly against his clothes. There was nothing polite she needed to say, no subtle gesture of respect she needed to give. He had her in hand. The knowledge filled her with a sense of lightness that she hadn’t enjoyed in some time.

They seemed to cuddle like that for hours and hours, the rest of the world having melted to a memory a while back. The drag of her hair over her own neck felt like an unbelievable tease, and every one of Alastor’s touches against her skin felt like sweet kisses. Everything he did was slow and deliberate and whimsical and lightly sadistic. And by sadistic, she meant that every time she tried to flex her wings into his grip, his hand deftly detoured around them to trace the shell of her ear or rub up and down her side instead. The fourth time she tried to get him to touch her wings, he began loudly admiring the freckles on her cheeks in a transparent, if successful, bid to distract her. 

“Well, aren’t these just lovely! Let’s see how many! One, two, three, four—” He tapped each one as he went, making her giggle. 

“Ah, ah, see here, you’ve made me lose count. Now I’ll have to start over.” 

After the twelfth attempted recount that she apparently ruined by laughing, he proclaimed, “I give up! It’s simply impossible. Just—” 

He tapped her forehead. 

“—like—” 

Her nose. 

“—you.” 

Her chin.

There was something very, very adult in the way he was babying her right now. She liked it a lot. Needed it, even. His hand lingered along her jaw, stroked her cheek, then paused consideringly on her lower lip. Emily promptly tried to suck his fingers into her mouth. 

“Naughty thing,” he chuckled, eyes glowing brighter than ever as he quickly snatched his hand away. “Did I say you could do that?” She shook her head and sought his fingers again with her mouth, but he buried them in her hair instead and began to gently scratch at her scalp, the five dagger-points of those deadly claws digging in ever so slightly. Appeased, she poured herself onto him, her body and her sounds turning liquid. 

“Oh, you like that. Don’t you, darling?” There was an extra-appreciative static pop to his voice. She made a little mewling noise.

“You know, angelcakes, I think I like you like this.” She kind of liked her like this, too. But more than that, she liked him like this. The caretaking, the effortless dominance, how easy it was to accept his advances right now and not feel somehow vaguely obligated to pull away. 

The scalp massage slowly, delicately trailed downward. The tips of his claws dragged just so over the nape of her neck—

Alastor caught it the instant her hips began to grind forward, seeking friction. “Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, stilling her waist with both hands. “None of that, now.” 

She’d never had an occasion to mourn being a several millennia-old virgin. Today, she was starting to. She’d been busy, okay? And besides, Sera kept scaring off anybody who seemed even remotely interested. How she was supposed to seduce Alastor in this state with no experience to speak of, she had no idea. But she could certainly try.

“Alastor,” she breathed, and watched him still at the sound of his own name. The lights flickered.

 “Yes, my dear?”

“Please. Touch me.” 

“Whatever do you mean, my dear? I am touching you.” 

“Kiss me,” she clarified, chest heaving from the sheer need of it. God, was she crying? From the way his thumb swiped across her cheek and brought it to his mouth, survey says yes. She literally watched his eyes roll back as the taste hit his tongue. And the sound—the sound he made—

Low and rumbling and so fucking hungry. Like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. It did not help her situation. 

But it was the taste, it seemed, that convinced him. His eyes were still shining several shades too bright when he said, “I’ll give you one now, sweetheart, but only since you asked so nicely. How does that sound?” She quickly nodded, lips parted. Words were getting away from her again. 

He cupped her jaw gently, leaned in, and finally, finally kissed her. After all of that teasing, the kiss itself was an overwhelm. His lips were soft and it was so obvious that he knew what he was doing. It was all she could do to follow his lead and kiss him back. She had both hands clenched in the front of his shirt before she even knew it, and she felt her high soaring higher and higher the longer it went on. 

With her senses dialed up to eleven like this, even the sensation of his breath hitting hers thrilled. Her nerve endings felt full of sparklers and his mouth was so incredibly hot against hers that it seemed like her whole body could happily catch flame.

In a word? Fireworks. 

After a good, long while, they parted. Emily blinked dazedly and realized that the piano had long since stopped playing. Alastor’s shadow now stood in the room’s darkest corner. Just watching. If anything, its gaze was somehow even hungrier than Alastor’s.

Alastor drew her attention back to himself by thumbing at her wet lower lip and pouring on the praise again. “You give me a gift, ma belle. What a pretty little mouth you have, too. So soft and perfect for me. I said I’d give you just one kiss and I meant it, but my, how you tempt me.” 

Her hips hitched forward again, and she reached for his face. “More. Please…”

Alastor caught her wrist with a cheshire cat smile and pressed a chaste peck to her inner wrist. “No.” 

“Please…”

He snuck a quick kiss to her throat, where she was already so, so sensitive. “No.”

“Please!” Emily sobbed. The room’s shadows danced, several lightbulbs shattering. She was just about to start promising nonexistent firstborns and blank-check future favors when Alastor peppered her neck in a hurricane of kisses that left her gasping for breath, robbing her of words entirely. 

“No, no, no. This just won’t do!” Alastor declared in a too-perky tone and reached for the bedside table. “My dear, I think a wink of sleep will freshen you right up!” Emily made a discontented noise as he uncapped the bottle and whisked an elaborate sterling teaspoon from thin air. 

“Just a spoonful of this delicious elixir, and then—nighty night!” With a flourish, Alastor presented the spoon of sweet-smelling medicine to her lips. Emily turned her head away with a pitiful, unhappy noise. “So it’s like that, eh?” She heard the clatter of the teaspoon being tossed over the side of the bed and the glug of medicine being poured again. “Well, how about—” Two fingers were presented before her mouth, glistening blue with about half of the original dose coating them. “—Now?” 

What was she going to do, not suck them into her mouth? 

Emily accepted them in, moaning helplessly at the simple, perfect pressure of those long fingers on her tongue. They tasted like cough syrup, sure, but the glorious tactile sensation was more than enough to make up the difference. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she suckled them in an instinctive, greedy rhythm. She barely had enough presence of mind to avoid gauging her tongue on his claws, running her tongue along the undersides until only the taste of him was left. The only sound was of suction, and of need. They laid there like that for a long, long time. In truth, she could have laid with him like that forever. Eventually, his fingers slipped from her mouth, but only long enough for her to make a plaintive noise and for Alastor to pour another half teaspoon over his fingers before offering them up to her again. 

This time, Emily’s eyes didn’t slip shut as she eagerly sucked them back inside, her stupefied stare meeting Alastor’s glowing, intent one. In fact, he looked just about ready to eat her alive. God, had Alastor really been watching her like that this entire time? 

The licorice-like medicinal tang was quickly forgotten. It was just the skin-salt of him now and the gentle drag of two sharp claws down the center of her tongue. On a whim, she pressed her tongue up into them and— 

Blood. Just a little, but it was bright and flowing and it caught Alastor’s attention at once. He hissed.  

“Well, aren’t you trouble,” he chuckled darkly. He withdrew his fingers for good this time, only to lick the liquid gold off of them himself. 

Was the room shaking? It felt like the room was shaking.

Every last shadow came alive and Alastor was growling now, deep and continual and so goddamn dangerous-sounding that it made her want to start begging again. Then the blood on his fingers was suddenly all gone, and Alastor was kissing her, immediately licking into her mouth. He made a sound of intense, animal pleasure, tilted his head, and shamelessly began to suck on her tongue. Emily trembled in his grip, heat rushing down her body. Why did being used feel so good?

The cut on her tongue closed soon enough and Alastor ceased his sucking in favor of slow, searching licks. As if he meant to clean her mouth of any trace of gold because he couldn’t stand to see a single drop of it go unsavored. A fresh wave of heat coursed down her body as he pressed her back into the bed. Which was when she realized that her underwear was soaked and, come to think of it, actually had been for awhile. She could feel her pulse pounding there and her thighs were already clamped together to cradle how it throbbed. 

She knew the medicine had kicked in when her head nervelessly lolled against the pillow, and the kiss slowed. His mouth reluctantly left hers. Her body had never felt so heavy, and she quite literally couldn’t keep her eyes open. Only now did Alaster touch her wings. He pet them confidently, carefully rubbing between the downy feathers. Her body shuddered with heat even as she sunk into sleep.

“That’s it. There you go,” Alastor crooned. “Off to dreamland. Dream of me, won’t you, my dear?”

*

Emily surfaced slowly. Her head pounded like all of Heaven was knocking to get inside, and her eyes felt gritty and dry before she even opened them. Also, her mouth tasted funny. Her hands were fisted in a fine claret-colored duvet, bunching it beneath her chin. Between the throbbing disorientation and the ever-growing list of bodily complaints, she could only assume that this was what a hangover felt like. Heaven, it should go without saying, didn’t have any. 

Light piano notes hung in the air. Alastor—the real one—was seated at a piano and was playing something soft and jazzy to himself. A silver cloche covered someone’s breakfast on the bedside table. Emily smelled eggs and toast. 

She dozed like that for a good long while, having no context for this particular arrangement of facts and no real interest in acquiring it. And then, all at once, she remembered. The drug, apparently, had done nothing to tamper with her memories. She curled into a ball with a sound of utter despair and burrowed her head under the blanket. The music stopped.

“Awake, are we?” Alastor remarked, sounding not the least bit bothered. 

“I am so, so sorry.” She peeked out from her hiding place just enough to make sure that he could hear her, and she sounded just about as wretched as she felt. 

“Don’t apologize, my dear. Obviously, I didn’t mind. Now…” A shadowy tendril lifted the cloche, revealing scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, a cup of fruit salad, and a still-steaming cup of chamomile. “Breakfast?” 

“Okay,” she said in a small voice, and reluctantly emerged from beneath the covers. The music started up again. 

She didn’t need to eat, necessarily, but it did make her feel better. And this rough approximation of a human body seemed to appreciate the gesture. She could feel herself waking up more as she emptied her plate. The whole time, though, she had to try to avoid shifting where she sat because it called to attention how ruined her underwear was and she had a feeling that he would absolutely notice her using magic to swap them out for a clean pair. 

Emily drained the teacup quietly, drank both glasses of water that were waiting for her on the bedside table, and slowly stood. She slipped on her shoes and didn’t even try to shake out the wrinkles on her crumpled dress. Her head still throbbed, but it was more manageable now. Emily was near-speechless with embarrassment and struggled to find a single proper word of goodbye. Alastor saved her the trouble. He shadow-walked right up to her, took her chin in hand, and tipped her face up to him. She gave him her patented everything-in-Heaven-is-fine smile. 

“You hide things behind that smile, too. Don’t you, darling?” he said quietly. Then he released her and kindly allowed her to teleport back to her own room in peace. All he said was, “Take care, angel. We’ll talk soon.” 

She reappeared in her bathroom in a glimmer of gold, where she immediately magicked herself clean, then did it the old fashioned way just for good measure. 

Charlie burst into the room while Emily was still in the bath, buried under a mountain of lavender-scented bubbles. “Emily! Is it over? Are you okay? Are you traumatized? I’m so, so, sooo sorry about what happened—” 

“I’m fine!” Emily said, deciding that the bubbles were keeping this scene PG enough and frankly too emotionally exhausted to freak out about something new right now. “I slept through most of it.”

Which was true, actually. Now if only she didn’t feel vaguely bitter about it...

“Oh, whew. Okay, that’s good. How are you feeling now?” 

“Much better! I think I’ll be back up to one hundred percent after a nice, long bath and a book. I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you handle the fallout.” 

“Are you kidding?! That’s the last thing you need to worry about. Besides, me and Vaggie handled it okay. The situation’s mostly resolved now—” Charlie then launched into a rundown of what she’d missed. The long and short of it was that it wasn’t totally a terrible thing for everybody to remember why the royal family was at the top of Hell’s food chain. Nobody, not even the remaining Vs, were claiming that Valentino hadn’t had it coming. He hardly could’ve provoked the King of Hell better, short of drugging Charlie or Lucifer himself.

Charlie fished Emily’s phone out of her sock drawer for her so that she could start answering the flood of messages from the comfort of her bathtub. She texted everybody about a dozen different reassurances that she was fine, and by the time she got out of the bath two hours later, her hangover was all but gone. After the aforementioned book and a much-needed chocolate croissant, she reentered the world. It was touching, how much everybody just wanted to make sure she was okay, gently prodding her for information and pulling her into random hugs. Angel Dust in particular seemed to be keeping a close eye on her.

She didn’t even get to be mad at anybody, was the thing. The situation was over, the demon responsible was dead, and Alastor had shown remarkable, uncharacteristic patience with being pawed at. Besides, the whole affair had set Angel Dust free from his otherwise inescapable abusive contract, and didn’t that make it all worth it? Angel Dust practically floated through the hotel for the next two days straight, dazed and delighted and seemingly mystified at everything. As if his world had been made new. He would suddenly sink into strange, dark moods a couple of times a day, which is when he and Husk would disappear together, only to reappear hours later with things set to rights again.

In general, everyone was quite scattered. Charlie and Vaggie were still spending more time outside the hotel than in it, handling what remained of the fallout and insisting that Emily not concern herself with any of it. Emily could sense Alastor’s shadows in their usual spots—namely, everywhere—but didn’t run into the man himself. The other residents seemed to be keeping to their own rooms as much as possible and walked the walls warily, as if dreading the possibility of crossing Lucifer’s path. 

Emily didn’t actually see Lucifer herself until a full forty-eight hours after the incident, when she visited his wing for their regular hangout. He greeted her at the door wearing an ash-stained apron and a too-tight smile. “Hey, Em! Good to see you. Let’s forget about the unpleasantness.” A vast shadow shaded his features for a moment as his voice went rough and otherworldly, and then he brightened again. “Besides, I funneled all of my murderous rage into making some really neat new designs, and I think you’re going to like them!” He sing-songed the last bit, leading her over to a plastic kiddie pool overflowing with rubber ducks. “Come on, take a look! This one blows bubbles when it flaps its wings. Oh, oh, and this one is a candy dispenser. Careful, it’s not waterproof…!” 

And there went pretty much the rest of her afternoon. 

She left Lucifer’s wing in a much better mood than she’d arrived and with the vague intention of lounging around the lobby for the remainder of the evening. She still had a hundred pages of Faulkner to go and she would like to finish them tonight, not wanting to hog Alastor’s book for longer than was polite. And who should come around the corner but the Radio Demon himself, casually strolling in the opposite direction. 

“Hiya, sweetheart! How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said sheepishly. Her fingers twisted together behind her back. “Listen, I wanted to say sorry for—” 

He flicked his fingers and she felt the trademark inner-ear tickle of an impromptu privacy spell going up around them. Her respect for him instantly raised another notch. 

“Now, what did I say about that? You have nothing to apologize for, my dear. Least of all for the doings of others. Besides, I was honored to spend that time with you.” 

Hope blossomed in her chest, fragile and bright. “You… You were?” 

“Of course I was! How could I say no to having a perfect angel in my bed who just needed a little touch and somebody who was able to tell her no?” 

She flushed all the way down to her chest. Her voice was quiet. “I just wish that I hadn’t made you say it so many times. That’s not. The kind of person I want to be.”

“That isn’t the kind of person you are. You were drugged up to the gills, darling. Only a fool would hold you to full account. Do you take me for a fool?” 

“No,” she answered at once.

“Then, there. It’s settled. There’s nothing to forgive. Now, I have to say, I feel like we learned quite a bit about each other during that time. Wouldn’t you agree?” That was putting it mildly. She nodded, blushing indigo now. “To tell you the truth, doll, I’d like to learn more. I want to get to know you better.” 

Her heart soared, giddy with where this was going. “I want that, too.”

“Glad to hear it!” He twirled his microphone, grin broadening. “I’d like to take you out, show you around this miserable town. How would you like that, sweetheart?”

“I’d like that a lot! Thank you for inviting me.” 

His chin dipped and his voice dropped with it. “Listen to those manners of yours. They’re almost as pretty as you are. Aren’t they, darling?” She was starting to feel drunk on his attention all over again and had rather lost the script. Besides, how did one tactfully answer a question like that, anyway?

“I, um—”

“It’s alright, angel. You don’t have to say a word. I know I’m right. Tell you what. How about you meet me in the foyer at ten o’clock tomorrow morning and I’ll take you on a little date?” 

“Okay,” she agreed breathlessly. 

“Perfect,” he grinned, and sauntered away. “See you then!” 

“See you!” 

And there it went, three months of careful avoidance up in a puff of smoke. Somehow, she wasn’t grieving it.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the next day was bright and sunny with a nice breeze to tug the clouds along the skyline at a steady pace. It was perfect walking weather, and as promised, Emily and Alastor met in the empty foyer the next morning. They were both wearing what they always wore, and they both arrived exactly ten minutes early. 

“Good morning, doll!”

“Good morning,” she said, feeling a mixture of fizzy excitement and soft shyness. She hadn’t been on a first date in a few centuries, okay?

“Shall we?” He offered her his arm with an ever-widening grin, and she took it gladly. He was such a gentleman. She neatly tucked her wings away into her personal pocket dimension so that they wouldn’t brush him accidentally and to hopefully draw less attention while they were out on the town. Apparently he was similarly inclined because as soon as their shoes touched the concrete, she felt the flicker of a privacy and concealment spell washing over them both. It was the sort of thing that would make the two of them difficult to notice unless they directly addressed someone outside the field of effect. If a little privacy made him more comfortable, then she certainly didn’t mind. 

After a little light conversation about the acid rain forecasted later this week that he almost certainly humored just to set her at ease, Alastor ventured, “How about another little game of Truth or Dare to get things rolling?”

“Okay! It’ll probably be more like Truth or Truth, though.”

“That’s fine by me, angel. As you once so aptly noted, Truth is infinitely more interesting. Especially when we both answer every question.” His microphone rapped a steady beat against the blood-splattered sidewalk, serving as his walking stick. “How about you ask the first one?” 

“Sure thing!” She tapped her chin and watched the clouds soar overhead, thinking for a moment. “What do you wish more people noticed about you?” 

“That I’m great fun!” With a gesture, he made a spontaneous pair of shadow puppets tap dance on the sidewalk alongside them. They put on the ritz for a few moments, bowed, then vanished. Emily clapped appreciatively. “I’m extremely entertaining, you know! What do you wish more people noticed about you?”

“That I might be good at what I do, but that’s not because it’s effortless. I work hard to get things done.”

“Oh, believe me. I noticed.” Alastor somehow managed to make that statement sound like the most salacious bit of flirting, and she blushed. “Now, tell me. What's the worst meal you've ever made?” 

“I met Helen Keller at a party once, and she told me that I should put sprinkles and chocolate syrup on a PB&J. I went home and tried it, and I hated it. It doesn’t need the extra sugar! It’s sweet enough already!” 

Alastor grinned widely at this. “Just—” 

He poked her gently in the side, making her giggle.

“—like—” 

Poke!

“—you!” 

Poke!

“What about you?” she laughed.

“The worst meal I ever cooked was when I was alive, after I pulled two all-nighters in a row for a very ambitious pair of murders, both with significant cleanup. When I finally got home, I tried to eat something before falling asleep for thirteen hours. I ended up burning my eggs and toast so badly that they were quite literally inedible. Not my finest moment, I confess.”

They rounded the corner of a burning bodega, and she asked the next question without prompting. “If you had to survive alone in the wilderness, who would you want to bring with you?” 

“Niffty, of course! I could provide more than enough food for both of us, and she would keep everything neat and tidy. She’s great company and she could put on her little roach puppet shows to keep us entertained in the evenings. Who would you choose?”

“Definitely Charlie! We’d keep each other positive and I think that together, we could figure out how to handle almost anything.” 

“Excellent choice.” The conversation having apparently taken too uplifting a turn for his tastes, Alastor asked, “Who do you think is the worst-dressed person we know?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t say…” 

“Oh, I think you absolutely could. How about we say it together?” 

She found it impossible to deny him when his eyes sparkled with mischief like that. After a little more wheedling on his end, she agreed. “Okay, okay. On three?” 

“One, two…” 

“Cherri Bomb!” they said at the same time, then burst out laughing. The next two hours passed like that, the two of them moseying around Pentagram City arm in arm. He bought her two scoops of pistachio ice cream on the way home and insisted on her using his handkerchief when it dripped onto her hand. 

When they finally reached the hotel again, they decided to take the long way and enter through the garden gate around the back instead. They paused by the hotel’s utility door, shielded from the sunlight by the towering shrubs and the ivy that was just beginning to claim a foothold on the bricks.

“I really enjoyed going on a walk with you,” she told him earnestly.

“It was just an excuse to talk, darling.”

“I know.” 

They looked at each other. And then his hand was on her waist and they were both leaning in and—yes, yes, yes, they were finally kissing. They tried for casual. Really, they did. But they started clutching at each other’s clothes and she softly sighed against him, and the next thing she knew, her back had hit the wall right between the shrubs and his shoes were between hers and he was kissing was so, so tenderly—

The fireworks were back again. Fizzing between her ears, sparkling in the nerve endings of her fingertips and her lips. He made this body feel so bright and warm and present when he touched her like this. 

“Let’s do it again sometime,” he breathed against her mouth, trailing his index finger along the hinge of her jaw. 

“I’m free this Saturday at noon,” she answered instantly.

His eyes crinkled, like her enthusiasm was just too precious. “Saturday it is, then.”

He stepped away from her slowly, gaze lingering on her until he melted into the shadows entirely. She sagged against the brick wall and spent a few minutes pulling herself together. When she finally felt settled again, she finger-combed her hair, set her shoulders, emerged from the bushes, and strode into the hotel like she wasn’t desperately replaying that kiss over and over again in her head. She went about the rest of her day with even more cheer than usual, enthusiastically planning this week’s recreation activities, prepping for the next meeting with Heaven, and attending a raucous group dinner in the dining room. Music sounded lovelier, the wind felt livelier. The world’s brightness had turned up a few shades, and life was more beautiful for it.

She was still riding that high when she crossed paths with Alastor first thing the next morning, in the thirteenth floor hallway. “Good morning, Alastor!”

“Good morning, dear girl!” he crowed, ears perking up.

“You’re on your morning constitutional, right?” 

His eyes crinkled, as they so often did around her. “That term’s a bit before my time, doll. But yes, I am.” 

“Would you like some company?”

“I’d be delighted!”

They spent the better part of an hour roaming the hotel together while he told her all about the Stock Market Crash of 1929. As far as she could tell, the purpose of this particular daily practice was to patrol the whole of what he considered his territory and ensure that nothing was amiss—and to sniff out any new VoxTek that may have found its way onto the premises. Not to destroy it, but to simply make note of its presence. 

The overall tension in the hotel was still ratcheting down in the days following what everybody was now calling the Valentino Incident, so the two of them pretty much had the halls all to themselves. Their laughter and light gossip echoed off of the seemingly endless line of doors to empty hotel rooms, each one simply waiting for a soul to come redeem itself.

Emily had to run along when Charlie urgently needed a second opinion on how much paint to buy for the pet rocks they’d be making during the recreation activity that afternoon. Emily went down to Charlie’s office to patiently remind her that her new events coordinator could conjure up whatever they needed with a thought, including an unlimited number of nice round stones that’d be perfect for painting. She then successfully redirected Charlie towards the tax documents that she should actually be freaking out about instead. The group activity itself went quite well, low-key and predictably messy. The face on Vaggie’s pet rock looked like it’d been in the microwave about a minute too long and Niffty’s was painted to look like a box of rat poison. The rest were quite cute, though Emily of course claimed to love all of them equally.

Emily enjoyed another rowdy family dinner before escaping to the seventh floor drawing room to finish The Collected Stories of William Faulkner in peace. She resonated with “A Rose for Emily” far more than she cared to and was still mulling over the ending when she sought out Alastor at the hotel bar that night, halfway through his nightcap. She placed a hand on the stool next to him. “Hi, Alastor! Is this seat taken?” 

He hooked his ankle around the barstool and dragged it out invitingly. “It is now!”

She accepted the seat with a smile and glanced around the room, finding it surprisingly busy for this time of night. Lucifer was standing at the end of the bar, using grand hand gestures to tell some story to an intently listening Vaggie while Charlie blushed redder and redder, shoulders hunching in unmistakable mortification of the why-is-my-dad-telling-my-girlfriend-this-story variety. Normally Emily would rescue Charlie from that sort of situation, but it seemed more important to let the three of them bond. They were presumably using a little alcohol to get the conversation going before bringing Vaggie along on their father-daughter bonding trip to watch the seasonal bioluminescent bloom in Envy, like they used to do together when Charlie was little. Emily ought to know. She was the one who’d been gently urging Lucifer to organize this little field trip for the last three weeks. Meanwhile, Husk could be heard muttering somewhere in the stock room behind the mirrored bar, most likely sweeping and wishing they’d all just go to bed already. 

Alastor swirled the ice in his glass slowly, contentedly, looking like he could happily sit here all night. “How was the rest of your day, angel?” 

“It was wonderful, thank you for asking! By the way, I finished the book you let me borrow. Thanks again for sharing it with me! I loved it.”

“Marvelous! Then you’ll have to tell me what you thought over coffee tomorrow. Are you free around sunrise?” 

“Yes, that sounds great!” She cleared her throat, feeling distinctly edgy without a drink or a napkin to fidget with. As if by magic, Husk breezed through, dropped a virgin wine spritzer in front of her with a napkin tucked underneath, then disappeared into the back again before she could even thank him. She took a steadying sip of her drink and gratefully began to play with her cocktail napkin. “I appreciate you spending so much time with me lately. I realize that you’re a very busy man.”

“My dear girl, I think you’ll find that when it comes to you, I have all the time in the world.” A flush crept up her neck, and he clucked his tongue. "My, my. Such a pretty blush. Don't you look lovely... ” Liquor must loosen his tongue because he had a funny way of making lovely sound a lot more like delicious.

Emily choked on her drink, blushing even harder than Charlie.

Lucifer caught Emily’s eye and nodded his chin at Alastor. “This guy bothering you?” 

“Oh, no! He could never bother me!” she told Lucifer earnestly. Alastor merely leaned his chin on his linked fingers, grin broadening. 

“Riiiiight,” Lucifer said, long and skeptical. “Okay! Well! We’ll be off, then.” 

To Husk’s apparent relief, everyone abandoned the bar soon after. And as promised, Emily joined Alastor on the balcony bright and early the next morning with the borrowed book in tow. After a cup of chicory coffee for him, a mug of English Breakfast for her, and an in-depth conversation about the myth of forgotten chivalry in the South, Emily walked away with his personal copy of The Sound and the Fury. It was a hardback edition even more handsome than the last, with a blue water-marbled cover and gilt edges.

She was barely a hundred pages into it when their second official date rolled around. She met Alastor in front of the hotel, where he stood waiting for her with a promising-looking picnic basket on his arm. “Hiya, sweetheart!” 

“Hi, Alastor! Thanks for inviting me out. Where are we headed?”

“You’ll see!” He tore open a portal big enough for both of them to step through together. On the other side, they were met with fuschia skies and a rather lovely public park with a large sign that read Welcome to Sloth City Park!  

Sinners, generally speaking, weren’t supposed to be able to traverse the Rings freely. Alastor obviously didn’t suffer that constraint. The park bordered on the suburbs of Indolence and Apathy, so it was very quiet. A refreshing change of pace from the bustle of Pentagram City, for sure. It boasted a large crystal-clear pond that reflected the rosy sky above and a long, neat line of cherry trees in bloom. Alastor was already laying out their picnic blanket underneath one of them, the bed of fallen petals bruising underneath their feet. “I thought you might enjoy a picnic and perhaps a little swim.” 

“Oooh, I’d love that!” They situated themselves on the blanket, then immediately picked up their game of Truth or Truth while they worked their way through the picnic basket he’d packed—charcuterie for him, and finger sandwiches and old-fashioned lemonade for her. 

Emily took a bite of her cucumber sandwich and, at his insistence of ladies first, started them off with the tamest question she could think of. “What was your childhood nickname?” 

“Oh, it was almost always Al. Alastor Hartfelt isn’t the most mockable of names, and other children were rightly terrified of me as soon as they developed actual survival instincts. I do believe I was called Al Felthard just once before they all got the hint. Why? Did you have a nickname?”

“Em, Emmy, the Other One—anything, really.” She waved a careless hand. “Anyway, your turn!”

“What,” he asked crisply, spearing a sausage on his fork, “is your biggest pet peeve?” 

“Being condescended to, especially by someone who doesn’t have the right.” 

“Understandable,” he said with a nod. 

“What about you?”

“It’ll be disrespect for me, darling. I know what I’m owed, and I expect to get it.” That was so hot. He added, “Overlords, as a rule, are rather big on respect.”

“Including you.” 

“Oh, certainly. I worked too hard to get where I am to accept anything less.” That was so hot! “Now, you.”

Emily tapped her cheek, thinking for a moment. “Which fictional character do you relate to the most?” 

“Othello’s Iago. And you, my dear?” 

“Probably Rapunzel from Disney’s Tangled. I guess you haven’t seen it, though…” 

“No matter,” he said, reaching out to twirl a five-foot lock of snow white hair around his index finger. “I’ve just about got the size of it.”

She covered her mouth as she giggled. His eyes crinkled and he released her hair with one last light, playful tug. “Tell me, sweet girl. What's your greatest fear?” 

“Betrayal. Like, self-betrayal. Going against everything I believe in and becoming someone I don’t even recognize. You?”

“Being trapped,” he said simply.

She hummed her understanding, then took a long sip of lemonade and considered her next question. “What's a total deal-breaker in a relationship?” 

“Disloyalty and infidelity,” Alastor answered instantly. 

“Same! That and, like, general loss of trust. If you don’t trust each other, then what’s even the point?” 

“Darling, I couldn’t agree more.” 

Their game went on like that for a good long while, the questions coming easily now that they’d warmed up. Once she’d eaten her fill and thanked him for packing everything, she laid back on the blanket to watch the bubblegum clouds float overhead, silently counting how many buildings were ferried atop them. It seemed as though the lowest ring of Hell was desperately pretending to be Heaven. The whole effect was just successful enough to be pleasantly eerie.

Alastor stretched out in the opposite direction, his long legs parallel to hers. He propped a hand behind him, claws sinking into the bed of loose pink petals beyond the blanket. “Tell me a little more about that first kiss of yours,” he said. 

“It was with Heaven’s head armorer. She invited me to visit her forge, and we talked while she hammered out a blade. And as soon as everybody went home for the day, she backed me up against the wall, cupped my face, and kissed me. Just like that. Her lips were chapped and she tasted like brioche and honeyed wine. She got soot all over my dress and it, and I—” 

It had been a revelation, how much Emily had adored getting a little dirty. 

“You loved it,” Alastor said. She nodded. His eyes glowed a little, perhaps jealous, perhaps excited. But more importantly, he didn’t make her feel the least bit bad for giving him the details he’d asked for.

“What about yours?”

“My first kiss was with a neighbor girl. We’d collect sticks and beetles together, and one day while we were gathering dandelions by the river, she leaned over and kissed me without a word. I didn’t care for it. It wasn’t until much later that I figured out what my preferences were, let alone that I had any. The speakeasy scene was… educational, to say the least.” Emily made a soft sound of understanding, and their talk turned to his favorite speakeasies and how long it had taken for each of them to get shut down by the police.

And when they were all talked out for the moment, he leaned back in the shade and read the newspaper while Emily casually transformed into a mermaid so that she could enjoy the water better. She even gave herself delicate, frilly ear-fins just for the fun of it. She dove into the water sporting a long, trailing, serpentine tail, with a matching lacy fin at the end. With each flick of her tail, the rows of pale purple-blue scales shimmered in the shafts of light from the surface. She took her sweet time snaking through the shallows, exploring the clutches of tadpoles and odd bits of litter that had sunk to the bottom of the pond. Her gauzy white top was fitted enough not to create any drag or catch on the debris, deceptively opaque and modestly covering her from neck, to wrist, to waist. The minnows didn’t mind her much and the abandoned bottles of Beezlejuice were colorful and varied enough to nearly convince her to start a collection.

Playing archaeologist down there kept her occupied for a good half hour before she eventually peeked out of the water to see what Alastor was up to. He looked up from his paper to tell her, “Good news, darling! Our Charlie’s finally seeing a run of good press coverage. The Daily Omen said that she ‘finally seems to be finding her footing among Hell’s elite,’ and The Infernal Gazette described her last public appearance ‘a welcome change of pace for our reclusive royal family.’” Emily squealed in excitement and leapt from the water, her tail spiraling out behind her like a birthday streamer before gravity dragged her back under. It felt so nice that she decided to do it again, laughing all the while. 

She swam for a little while longer, and when she tired of it, she surfaced again to sun herself on a rock at the pond’s edge. She laid her cheek on her crossed arms, her tail luxuriating in the water while she enjoyed what passed for sunshine down here with her eyes closed. She was almost tempted to fall asleep, but she was enjoying herself too much. Her tail curled and uncurled contentedly, the current equivalent of kicking her feet.

Eventually, she felt a touch at her elbow. Alastor had silently shadow-walked to kneel at her side, his newspaper abandoned in the shade. He touched her softly, kissed her gently—almost as if he didn’t want to interrupt her reverie but just couldn’t help touching her. Lord, but he was a good kisser. Even a chaste little exchange like this one left her breathless. She rolled over onto her back in order to face him fully and to feel his heat along her front.

Thankfully, she was dry enough by now not to get his suit wet. His hand trailed her jaw and a single claw tip grazed the sensitive skin just beneath her chin. Her tail lashed, sending a light spritz over them both. Alastor pulled away from her just to say, “And to think, Channel 86.7 said it wasn’t supposed to rain today.” She giggled, embarrassed. “Oh? You make it pour on a man and then laugh at him? I had no idea you could be so cruel, angel!” 

“You’re silly!” 

He swayed forward to nuzzle her cheek with his own. “Mm, very.”

The position put his ear floofs directly in front of her nose and she desperately wanted to pet them. “Can I please touch your hair?”

“You’re such a good girl,” he suddenly said with feeling, sending a wave of heat and emotion rolling through her. “So respectful. You always ask first or wait for an invitation. I like that about you.” 

“I like that I have to ask you first. It means I don’t have to wonder if I did anything wrong.” 

He leaned even further into her space, his chest bearing down on hers while his thumb traced the shape of her new ear. “Even though I don’t even pretend to pay you the same courtesy?”

“I like that you just do it.“ She swallowed. “You can do wuh-whatever you want.” His eyes flashed and the shadows of the trees began to stretch unnaturally, their long black limbs grasping at the fallen petals.

“Doll, you can’t just tell a man that in public all casual-like.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t apologize,” he ordered, slotting his face into her neck in order to better breathe her in. 

“Whoops,” she laughed, unsure if she was actually being chastised and trying not to automatically apologize all over again. The wet kiss he placed on her throat told her that he wasn’t actually upset. Far from it. “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. I had a pretty good idea that was how you felt.” 

“You did?” 

He pulled back, pinning her with a simple look. “What, you think I didn’t notice how you never let yourself be caught alone with me? How your wings arch and flutter whenever I say something you like? How quickly that iron composure of yours quietly falls apart for me? How you ache for me inside? You think I don’t know? ” Her breath came shallow and quick, heartbeat buzzing in her throat. She was starting to understand his point about being told certain things in public, for all that they were technically alone right now. He clucked his tongue softly. “Oh, darling. You did. ”

She made some impossible little sound. The mixture of arousal and embarrassment was incredibly heady when he was the one delivering the fatal dose in that crooning tone. This conversation was not third, fourth, or fifth date material, but God, it was hard to regret it when he was making her feel so warm and wanted right now. 

“You avoided getting close to me because you knew you’d give me everything. Isn’t that right?” She gave him four shallow, frantic nods. “You can give it to me, honey. I want you to.” 

He kissed her again, resting more of his weight on her now. Apparently, he had very much picked up on the fact that she liked being pinned down.

His hand circled one of her wrists, urging her to wrap her arms around his shoulders. She did so gladly, but held off on touching his hair until she’d received a more definitive answer on that subject. The grin pressed against her lips grew wider and he licked her lower lip, as if in reward. His tongue slipped into her mouth while his thumb played with the spot where her sleeve was tied in place with pearls. Time turned liquid. It was all sunshine and skin, the world appearing perfectly rosy even with her eyes closed.

In the end, they only stopped making out when they both had commitments at the hotel to answer to in ten minutes, and neither of them were the sort to neglect their duties no matter how much fun they were having. The minute Alastor leaned away to check his wristwatch, she regretfully took the hint and transformed back, trading her iridescent scales for legs and wings again. 

They meandered back over to the picnic blanket to start packing everything away again, and the plan for their third official date was hatched before they were even done filling the basket.

“Thank you, Alastor. This was a super thoughtful place to take me, and I had a great time.”

“Nonsense, darling! It was the least I could do. Now tell me, where would you like to go next?” 

“Oh! Um… how about another walk around Pentagram City?” 

“Mm, lovely. And perhaps lunch as well?” 

“That sounds fantastic!”

“Doesn’t it just?” Alastor agreed, grin broadening until it practically touched his ears. He shook out the blanket, folded it into the basket, and with that, the picnic was officially over. 

Emily cleared her throat uncertainly. “Not to be, um, pushy or anything, but would you consider us exclusive?”

He snapped the basket shut. “Well, doll, I’d like to think we’re going steady. I’m certainly not looking at any other dames.” 

“I feel the same way,” she said, voice soft with a happiness so powerful and sudden that it seemed to have wrapped a fist around her throat. “There’s no one else.” 

His eyes crinkled, and he offered her his arm. “Glad to hear it, ma belle.”

They portaled back to the hotel in high spirits. In the now bustling lobby, Vaggie took one look at them and snapped, “Hold the fuck up. What is this?” She pointed back and forth between Emily and Alastor with two fingers, eyes narrowed.

Emily beamed. “We’re keeping each other company!” Alastor turned to give Emily a look that was all warmth, amusement, and terrible, terrible patience. 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Husk grumbled. He, at least, didn’t seem too surprised. 

Emily missed the rest of the inquisition because she had to dash away to go prep for the daily recreation activity, while Alastor needed to go remind their next door neighbors to please stop blasting techno at 3AM. Word filtered through the grapevine immediately, of course. That night, Emily overheard Charlie and Alastor talking in the eighth floor hallway, wherein Charlie made a noble effort to convince Alastor to date literally anyone but Emily. Charlie was clearly feeling protective of her. It was sweet, really. “Well, you like Rosie! Why don’t you just date her?” 

Okay, it seemed less sweet now. 

“My dear, do you know what Rosie does to the men that interest her?” Which was besides the point, really. They clearly weren’t each other’s type, and they valued their friendship as it was. There was no need to complicate it with kissing and needless cannibalism.

Charlie audibly winced, hissing, “Yeah…”

“And frankly, my dear, just because I’m an irredeemable sinner doesn’t mean that I want to date one.” All that’s just to say, Alastor dispatched the attempt with very little effort. The next day, it was Emily’s turn to be inexpertly talked out of dating Alastor. The conversation began pretty much the moment Emily stepped into Charlie’s office to discuss the hotel budget. 

Charlie gripped her fountain pen so tightly that it looked liable to explode in her hand, her eyes wide with worry. “It’s just. I mean… Alastor? Are you sure about this, Em?”

Emily answered her with all due seriousness, every mask briefly stripped away. “He has never lied to me about who or what he is.” Then she smiled gently and placed her hand over Charlie’s, squeezing it once, the touch warm and true. What a burden, to be so loved. “Yes, Charlie. I’m sure.” 

The wind was knocked right out of Charlie’s sails. She slumped, then perked up again exactly two seconds later. Always determined to be happy for a friend, if she could be. “Alright, well, hey! As long as you’re both happy! And if anybody could show Al the path to redemption, it’d be you, right?” 

Emily smiled and nodded along politely, while laughing hysterically on the inside. Not on your life.