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Stolas paced the room, looking at the single tear-stained word he’d pinned to the wall.
FATHER
He’d manged to salvage a fair amount of things from his old life, thanks to Vassago’s care package. He had his baby photos of Via, some mementos, a few new carnivorous plants (dwarf varieties, better suited to a small apartment) potted up and starting to bud. Moxxie had been able to recover information from the hard-drive Vas had included and it appeared to mostly be information on Stella’s financial history that he was still trying to interpret, but it had included useful titbits of information, such as the fact that rather than destroy all his belongings, Stella had sold several of the more expensive items, and given the cheaper ones away to the palace staff in lew of their holiday bonus, and claimed it as a tax deductible charitable donation. This spendthrift act on her part meant that several of his things has subsequently been pawned, sold or thrifted by the imp staff. Blitzø and the others had, now that they were aware of it, scoured pawnshops and fleemarkets in the neighbourhoods of Pride around the palace, and despite his promise of no grand romantic gestures, Blitzø had been able to surprise him on their second date (a horror movie, he couldn’t focus on it. He suspected Blitz was just looking for an excuse to snuggle in public) with some of his old clothes and a picture-frame that he must have spent ages trawling thought thrifting stores to find. That was a remarkably sweet gesture, given the time it must have taken them.
As a result, he had a framed photo of him and Via now, on the wall, near the sofa so he could see it when he turned in at night. He had several pictures of him and Blitz as well (one’s he’d managed to convince Blitz not to vandalise. He’d noticed how Blitz removed himself from any photo he was in, and he wondered, at times, which of them had the deeper depth of self-hatred). He was starting to decorate his tiny patch of the apartment. To define it, and, bit by bit, define himself. He was starting a new life here, whether he wanted to or not, and he was determined to make the best of it
And yet that word still haunted him.
When he thought he was doing well, that it was allright, having a good day, he’d think of Via again. He’d see imps with children, and it would break him just a little. He’d hear an argument or a raised female voice, and he’s start shaking and checking the room for Stella. He’d found one of Loona’s magazines with a column about a band Octavia had liked, and he’d cried over it then and there in the office. He did not know how to define himself without that word, despite the therapy exercise he’d repeated several times. He did not know who he was without her, and what’s more, he was frightened for her. He knew Stella had never been particularly warm or close to her, and he was frighted that since Via had saved him that time at Sinsmass, that Andrealphus would find some cruel way to get her back for it. Plus, she was nearly eighteen. She’d soon come into her majority, and in theory inherit his powers and titles, and he was sure his wife and Andrealphus would mauver to somehow keep control from her, and keep if for themselves. She had no one looking out for her as she entered what could very well be the most dangerous time of her life.
And so here he was, trying to write to her.
In theory. He hadn’t actually been able to put pen to paper yet, and he’d been at it for over an hour.
He’s whole life he’d liked words, his entire life he’d been good at writing… and now that he actually had nothing else, now that he actually had something important to say…
Pathetic. Stupid. Foolish. How could he make this any better? Even if she was here, right in the room with him, he’d not even have the guts to say what he needed to.
She was right to be angry. She was right to feel hard done by. She was right to feel… betrayed by the choices he’d made. But if only she could see, if only she could understand why he’d…
No. He wasn’t going to make this any better by begging or pleading, or telling her how she should feel.
So what then?
She didn’t want to hear I’m Sorry. She had no use for excuses or explanations. No... no need to hear I love you. She… she didn’t believe that, right now, and his reiterating it would just convince her he was lying. Any warning about the risks posed by her mother or uncle would sound like him trying to turn her against them, and most likely backfire. So what then?
How did you talk to the centre of your world, if they wouldn’t hear you?
He sighed, and sat down, clutching his head. He didn’t know what to do.
He wanted to cry, but felt too hollowed out by time and grief to even manage that.
Blinking back tears, he looked at the paper, angrily, as if it was it’s fault. Picking up the pen, he started to write, large, angry letters.
NINCOMPOOP
FOOL
COWARD
TRAITOR
ADULTERER
DREAMER
NITWIT
FAILURE
DEADBEAT
Once he started he found he could not stop, and he’d soon arranged these words around FATHER like an angry halo, pined to the wall like so many dead butterfly’s. And why shouldn’t I? If I’m going to write something to her, I may as well write the truth. He thought, snorting. We’ve both suffered too much for my lies. He picked up the picture of him and Via, and for a moment seriously considered taking a page out of Blitzø’s book, and scratching out his own face.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bare to deface one of the few images he had that showed them both happy.
He yelled, swinging the picture frame as if to smash it, but stopped himself. He tore back down the words he’d pined to the wall and ripped them. He cursed, he swore, he bit his tongue, beak sharp and bloody. And none of it helped.
His daughter was still just a photo.
His writing paper was still just paper.
The word FATHER was still there, pinned to the wall, mocking him.
His rage didn’t fix this. It couldn’t. That was, at least for now, outside of his power.
His daughter hated him, and she was at risk, and there was nothing he could do about it right now. No way to fix it.
He just had to ride it out. The only way out was through, and he did not want to do what came next, which was to wait. To just be powerless for a time.
Clutching the picture frame to his chest, he slowly sunk down to the floor in-front of the word, and finally, the tears came .
+++
“Stolz, hey, back from the gun range, spotted some good fat rats out back of that fast-food place so I grabbed you a – Stolas?” Asked Blitzø, key’s jangling as he tried to balance several shopping bags and unlock the door at the same time.
“Stolas, a little help with this? Stolz?” Blitzø asked, feeling a sudden fear, and looking to Loona. He’d left the Owl behind as he went to run Loony thought some exercises, how to clear a jamb being something that had come up on a recent job, and the owl had opted to stay behind. He said the guns hurt his hearing even through the ear-protectors, and well, he was an owl so fair, but Blitzø had been able to tell that something was off. The owl had been trying to get his thoughts down on paper, or something, so he left him to that, even though he tried not to leave him alone for too long. He wasn’t… he wasn’t doing well, and had a tendency to doom-spiral if little things set him off. He’d not tired anything… silly… since the last time he’d gone back to his former palace, but he also wasn’t exactly looking after himself either.
He shared a look with Loona. Despite how she sometimes complained, they did have good unspoken communication, so she quickly got the groceries from him and propped the door with a footpaw so he could get through fast. He was in the tiny apartment in seconds, looking around for dangers. It wasn’t just that the Owl might have hurt himself, intentionally or otherwise, but the very real risk that his bitch of an ex-wife might break their truce and send someone to finish the job that Striker started.
Rushing in, he quickly spotted the Owl, kneeling in the dark in a pile of scrunched up a paper, slumped over, head resting on the wall. He had a horrible jolt of fear that the black liquid staining his hands was blood before he realised that the owl’s fingers were covered in ink.
“Stolas!” he yelled, rushing over to help the owl up, before realising that the physics of that were against him: Stolas was more than twice his height, and all limbs. It wasn’t a matter of strength, if the owl wanted to be floppy, there was no picking him up. “Hey there big bird, are you okay? Loona, you- yeah you get his legs. Sofa?” he asked.
“Sofa.” Said Loona, with considerably more confidence than he felt. She sniffed the owl, once.
“Is he?” Blitzø started to ask.
“He’s clean.” She said. “He’s not taken anything he shouldn’t have, he’s just got low blood sugar. Probably because he’s been there all day and missed lunch. You need to eat, you gangly feathery fuck.” She grunted, man-handling her end of the owl onto the couch.
“M-sorry.” Muttered Stolas, weakly. “I… I must have lost track of time.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” laughed Loona, trying to break the tension. “If you’re going to feel that miserable, do it on a full stomach. Trust me. I’m making tea.” She declared, glancing meaningfully at Blitzø over the seated owl’s head. “You want to help me, Blitz?”
“Yeah? Oh, yeah. I’ll be right over.” Said Blitzø, arranging Stolas and draping a blanket over him. “Here, Stolz, I’ll get you nice and comfy and get you some of that herbal tea you like and you’ll be feeling better in no time.” He said, before following Loona all of six feet to the tiny kitchenette.
“Fucking hell.” Mouthed Loona, using the sound of the running tap to cover her whisper. “I told you we shouldn’t have left him alone all day! Fucking hell Blitz! At least get Moxxie to check in on him, Fizz to call him, something so he can’t fucking brood!” she hissed, before switching to her normal voice and asking “Hey, you want sugar in your tea?”
“I prefer it plain, thank you Loona.” Muttered the Blanket-covered lump on the sofa.
“Yeah? Too bad, you should have thought of that before you went all day without eating, I can smell how low your blood sugar is, you’re having sugar, and you’re gonna eat one of the sugar cookies Moxxie baked. Got it?” she said, loudly and brashly, slamming the kettle down with a lot of noise, which she used to hiss “Go to him, idiot!” at her father.
“Yeah, good idea Loony-poo.” Said Blitzo, a little louder than was necessary. “Can you get me one as well?” he said, sliding up to the owl and half-hugging him. Stolas turned to face him, and it became a full hug. The Owl did not cry, but he had a thousand-yard stare that suggested he was in the place beyond tears. Blitzø wordlessly climbed onto his lap, and wrapped all four limbs and tail around him, as if he could squeeze out the pain his beautiful birdie was feeling.
“You smell of gunpowder.” Said the Owl, after a while.
“I often do. You smell of ink.”
“I often do.” Said Stolas, with the ghost of a smile. He hugged the imp back. After a moment, he took the mug of hot tea from Loona with a solemn nod of thanks.
She snorted at him. “Eat your fucking cookie. Dad, I’m going out. I’ll be back later.”
“S-sure, take care, Loony.”
“Yeah? You take care.” She said, nodding meaningfully to the owl, before dumping the bag of rats in the fridge and taking her phone and cigarettes to head out.
The light from the hallway lit Blitzø and Stolas up for a moment as she opened the door, and then she and it were gone, leaving them together in cool blueness.
Stolas sighed, and nuzzled closer into Blitzø, still starring over him and into space as he delicately picked at the cookie, not tasting it. Blitzø knew that this wouldn’t do any good, so he bit the bullet and started talking.
“Tea smells nice, what is it?”
“Spiced apple. Do you want some?”
“Nah. Not really a tea guy. Do, do you wanna talk about what happened?”
“I was trying to write Via a letter. But then I released that she’ll never read it. In the million to one chance Stella lets one get through to her, she’ll burn it without even opening the envelope. She’s lost to me. She’ll become a woman soon, legally. Her eighteenth birthday, and I won’t be there. Won’t be there for her that day, or the next day or any of the days that follow. She… she’s really gone, isn’t she?”
Blitzø took a deep breath. “Yeah, for now, she is. But it doesn’t have to stay that way. We’ll think of something, or maybe she’ll come around on her own. But yes, for now, you can’t see her, and she won’t answer your calls or letters. I… I know how this stage feels. It feels shitty, and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry it has to be like this. This happened with my sister, and with Fizz. This happened with most of the people I’ve ever loved. It… it fucking sucks. But the only way out is through.”
“That’s not the only way out.” Said Stolas, and then instantly regretted it. “Sorry, I… don’t.. don’t worry about me. I’m not about to do anything stupid. You risked your life for mine, and I’m not going to throw away that gift. You and Loona and Millie and dear Moxxie, even Vassago, you’ve all tried and risked so much to help me. It’s just hard, now. To see the light. To keep fucking going when every day feels like this.”
“Do… do you regret saving me?” Blitzø asked, hugging tighter, bracing himself for the answer.
“No. Never. If… if I hadn’t, I don’t know how I could live with myself, the guilt. I think I’d feel just as bad, and I’d be this withdrawn and zoned out around Octavia. I’d…. I still have abandoned her, just to grief instead of love. I…. I love her so much, but she’s right to hate me. I have not served her well these past few months.”
“If it helps, you seem to have been a pretty good dad before all this. You raised her well, she’s strong, you saw how she stood up to that icy bitch-bird of a peacock, right? She’s strong and smart, and has a moral compass. You did a good job with that. She’ll be okay.”
“I hope so.” Muttered the owl, sipping, breathing in fragrant steam. “I just wish there was someone looking out for her.”
“Hey we are, right? And … and if you want to write a letter, write to someone who won’t burn it on sight. Right? Ozzie still owes us a favour, and he’s not going to let anything bad happen to a minor if he can help it, he’s got standards. And that Vassago guy, you say you’d hoped he’d be a good friend and mentor to Via, so just fucking write to him and see if he’ll keep an eye out for her. And who’s those other Goetia you mentioned you were kind of friendly with, Stiri and Ipos? Would writing to them work?”
“I… It couldn’t hurt, I suppose.” Said Stolas, contemplatively. “It… it would be a break of etiquette to write to them directly without good cause.”
“Honey: you dinner is dead dumpster rats me and Loony stomped flat. I think were past etiquette at this point.”
“Fair.” Said the owl, sipping his tea. “And I would feel better if I was doing something, anything that could help her.”
“Then do something. Write your letters. I’ll help.”
“You’ll… help?” asked the Owl, trying not to sound too surprised.
“Sure. I fucking hate writing, but for you I’ll do what I can. I can proofread, or make suggestions or fucking just ply you with more tea as you work. We can do this. So, what do you say? Worth a try?” said Blitzø, offering the owl his pen.
Stolas considered this, and then put his tea down, nodding.
“It’s worth a try.”
+++
Loona, having spent a couple of hours sitting on the roof, drinking, smoking and relentlessly mocking Vikki on the hound’s group-chat she and her friends used, walked back down the stairs to the apartment a little anxious and… no, fuck that. She’d woken up feeling a little anxious, like she had every day that she could remember. She now felt… crabby. Snappy, pissed off. She knew Stolas was going thought some fucking rough times, but fucking hell, dad was not helping matters. You couldn’t just leave him alone when he was like that, or you’d give him a fucking lifelong complex.
Like me. A small voice said, and growing, she shoved it down. No time for that shit. Stolas and Blitzø had the emotional maturity of meth-filled toddlers, so someone had to be the fucking adult here. And given I’ve had to be the adult in my life since before I hit puberty, I guess it’s me again. She thought.
Pity Millie was so withdraw at the moment, she’s usually the one to kick dad’s ass when he’s being a child. She thought, checking her phone and considering calling in backup, before shaking her head. Millie had her own life, and given Dad didn’t exactly leave her and Moxx alone outside of work, the last thing they needed was getting called in to deal with every minor Stolitz drama.
Besides, Millie might be like that for another reason. She thought, grimly. When she’d been weird at Sinsmass, Loona had just guessed it was just her time of the month, and she didn’t want to know these things, but given she could smell other people’s hormones pretty easily… Millie was late. Like… really late…
She shook her head. Not my problem. None of my business.
Before she put the phone away, she checked one last thread. She and Octavia had swapped numbers after the thing in LA, and while there had been the occasional jokes and memes shared before the trial, since then there was only one message, day of the trial, sent by her:
Well, that fucking sucked. He’s at our place, and he seems okay, I guess. Blitz is looking after him. You need to talk, or want to know how he is, DM me, okay?
I’m sorry. This fucking blows ✓✓
Sent, received, read. Two months later, No reply.
She sighed. And put the phone away and got out her keys, huffing into her hand quickly to check she didn’t smell of beer. They weren’t keeping any booze in the house right now, not since Stolas had drained their supply the day after Sinsmass and spent three hours drunkenly crying in the bath.
Cocking an ear, she checked the door before opening it. Adopted or Biological, she had no desire to walk in on her dad balls' deep in sad owl sex. Coast seamed clear, some arguing tho’.
Great, what are they fighting about now? She thought, opening the door, and expecting a mess.
She froze. Whatever she’d been expecting wasn’t this.
“No, absolutely not, there is no conceivable circumstance where we can start a formal letter to a deadly sin with Sup bitch? The correct form of address is your majesty.” Said Stolas. He was dalmatianed with ink, as was the wall behind him, suggesting a brief but heated battle had occurred over custody of the one pen. And someone had tagged the back of his head with a pink post-it that read HIHGLY FUCKABLE BIRB and bore a crude cartoon of Stolas’s face surrounded by dicks.
“Coward. Ozzie would like that. Besides, weren’t you a your majesty, like two or three months ago?” said Blitzø, also inkspotted which gave an interesting symmetry to his face with his burn scars, post-it on his forehead that just read BITCH. Both were kneeling on opposite sides of the coffee table and glaring like it was some sort of DMZ.
“Huh! I wish, that’s reserved for a monarch, darling. Then it’s your royal highness for the spouse or child of a monarch, so Lilith and Charlie Mourningstar, then your grace for a duke, then your serene highness for an independent prince, which was me.”
“You were never fucking serene babe, not once. That’s part of what I liked about you. And also, there are two separate your highnesses for two different princes or princesses of different ranks and a fucking duke between them? Christ on a stick, royalty is dumb…”
“Don’t blame me I didn’t make up the bloody rules.” Muttered the owl, sipping tea.
“What, er, what’s going on?” asked Loona, unsure if what she’d walked in on was a sex thing or not. They were both fully clothed, but knowing her dad that didn’t mean a thing.
“Oh, Hi Loony. We’re writing to anyone powerful we know to ask them to look in on Via. Stolas is worried her bitch of a mother will try something, so we’re making sure Via has as many shooters on her side as possible.
“That’s.. not a bad idea. You want me to text Bee?” She asked.
“You… you’re still in contact with Bee?” asked Blitzø, surprised.
“You know Queen Bee-elzebub?” asked Stolas, even more surprised.
“Yeah, it’s-it’s not big deal.” Said Loona. “Me and dad went to one of her parties, I’ve been to a couple since with some friends, she’s not like, a friend but she knows me on sight and she’s always been … a bit much but seems okay. She’s dating Vortex, Verosika’s bodyguard, and we hang out sometimes, so I know her thought him. Also, Verosika has the best stories so-”
“Oh Christ on a stick, how many of them are about me?”
“Only, like, thirty percent.” Said Loona, stilling cross-legged opposite them and looking over their letters. “That’s not how you spell beseech, by the way.”
“See I told you, I bloody told you.” Said Stolas, pointing. “Two e’s I told you!”
“Fuck me, who the fuck cares, the word is the same, it’s just some letters are a little off, the overall vibe of the word is correct.” Groaned the Imp.
“I… I don’t know how to even handle that statement.” Said Stolas, frowning.
“Oh, you think that’s weird, check this out. Dad, what’s that word Stolas has pinned to the wall?” she asked, pointing at a reflection in the dark glass doors that lead to the fire-escape.
“Nincompoop, why?” said Blitzø, not even looking up. “And also, why the fuck is that pinned to my walls?” said the imp, turning to glare at the note like it owed him money.
“That… that’s mirrored to you.” Said Stolas.
“Yeah, and upside down where the note has slipped, and through bad light, and he saw it for, like a split second.” Said Loona. “Blitz’s fucking weird. Can’t read any unfamiliar word, can’t tell you how a word is spelt, or how it should be pronounced if he’s only seen it written, can’t spell consistently to save his life…. World’s fastest reader, in any conditions.” Said Loona, not without a little pride. “Fucking freak.” She added, affectionately.
“I don’t understand how it’s that hard, you just look at the outline of the world and what color the glow around it is, it’s not that fucking difficult. What?” Asked Blitzø.
“Glow?” asked Stolas.
“Yeah, the fucking glow that forms around the letters while they’re all dancing about. Why?”
“I… I think you might be dyslexic Blitz.” Said Stolas.
“No, I don’t bloat after meals, I digest just fine.” Said the imp, tongue out with concentration, as he drew horses making out in the margins of the letter.
“I….” Stolas had no idea how to respond to that, so he just went back to the letter, making an adjustment in pencil before they settled on a final wording in pen.
“I’m not sure I like this wording. Do you have a rubber? I should… an eraser, Blitz.” Said Stolas, smiling, hands on hips as Blitzø leaned over the table, slow-blinking seductively, condom held delicately in his lips.
“Ew, dad could you not?” said Loona, standing up. “I’m putting the kettle on. You nerds want tea?”
“Coffee, if you could Loony, this could be a long night.” Said Blitzø
“Tea for me, please Loona.” Said Stolas.
“So, we’ve got the letters of Vassago, and Ipos and Stiri, and if we can just agree on the beginning, we’ve got Ozzie, and Loony can maybe have a word with Bee at some point, and you’ve written to your former head butler to ask him to look out for her as best as he can, who else?" asked Blitzø. "Does Via have grandparents, are your folks still kicking? And wasn’t there an uncle you mentioned?”
Stolas paused, pencil jutting to a halt under his fingers, ripping the page he was working on drafting. He closed his eyes, all four, and took a deep breath.
“Blitz, you remember what our fathers were like? I’d sooner not…. Nothing about this situation would be improved by involving close family members. Besides, father is deceased. The only reason he didn’t bust into the trial and make it worse than it already was, so that’s a small mercy I guess.”
“You, err, you wanna talk about it?” said Blitzø taking Stolas’s hand.
“Not… not yet. There are… there are some things best left buried. I think that I can only deal with one trauma at a time right now, if that’s okay with you?”
“Hey, whatever I can do to help.” Said Blitzø. “And besides, so long as they all stay buried, nothing to worry about, right?... Right?” asked Blitzø, as Stolas seemed to hesitate.
“Yes… yes of course.” Said Stolas, switching from pencil to pen, a more permanent tool, harder to take back. “Nothing to worry about.” He said, committing to the stroke of the pen, pupils tiny, jaw clenched.
No going back.
+++
Somewhere else in Pride, in a tower somewhat different from Blitzø’s hi-rise, a phone rang, the screen bright in the dark.
It was answered on the second ring. “Your majesty?” a voice asked.
“Hey, 'sup you daft cunt.” Said an Australian voice, tinny over the line. “You still fucking alive?”
The figure behind the phone smiled, playing with a pocket watch. “Last time I checked your majesty. I take it this isn’t a social call?”
“Too bloody right you creepy bastard. Just got a word from me minions down at the postal service. One of your watchlists just got triggered. You were right, the fucking exile is writing to his mates.”
“Who? Vassago, presumably.” Said the figure, taking up a pen.
“Yeah, give me a sec… yeah, Vas, Stiri and bloody Ipos too. Oh, and some cunt called Pringles, up in Imp City?”
“Ah, the butler? He’s throwing a shield around the girl then.” Said the figure, making some notes with the silver pen, decorated with a snake’s head. “And faster than Andrealphus is. But no letter to me? Interesting. And the content of the letters, your majesty?”
“Hey, reading other people’s letters is against the bloody law. I’m bending it just by letting you know this much mate.”
“Understood. Usual fee?”
“Double it, seeing as you’re that desperate.”
“Done. Use the high-res x-ray, Vas at least will know if the envelope has been broken, even if it’s re-sealed magically.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m not a fucking idiot mate. It’ll be done clean. What makes me curious is why you’re so interested in some daft cunt who’s lost all his powers?”
“Me? I’m just looking out for an old friend. Acting upon Paimon’s last wishes.” The figure said with a smile, phone just lighting their thin lips. “Doing what I always did: Protecting the family. Fixing Paimon’s mistakes.”
“Yeah, don’t buy that for a second, mate. Well, your fucking money, spend it how you like, your grace. What happened with Paimon, by the way? I never asked.”
“And I never said. Goodnight, your majesty.”
“Yeah? No need to be so fucking mysterious ya cunt. You give me this attitude again, and you can find someone else to spy on your fucking nephew.”
The phone cut off. The person who had received the call was unsurprised to see that it was a reverse charges call. Such was doing business with Mammon.
He made some notes, writing for a while, before picking up his phone a second time.
“We may need to accelerate our program.” He said, looking at the newspaper. Normally the disgrace and banishment of a Goetic price would have stayed in the headlines in some form or other for months, but that fracas at the hotel had pushed it out of the papers entirely. “Move to stage two, and prepare for three, although we won’t know when that starts, but I image the Morningstars will get involved sooner rather than later now.” They said, before hanging up.
Nothing so minor as death or banishment was going to stop Paimon’s plans from unravelling exactly as he’d willed them.
The worst part about trying to mend things, one of the hardest lessons that hell taught, was that sometimes the only way out was through, and sometimes you had to break things more before they could be Fixed.
He did not want to do what came next, which was to act. To just be powerful for a time.
After a moment, he started to cry.