Chapter Text
You’d regret this. You knew you would. Still, you also knew swallowing your pride and getting this out of the way would be worth it in the end.
Besides… it was too late to turn the car around.
You and Alastor rode in your sleek blood-red automobile. You seldom drove your prized chariot, preferring to walk or have one of your employees drive you around. Still, you held pride in your vehicle and looked forward to the special occasions when you could whip it out.
Having Alastor in your passenger seat was definitely a special occasion.
The sight of him all buckled up to your right was something you never imagined you’d see. It managed to be both mundane and comical. You’d had plenty of friends and dates in this car but this was somehow more intimate. Exciting even. The butterflies in your stomach had to agree.
Get a grip, Temerity.
You slowed to a stop at a red light. Fiddling with the buttons on your cuffs, you rolled both sleeves up to your elbow.
Your change in style had nothing to do with fashion. In Pentagram City you could dress how you liked, no one batted an eye if you looked like a relic. However, when traveling you preferred to not stand out— blending in was a survival tactic you carried over from life. As much as you loved visiting Rosie in Cannibal Town, you had to learn the hard way that to avoid being torn apart, you had to look the part.
Your life in Hell and on Earth had that in common.
“Would you like some music?” The light turned green and you eased on the gas. “Guests have full control of the radio.”
With a twirl of his finger, Alastor switched the radio on, filling the car with swing music. Big band accompanied your wordless drive down the twisted roads that lead out of Pentagram City.
Despite your apprehension, Alastor’s presence was a pleasant one. He hummed along to the music, eyes cast on the sights they flew by. The light caught in the crimson of his eyes and hair, giving him a wondrously infernal glow.
Beautiful.
You forced yourself to look away. The car crash you’d cause by gawking at him like a lovestruck mouth-breather wouldn’t kill you hard enough.
Still, you’d sneak the occasional glance at him. The chances of you having Alastor in your car again after today were less than zero. You wanted to remember this feeling of having him by your side, to admire him in this quiet moment. You wanted the image of him that he’s allowed you to see burnt into your memory for the rest of your afterlife.
Lord, you were sad.
One song ended and another began. A jocund piano tune took off, trumpets joining in with a flourish. You perked up, ears rousing in interest.
“Duke Ellington! Oh, I loved him. You know, back when I was alive, he and his band— back when they were called The Washingtonians— played at my club in Manhattan. I used to brag I made him popular.” A reminiscent laugh from. “I used to say that about musicians who never even stepped foot in my club. King Oliver, Mamie Smith, Louis Armstrong—“
“Louis Armstrong!” Alastor said, the radio effect light in his voice. “I had the privilege of having him on my radio broadcast. He wasn’t a big name then, but still a wonderful talent.”
“Get out of here!”
You two talked, and tension ebbed away. The conversation never dipped back into his life on earth which was fine. Even the smallest insight he decided to share was lovely. You noticed among sinners you were more open about talking about when you were alive. In many ways, Hell was a continuation of your life on earth, your death and respawn a rough bump in the road.
You weren’t surprised by your shared taste since you two were from the same era. Alastor did however surprise you with the range of his taste. You listened in earnest as he sang the praises of a ragtime musician you weren’t familiar with.
Ragtime was before, well, your time in America, having fallen in style by the time you made it across the pond. Alastor’s honest insight was a joy to listen to; he even rattled off a few names for you to look into.
Unfortunately, you passed the city limits sign letting you know you were close to your destination. Weaving through the narrow roads you arrived at your destination and parked your car in the sketchy-as-fuck parking lot.
You turned the car off with a huff. Fingers anxiously drummed on the leather steering wheel. “Before we get this show on the road, I’ll warn you my contact is rather… ornery, so don’t get offended if they say or do something uncouth.”
Alastor put a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Are you implying that I’m anything other than a perfect gentleman?”
“I once saw you strike a kid.”
A dismissive hand wave. “At twenty, he was hardly a child.”
“Just don’t go scaring them. I need their help.”
He promised he wouldn’t and you decided to believe him. Alastor stalked you into the condemnable building. The unkempt floors and buzzing lights were in stark contrast to the well-maintained elevator. You pushed the worn button for the seventh floor. A piano cover of a Verosika Mayday song whined overhead on busted speakers.
The familiar door to I.M.P. Headquarters greeted you. Pushing it open, an unnaturally sweet flowery aroma trying to mask the dead rat smell invaded your nose, the scent matching faded drab wallpaper and trampled carpet.
To your surprise, Loona, Blitzø’s adopted daughter, sat behind the receptionist table. She glanced from scrolling through her phone to greet the two of you in her usual impassive way. “Welcome to I.M— oh shit. It’s you.”
“Hello, Loona, hun.”
The hellhound looked between you and Alastor, unphased. “What’s with the red guy?”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed, twitching in transparent annoyance. He couldn’t stand being unknown, even by those considered Hell's lowest. The corners of your lips tweaked upwards. The absolute ego of this man.
Cute.
“He’s a deer friend. Is Blitzø in?”
“He’s not gonna want to see you after last time.”
Your eyes threatened to roll back into your skull. Figures. It's not like you didn't apologize and make up. Several times. “Tell him there’s someone who wants to see him with a fat cock and fatter stacks of cash.”
Alastor grimaced at your crass language. You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at his discomfort… even though he deserved it.
Loona cracked half a smile. “He's gonna shoot you both onsite,” she said but relayed the message into the phone.
Not even a second passed when the door flew open, kicked clean off its hinges. The tall imp in question stepped out all eager and full of smiles. “Hello! I'm Blitzø. The ‘o’ is silent. What can I— OH shit dicking FUCK shiet!” He recoiled as if he saw someone horrifying, not sweet little ol’ you.
“Hello, Blitzø~” You waggled your fingers in a playful wave. “It's been too long.”
Blitzø pulled his pistol from his jacket and aimed it straight at your face. “M and M! That crazy raccoon bitch is back. And she brought her strawberry pimp!”
Alastor's head tilted at an unnatural angle, his smile tight and unimpressed. Static crackled in the air around him. “Excuse me?”
Blitzø’s employees ran into the room, weapons drawn and pointed straight at you, Moxxie with a gun and his wife, Millie, with an ax. Alastor gave you a questioning look, silently asking what you did to them.
“Can we please put the weapons down for a second?” Your eye twitched. “I just want to talk.”
“No, I don’t think we will,” Blitzø said, cocking the gun. “Especially after that bullshit, you pulled last time.”
“I apologized, didn't I?”
“I'm sorry, in what world does an apology and two and a half hatefucks magic away the fire you set to my van?!”
Moxxie dropped his aim, face steeped in confusion and mild disgust. “What?”
You ground your teeth. A headache bloomed behind your eyes. If Blitzø didn't shoot you now, you’d pull the trigger yourself. “Alastor, dear, it’s not too late to wait in the car.”
“No, I'm quite content here.” He sauntered over to the faded couch across the room and sat, legs crossed and cane tucked in his arms as he eagerly awaited to watch the rest of the shit show. “Please, don't mind me.”
You glowered at him, which only served to widen his smile.
Blitzø’s eyes shot between the two of you before locking his ire back on you. “Okay we’ll address your freak later, but right now it’s time for you to—”
You snapped your fingers and a band of money appeared in your palm. You tossed it to Millie who caught it effortlessly in one hand.
Blitzø’ lowered the gun a hair. “We’re listening.”
The imp was as predictable as he was feisty. You liked that about him, even though most of the time he gave you an ulcer.
You hopped on the corner of the desk, ignoring Loona’s irritated mutterings about your fat ass on her workspace. You crossed your legs, letting your red boots dangle against the side of the desk.
“I need a favor and... I have a job for you.” You needed to be meticulous with your next words. You had no qualms letting Alastor know you partook in I.M.P’s assassin service, but he didn't need to know why.
Ever.
“First things first. I need to get in contact with Fizzaroli.”
“Why the fuck do you need him?” Blitzø booped you in the breast with his gun. ”Gonna light his shit on fire too?”
You groaned and flicked the gun to the side. “I’ve already told you— that fire was an accident. Jesus, Blitzø, hold that grudge harder, why don't you?”
“Says the bitch with a hundred-year vendetta—”
You snapped your head to Blitzø. Narrowed eyes bore into his, your harsh gaze full of red hot ire. He snapped his mouth shut, understanding your silent plea:
Don’t.
He swallowed, guilt briefly flashing across his face. “Sorry, sorry— I didn't—” He uncocked his gun and holstered it under his jacket. “Look, why do you need Fizz?”
You unclenched your jaw and explained your project with the hotel. You expected Blitzø of all people to say something snide or dickish, but his comment from earlier took a bit of his bite.
“I can get you in touch with Fizz, but no guarantee he’ll even go for it. And if he turns you down you gotta promise not to go full psycho pyro slut like last time.”
You cringed, not from the embarrassment of recalling your temper tantrum, but because of who was in the room to hear it. “You have my word, okay? No more fires.”
“I fucking mean it, tits,” Blitzø said. “I don’t need you coming back here lighting shit on fire and thinking some strange makes it all better.”
You clenched your hands so you wouldn’t wrap them around his neck. “Bloody fucking— I get it! No sex, no fires. You wanna hear about this job or not?”
You chanced a look Alastor’s way, afraid of the expression you’d find behind his smile. His elbow rested on his knee, his chin in his hand as he watched this back and forth, his mouth twisted in amusement.
Of course he was enjoying this. Where’s a meteor when you need one?
“This is the final job I have for you,” you said, eyes back on Blitzø. “I need you to take care of the last name on the list I gave you and hold onto him, until I can pick him up.”
“Okay, but if this one ends up in heaven—”
“The last man’s piety got him sent down here. No god’s welcoming this prick to heaven.”
Blitzø nodded, a quiet look of understanding passing between the two of you. He motioned for his colleagues to lower their weapons. “It's a deal, but since you're asking us to also babysit this guy for you—”
You snapped more money into your hand.
“Done.”
Fucking finally. You hopped off the desk and handed Blitzø the rest of his money. He grabbed the roll from Millie and went to count it with glee, relaying to an exasperated Loona all the horse stuff he wanted to get.
Moxxie walked past you to grab the door Blitzø knocked down. You snapped your fingers, an idea popping in your head. “Oh! Moxxie?”
He frowned, finger pointing to himself. “You know my name?”
A confused tilt of your head. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
His wife took a tentative step his way, keeping a suspicious eye trained on you. Despite her threatening demeanor (Millie knew how to use that ax), you found the protective gesture sweet.
“It's just normally people don’t get my name right, they usually call me Boxxie or Roxxie, especially when I’m getting coffee or—”
“Blitzø would talk about you during our private meetings. He told me you're a talented musician. You're welcome to audition for the hotel’s show if you want.”
Millie's apprehension turned to joy at her partner’s praises. She grabbed her husband and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, my Moxxie is the best! That was so sweet of you to say, Blitzø.”
Blitzø rubbed between his eyes, face darkened with a flush. “Bitch, I will cut you if you don’t get out of my office right the fuck now.”
“Wow! Awful lot of sexy talk for someone in a committed relationship. You do freaky horse shit with Stolas too, or was I special?”
“Out!”
You snickered but relented. “Alright. Let's go, Alastor.”
“In a minute, my dear.” Alastor shadows carried him to stand behind the imps who regarded him with varying levels of distaste. “I do have a question for your little friends. But do go ahead and get the car running. I won’t be long.”
You faltered, and Alastor assessed them, smirk devious. He wanted to toy with them a bit, you assumed, and ask them a few questions to sate his curiosity. No harm in that.
Shrugging, you let yourself out and reminded him to play nice.
“My what an entertaining experience!” Alastor said over the radio in your car. He noticed ever since departing you abstained from sneaking glances at him like before. You were embarrassed. How cute.
“Very!” Your voice was thick with faux enthusiasm. “So entertaining that we'll never have to address it again, lest we taint its memory.”
Alastor chuckled, canned laughter accompanying him. He’s never seen you so irritated. You weren't even this argumentative with Alastor inviting himself into your home unannounced. He was almost jealous of his ability to get you so riled.
“It seems like meeting with your imp friend left you in a bit of a tizzy. Care to share why?”
Your grip on the steering wheel turned your knuckles pale. “Blitzø tends to be exhausting when he wants to. Which is all the time. It’s only cute for about two minutes.”
“Ah yes, the taller, cantankerous imp. How did the likes of him manage to catch the fancy of an Ars Goetia, I wonder.”
It was an intentional slip. You never mentioned he was romantically involved with an Ars Goetia. Alastor was curious if you’d catch him and what you’d say if you did.
You bit your lip, brow furrowed as the wheel of thought spun in your mind. When you spoke it wasn’t what he expected to come out of your mouth, “Alastor, don’t go asking questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
If anything, that spurred his curiosity. “Oh come now, dear, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
“Riiiight. You’re so sure about that.”
The sarcastic lilt in your tone was irksome, to say the least. You spoke like one might speak down to a child asking about adult subjects. Like you knew what information he was worthy to know.
When he was silent for a beat too long, he caught you looking at him for a moment, before returning your attention to the road.
”Apparently Prince Stolas and I share similar opinions when it comes to Blitzø’s bedroom expertise.”
That was it? The big secret? Sex was all it took for one of Hell’s all-powerful nobility to hand over such a powerful tome? He’d hoped you’d provide more nuanced insight. Alastor couldn’t fathom wielding power that great and simply giving it away in exchange for something so… debauched. The thought alone was disgustingly salacious and deeply pathetic.
You frowned at him, mistaking his silence for confusion. “He’s really good in bed, I mean.”
“No, dear, I understood—”
“And on a couch,” you added, quite needlessly, “or over a desk or in a—”
Alastor’s ears flattened against his head, turning to face the window. Revulsion from his throat coated his words, “Painting a picture is not necessary in this instance.”
You snorted, an ungraceful sound he hated to admit he found rather quaint. “I’m not sorry.”
A roll of his eyes. “Will you continue down this licentious road if I ask you a second question?”
You hummed, pretending to think about it. “Depends.”
“Who are you sending those imps after? Who could’ve upset you so much on earth that you need them in Hell?”
All at once your merry disposition drained, leaving with your smile. You recovered, but not before Alastor caught a look on your face he recognized all too well. A positively delectable expression he recognized from many of his victims.
Dread.
And on you it was rather striking.
You opened your painted lips to let the lie flow like a waterfall. “Just some schmucks who owed me money back when I was alive. Got me in hot water with the local mob for a bit.”
“I see.”
The two of you settled in for a quiet drive to the hotel, the radio the sole fill-in for the silence. Somehow his conversation with you was even less illuminating than his chat with those imps.
Like you, they assumed to know his intentions. The tallest imp, Blitzø, warned him in colorful language that the grimoire didn’t work with sinners. Disappointing, but not his concern. He did, however, make the mistake of inquiring how exactly someone like him ever crossed paths with an Ars Goetia to begin with.
“Prince Stolas is Blitzø’s boyfriend,” the female imp said, her saccharine tone made Alastor’s smile sour.
“Don’t be so vulgar Millie,” Blitzø chastised, “just say we’re fucking.”
Alastor regretted his decision to stay in this building.
It was bad enough these little creatures didn’t have the decency to know who he was, they acted like he was another common sinner. Lucky for them, he wasn’t one to needlessly intimidate weaker beings like some run-of-the-mill ruffian.
”I want to inquire about your past work with my companion,” he said, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. “She’s had you kill the living before?”
”Oh yeah, she’s had us kill these two old pricks years ago,” Blitzø said, chest puffed in pride. “Easiest jobs we ever had. Those fucks were already one foot in the grave, it was like killing a baby.”
Tasteful. ”And has she ever explained why she wanted them dead?”
”Oh, no, no, no, no, no.” He fervently shook his finger, waving his arm around to emphasize his point. “I can’t go sharing our clients’ private information. We have a strict confidentiality clause.”
The hellhound receptionist scoffed. ”Oh yeah? Since when?”
“Since about five minutes after Tem set the van on fire. Look, uh, mister—””
“Alastor.”
”Right. Alastor, sir, if you want to know what her deal is with these guys you can go right ahead and ask her, okay? I’m not inviting the house fire she’ll cause when I tell you her personal shit. Word of advice: she gets real chatty after a couple of drinks but she also gets handsy if you catch my drift, so proceed with caution.”
His smile curled in distaste. He’d hit a dead end with the imps and they were no use to him. “I‘ll certainly keep that in mind.” He turned on his heel with a spin of his cane. “Farewell, little imps. Best of luck on your job.”
Alastor wasn’t about to let this go so easily. He glanced your way, your face almost serene as you hummed along to the radio. He couldn’t help but remember the palpable wrath that twisted your face when Blitzø mentioned your vendetta. The absolute venom beautifully contorted your features was a sight to behold. For a moment you burned with anger so thick he could taste it. He wanted to taste more of your rage, sample it on his tongue like a fine wine and swallow it all.
What could light the spark of your fury?
How would you look wielding that anger?
He couldn’t wait to find out.