Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

BLOOD & CHAMPAGNE

PART ONE 

“This story helps my ass ” groaned Charlie, smacking the book shut.
She rolled on her back returning to her usual sight: the canopy over her bed. It almost felt like a pot lid at that point, trapping her with her scorching, never-ending thoughts.

Ah, the perks of being an overthinker.

The book itself wasn’t that bad. Well, “that bad” for its entertaining purpose at least: Charlie picked it up in the attempt to distract herself from her misery. And it almost worked - at times. A post-apocalyptic story with a Verosika Mayday-lookalike martial artist as the main character: what could possibly take her further from reality? But then the protagonist’s best friend, Maggie, had to be mauled by zombies while kissing her.

Kissing her ? Out of the blue? Low blow.

The irony of the situation almost put a smile on Charlie’s face. Almost. Not even a week earlier the gory description of Maggie’s skull being cracked open like a can of beans would have made her drop the book in an instant. Now what bothered her the most was a kiss .

Charlie sighed. What if her skull was cracked open like that? She didn’t picture the scene without a certain relief, she realized: the cloud slowly rising from her head like smoke, leaving her in that specific state of blissful unconsciousness that only zombie victims would know…

“Ugh” she grumbled, turning again in her bed.
As if she could turn away from her increasingly disgusting self-pity.

Of course the cloud was completely different from the first few days. It used to be swollen with rain and thunder and lightning, shaking her chest and soaking her pillow to the point that she was forced to turn it over basically every thirty minutes. But tiredness had set in now: a long, open-eye sleep where everything seemed to move at double speed while Charlie could barely find the strength to move a muscle.

She hated herself for the state she was in. So many people were counting on her, so much was to be done for their safety. And yet the Princess of Hell sat whining about her ex girlfriend, acting like the selfish, privileged brat she tried so hard not to be! That was what their breakup managed to do to her.  

Vaggie's face flashed behind her eyelids along with a flush of pain and anger in equal parts.

Charlie shuddered, rubbing her forehead and freezing with guilt. 

Anger? Against Vaggie! ? 

Her eyes felt wet under her fingers. She forced herself to sit up. She had no courage to glance at her reflection in the wall mirror, with its swollen features and its mass of long uncared-for hair. But she didn’t have to check to know painfully well what state she was in.

Vaggie had every right to break up with her. Of couse. She had every right to if being around Charlie didn’t make her happy anymore - even if it was for reasons Charlie found absolutely idiotic . 

A blazing feeling crossed her forehead in the two spots where, she knew, a pair of pointy horns was just about to sprout. 

Who asked Vaggie to become her protector anyway, her knight in shiny armor!? Charlie sniffed, the answer piercing her like an arrow: her failures. She was the one not getting anywhere with her stupid hotel.
She frustrated Vaggie to the point of exasperation.
She had thrown away all the love and support and help that the person she loved most in the world had given her all that time, unconditionally, for better or worse- no, especially for worse. 

She hadn’t been enough for Vaggie. That was it. 

And it didn't matter that she now felt as if a limb had been ripped off her. No tears, no excuses, no songs - Charlie caught herself smiling faintly: “life is not a musical!”, as Vaggie used to say - would have helped.
None of that would have helped make her whole again.

Knock knock knock.

Charlie glanced at her bedroom door. She never answered visitors, and her policy of silence had been relatively successful - so far. No one ever trespassed, no, but that didn't stop them from indulging in long, unsolicited monologues from the other side of the door, especially about the state of the hotel.
The world went on without her, it seemed: Vaggie, managing to perform "the least fun form of masochism you could think of!", as Angel put it, had taken command of the redemption activities - and in a slightly more military sense than anyone could have possibly intended. “If you let your ex give me more pounds of muscles and scars Valentino will end up making me a top! Me! A TOP, Charlie!” the porn star whined one evening in his highest pitch.

Sir Pentious's visits almost managed to make Charlie leave her room, actually. And she couldn't rule out that it would happen soon enough if she was to endure more hours of heartfelt, tormented, bizarre (but surprisingly detailed) descriptions of Cherri Bomb's many charms - amid noises that sounded suspiciously like Sir Pentious crashing into the door in some of his usual, over-dramatic poses.

Knock knock knock.

“Charlie, my dear.” 

The voice of the radio demon seemed to slip under the door alongside the golden light from the corridor. 

“I hate to disturb your outbursts of adorable, vain sentimentality, but circumstances dictate that I break my gentlemanly etiquette this evening.”

Charlie remained silent, focusing on the unidentified scratching noise in the background.
When the door slammed open, window panes rattling and light invading every inch of the room, the Princess of Hell jumped so violently that she fell off her bed.

“MESS! MESSY BEDROOM!” Nifty’s voice trumpeted. “CRUMBS IN THE BEDSHEETS! BALLS OF TOILET PAPER AND SNOT!”.

“I’m afraid Niffty could no longer contain the urge to bring a bit of healthy order and cleanliness to this filthy den of desolation that you call bedroom, my dear.”

Charlie tried to wrap herself in her blankets while the tips of Alastor’s ears, his luminescent eyes and then the Radio Demon’s unalterable smile peeked out the edge of the bed.

“Not that her owner seems in better conditions” he observed, raising an eyebrow over his red, inquiring eyes. “ll wait for you downstairs. We have a lot to discuss, but not enough to postpone a... regal, overdue bubble bath.” he added with a grimace that wrinkled his nose.

The tail of Alastor's coat disappeared over the door frame while a panting Niffty charged at Charlie at full speed. Her tiny body seemed filled with ecstatic, highly-concentrated power while she pointed a purple spray bottle at the princess, her other hand pointing at her menacingly.

“DIRTY PAJAMAS! KETCHUP STAINS! CRUMBS IN THE BRA!”.

Charlie could do nothing but brace herself for impact and hold her breath.

*

“Yuk, Your Highness!” complained Husk as Charlie sank onto one of the stools. “No offense but you smell like a fucking swimming pool on steroids!”.

“It's nice to see you again too, Husk” mumbled Charlie, leaning her head on the bar counter - bad move, she realized: her forehead felt almost glued to the wood. The last thing she needed was another assault by Niffty.

“Just make sure you don't disappear again, uh? Normally it doesn’t take long for my customers to show up after... well, the shitshow you two went through”. 

The pop of a bottle being uncorked. A melodious pouring. 

“Life is a shitshow” Husk corrected himself. “And Afterlife too, down here. But pain changes you, y’know? It fucking changes you, for better or worse. And the shit you’re in changes with you”.

Charlie raised her head just enough to observe the bubbles popping in her glass, a color between liquid gold and ruby. 

“Dom Devignon - but don't fucking mention it around Angel, please, I speak from experience.” groaned the bartender, rolling his eyes. “A couple of drinks on the house, hm? To different shits and different shows”.

A halfhearted smile flashed on her face as Charlie propped herself up on one elbow to grab her glass. It was probably the kindest thing Husk ever did for her, she got to hand it to him - even though she was the house the most expensive drink in Hell was on, actually.

Charlie had never been much of a drinker. But the contours of her own identity felt so blurry those days that it almost felt like it was another person's hand holding the glass and taking it to her lips. A mysterious girl, who perhaps could even hold her Dom Devignon. And maybe make different choices.

“Oh, what a sight!”.

Alastor's sudden, shrill voice from behind her made Charlie choke on her champagne.

“Our princess with a drink fit for a queen! Ambition is an admirable quality, if I may say so - especially in business partners.” he added, taking a seat next to her.

Charlie coughed, hoping the drink hadn't reached her lungs already. 

“Alastor” she caught her breath. “Listen, I appreciate you trying to get me out of my room. I'm here, see?” she pointed at herself. “But I'm not in the mood to talk about the hotel. Not yet.” she frowned, returning to hunch over her glass. 

The bubbles fizzed and shone like fireworks in the small sunset sky surrounded by her cupped hands. 

She knew Vaggie was doing a good, no, a great job. And Angel could have a stellar career anyway, she was sure of it - Dom Devignon wasn’t too bad a stage name, in fact, lawsuits aside.

Husk cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Err, yes, about that..”

“Oh dear, didn't anyone tell you?”.

Charlie whipped her head up, anxiety tensing in her stomach like a lurking cat.

“Our bold enterprise is sadly close to failure. Both of our numerous guests seem to have set sail towards less… turbulent ports. A certain monocular acquaintance of ours turned out to be an incredibly firm captain. Maybe a little too firm for a certain actor’s wrist, which happened to break during a session of… well, whatever was going on in a room full of biscuits, shotguns and pillow forts. Pillows filled with bricks , it might be worth mentioning.” Alastor shrugged, idly observing the glass of whiskey that Husk was begrudgingly pouring for him.

"No" whispered Charlie, her hands rushing to cover her mouth. Tears were already stinging her eyes.

“Valentino didn't take it too well, I heard.” continued Alastor, his usual smile still plastered on his face. “There will be repercussions. Oh, yes.”

Charlie watched as the little fireworks in her glass turned into a fiery blur.
She stood up abruptly, knocking over the stool. 

“And no one thought to tell me?! Nobody did ANYTHING!?” she blurted out in a blast of infernal heat, her blonde hair fluttering around her face and rearranging itself to make room for the horns. But it only lasted an instant: the sob that followed made her fold up like a crumpled piece of paper. Next thing she knew she was on her knees, warm tears on her cheeks.

Alastor's claws rested gently on her shoulder. "That's precisely what I came to do, my dear. I only report daily fresh news.”

“This hotel ain’t nothing without you, Princess.” Husk's hoarse voice added. “Ah, fuck them, it’s probably for the best, y’know? This place was fucking doomed to begin with”. 

Charlie shook her head. Of course. Of course she managed to screw everything up, even with her absence ! And so close to the Extermination day!
“I guess you’ll be happy now, Alastor.” she sniffled through her tears. “You always said this was a lost cause. That the Hotel would entertain you with its failure.”
Charlie lifted her gaze to Alastor and his damned, obnoxious smile. The glass of whiskey between made it look even more grotesque, distorted.

The Radio Demon emptied it in one gulp, slammed it on the bar counter, made his microphone reappear out of thin air and twirled it playfully.
"Oh, there's no reason to be so dramatic! It's really lucky that you have someone of my stature at your side, ma chère! ”.
The microphone clacked against the floor as Alastor crossed his arms behind his back and bent forward.
“You’ll find that there is still a soul ready to embark on the journey to redemption. And it’s already here!”.

Charlie frowned, darting a questioningly look to Alastor and Husk. The latter shrugged, dumbfounded. He imitated Charlie as she turned to face the Radio Demon, even more incredulous than before.
“You... Alastor?”.

"Bullshit!” shouted Husk, his fists banging against the bar counter.

“Oh... so you don't think I deserve a chance? I’m hurt!” Alastor whined, a hand on his chest. 

Charlie stood up. Her head was spinning, either from the champagne or from the ton of emotions that hit her in the last few minutes.
“No, well... I mean, everyone deserves a chance, it's just that... I didn't think that... of all demons, you…!?” she stammered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Alastor cocked his head, his face darkening despite his smile.

“I have to think about it. Write down a strategy, a… plan?”.
A faint, timid fire seemed to ignite somewhere in Charlie's chest, the kind of flame that couldn’t be farther from infernal ones.
Was it a smile trembling in the corners of her mouth?

“Here is my charming demon belle! Here you are!”. 
Alastor clapped his hands and an embroidered handkerchief appeared in front of Charlie's face.

“I should go and make sure Angel is okay” she nodded decisively after blowing her nose loudly.

“Come back soon, dear. Take care!” Alastor chirped after her as she slipped into her usual red jacket and made for the door.

Husk spoke again before the front doors slammed behind her.
“Take care ”...” the barman shook his head, chuckling. There was no trace of fun on his face, nor in his voice. “Every time I think you can't be more of a lying piece of shit you make me think again! You’re lucky her daddy ain’t around ‘cause... UH!”.
Husk stopped mid sentence, choked by the ghostly collar that appeared around his neck and pulled him forward with a violent yank.
The glasses of whiskey and champagne on the bar fell to the floor with him, shattering with a crash.

When the bartender opened his eyes he found himself surrounded by a glittering mosaic of razor-sharp glass shards. Alastor's dark figure, at the edges of Husk’s field of view, bent until the demon's face occupied most of it, a mask of murderous madness, all eyes and teeth and horns.

“Forgetting something, aren’t we mon ami ?”.
The Radio Demon held the chain in one hand, pulling it until Husk's head was level with his own.

The bartender's heart pounded in his ears like a drum. And he had the distinct, eerie feeling that this was true for both of them, judging by the way Alastor licked his lips. Like he was hungry , and he was just another piece of meat. 

“I own your soul. It’s not nice nor smart of you to meddle in my business. Understood?”.

Husk gulped, a cold shiver running down his spine. “Understood.”

“Lovely.”

Collar and chain disappeared and Husk crashed onto the carpet strewn with shards.

“Oh, look at this mess! What will guests say!?” said Alastor in his usual, carefree tone, towering over him. “How can I become the purest soul in Hell in such a filthy place!? Come on, get to work old pal!”.

Husk cursed under his breath. He didn't know when or how Alastor disappeared - the master of his soul had his secrets, other than a taste for unpredictability - but when he got back to his feet, glass splinters showering from his fur, he was alone in the lobby.
His gaze was drawn by the largest shard of Charlie’s glass: drops of blood and champagne were dripping from its sharp tip, deep red and liquid gold shimmering and mixing under his eyes. 
Husk snorted. “Heaven help that kid” he just caught himself thinking.

Chapter Text

Charlie rubbed her hands together. She had no idea what that gesture was for, actually, but she thought she saw some climbers do it on TV once. At the very least it could help her convincing herself that yes, she knew what she was doing and no, she wasn’t going to break her neck in the next ten seconds.

Thirty. Thirty seconds seemed like a reasonable goal.

Her first jump went surprisingly well, all things considered.

She landed on a seemingly stable beam, managing to dodge a second one just above, with the same fluid movement. She listened to the reverberation of her landing and the creaking of the steel frame, crouched, waiting for any sign of structural failure. 

“Thirty-one” Charlie counted with a sigh of relief as she stood up, ready to continue climbing Alastor’s radio tower.

*

“Do ya even hear yourself, doll?! Ouch!”. The pornstar's injured limb seemed to punish him with a shot of pain when he waved.

“Careful! You’ll make it worse!” Charlie sighed. “Are you sure you can work with that wrist?!”.

“Oh please, baby, I come with extras for a reason! I can do everything I did before, look! I mean, maaaybe that video with the quadruplets… Eh. Fuck it, they'll take turns for the bukkake scene”.

Charlie chose to “have a sip of water” (spoiler: it was not) from one of the two glasses on the coffee table, in the attempt to hide her blushing. The liquid burned as it went down her throat, making her cough and splutter for the second time that evening. 

“Hey, go easy on that! Cheap vodka has a whole new value now that I ain’t freeloading at the hotel anymore!”. 

Charlie shook her head as if it could actually help clearing it. Unlike the “mysterious girl who perhaps could even hold her liquor” that she believed herself an hour earlier, she was still suffering from the aftermath of that single sip of Dom Devignon.

“A-about that…” Charlie sighed, sinking into the electric blue couch in Angel’s dressing room. “You know you can come back anytime, right?”.

“Charlie…”. It was the porn actor’s turn to sigh, now. “I need to stay here at the studios for a while, ‘kay? To make up for my arm and… shit, everything. Val doesn’t take no for an answer. Everyone’s dealing with their own shitty problems now, yourself included. Swear to Lord Asmodeus, I thought nothing worse could happen to ya than breaking up with Vaggie – by the way, you know you’re both fucking idiots, right? Yeah, yeah, keep pouting like with those puppy eyes, I’m shaking! – but… dealing with Smiles? Seriously!? Are you outta your mind?”.

“Angel, think about it” Charlie started patiently. Facing resistance to her projects was hardly a novelty at that point. “An Overlord finding redemption! That’s the perfect example! Heaven will be forced to recognize that if he can do it, everyone can! Everyone deserves a second chance!”.

“I don't know, Charlie.” Angel rested his elbows on his knees, shaking his head. "Not gonna lie, it sounds pretty nuts to me. And not of the kind I like!"

“ANGEL! ON STAGE!” shouted a shrill voice, barely muffled by the closed door.

“Just promise you'll look after yourself, ‘kay dollface?”.

Charlie leaned over to hug him. “You too, Angel.”

*

Charlie’s heart tightened in her chest as she remembered the conversation from the night before. She didn’t miss her friend’s groans of pain when he was forced to follow Valentino out of the dressing room, after that hug.

Anger rose inside her, uncontrollable and in full force, picturing what Angel had to endure, perhaps in that very moment. It wasn’t until she felt the pipe she was holding to bend and twist under her touch that she snapped back to reality: her hands had lit up with a destructive, incandescent light.

Then, the void.

Charlie swung her limbs aimlessly as the world turned upside down and the Hazbin Hotel raced like a train before her eyes in the opposite direction of her fall.

‘Just promise you’ll look after yourself, ‘kay dollface?’.

Oh, the irony.

The impact was much more wooden and remarkably less lethal than she had expected.
Charlie’s eyes widened. Was it her imagination or was a purple halo rapidly dispersing from her body?

“Welcome, ma chère!” said a familiar voice. “I was just wondering when you were going to take flight!”.

Charlie tried to get up but was forced to hold onto the nearest piece of furniture, her knees shaking violently. Windows on Hell’s sky surrounded her like big red eyes while a reed caressed her calf uncomfortably.

Was she in the radio tower? Did she make it? How!?

“Alastor! You were watching me! You could have summoned me all along!” protested Charlie, her thoughts finally clicking into place.

“Oh, it’s been a long time since anyone reached the trapdoor - only to find it locked! Ha! It’s the little things in death!” he wiped a tear from his eye, laughing shamelessly.

Charlie stood up, checking her surroundings. As far as she knew Alastor never allowed anyone inside his radio tower - well, besides the souls he owned and tortured on air. 
Charlie couldn’t repress a shiver.

Alastor sat at a large desk covered in equipment. It could belong in a museum or a junkyard, all buttons, levers and knobs as it was. An old-fashioned radio on the left was on, playing a soft, nostalgic song that the demon now hummed under his breath.

“So…” he paused. “To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?”.

Charlie cleared her throat, coming forward. She looked for a chair but to no avail: the rest of the room offered more vegetation than furniture. 

“I… was thinking about your proposal from yesterday.”

Alastor stiffened almost imperceptibly before turning in his chair to look her in the eyes. His smile shone in the dim light of the room. “Oh. And have we come to an answer, by any chance?”.

Charlie shivered and clutched her elbows, all her determination threatening to melt under the demon’s gaze.

Yes, living under the same roof for some months made her somewhat used to Alastor’s presence, but that didn’t mean she forgot the danger the Radio Demon could pose. Not to mention Husk and Angel’s warnings, ringing in her head like alarm bells. Yes, redeeming one of the most powerful Overlords could easily turn out to be one of the poorest decisions of her life - if not her last decision.

But what choice did she have? The Exterminators were almost at the door. And didn’t Alastor’s nature make him one of the best candidates she could have to prove her point? She never dared to hope he would agree to participate in her redemption activities, but now that he offered himself… 

“Yes. I accept. But no deals or anything like that, did I make myself clear?”.

Alastor’s smile widened to an impossible extent. 

Charlie shivered - again.
Great, she was regretting it already!

“No deals” he nodded. “What about a handshake then?”. He stood up, towering over her by several inches.

Charlie looked at the slender fingers the demon offered her, the alarm bells in her head sounding more like an entire orchestra now.
A disturbing thought flashed through her mind: how many lives had those hands taken?
‘Every soul can change’ some part of her whispered firmly.

“Why?” Charlie stepped back. Her voice sounded too shrill, too loud. She also realized that she had crossed her arms, her hands digging into the folds of her jacket. “You’ve never shown remorse for your bad deeds. And I bet it takes a lot of those to become an Overlord!”.

Alastor cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. His outstretched hand fell back to his side.
“Suspicion suits you so well, you know? Maybe something sensible actually came out of our bartender’s mouth: pain does change you, for better or worse! Ha ha!”

Charlie frowned. Was he making fun of her? Did he just admit his proposal was simply part of his sadistic fun?

“Oh dear, there’s no need to get all worked up. How can I prove my good will?” he asked in a more conciliatory tone.

“Hmm.” Charlie rubbed her chin for a while. But the more she thought about it, trying to look at it from different angles, the more she came to the same conclusion: “I don't know almost anything about you, Alastor.”

The demon nodded, his hands clasped on the top of his tilted microphone. 

“My worldly person can be surprisingly private, I know. A very sensible choice for an elite demon such as yours truly!”

Charlie was still weighing her words when Alastor caught her off guard by linking arms. 

“I’m feeling a bit peckish, ma chère, aren’t you? Time to put some meat on those bones!”.

The dark aura of Alastor’s magic was already enveloping them when Charlie exclaimed “Hey, wait! Where are we going?!”.

Alastor let the change of scenery do the talking for him.

Cannibal Town was as chaotic, noisy, and full of viscera as Charlie remembered. 

The noise factor was greatly affected by the chants of “Alastor!” that rose from basically every store, kiosk and sidewalk. The demon seemed like a local celebrity, especially among the ladies , a characteristic that Charlie had a hard time explaining herself. Alastor had never given her the impression of being interested in the fair sex - or any sex, for that matter. Not that this seemed to discourage anyone, anyway.

Alastor had changed her outfit with a snap of his fingers a few moments after they arrived. She found herself wearing a long-sleeved blouse, a wide skirt below the knee, a pair of simple but elegant high-heeled shoes, lace gloves and a round hat, all rigorously red and black and in line with the local fashion. It wasn't the first time Alastor intruded into her clothing (“slipping into the glad rags ”, he called it), but that didn't make her any less uncomfortable. As nice as the new clothes were, their change always left Charlie with the feeling of being a doll for him to dress up and the (not entirely unfounded, she thought) fear of being stripped naked at some point of the process.

They were at Rosie's Emporium - Alastor's fellow Overlord, same creepy smile, nice hat - when it happened. Alastor, holding a bag of anatomical parts that Charlie wanted to know as little as she could of, was surrounded by three ladies, stocky and noisy as hens.

“Oh Al, do you really have to stay cooped up in that fleabag hotel? It's borefest without you here!”.

“Lizzie's throwing a ball next Saturday, why don't you join us?”. 

“Ugh, it's not fair! All you do lately is hanging out with Lucifer’s brat! You forgot about us!”. 

Charlie pretended not to hear a word, too busy being bored and questioning her own presence there, her forehead resting against the shop window, when her eyes met the closed, dried ones of the prettiest trinket she had ever seen in Cannibal Town: a wrinkled little voodoo head, decorated with beads and bows.
She walked out of the jingling doors of the emporium towards the vendor's cart, the shopping ecstasy already pushing her hand to her wallet.

“Excuse me? Excuse me!” she trilled. “How much does this…?” she stopped mid sentence, her smile turning into a grimace.

The bow on top of her little head.
That’s why she fell for that keychain at first sight.

Vaggie.

Charlie felt dizzy. Then mad, at herself.

Shit. How many more times would she see or hear something that made her think of her? Find something interesting and say to herself “hey, she’d love this!” or “I have to tell Vaggie about this!” before remembering that they were no longer together?
How much time would have to pass?
Her stupid brain would hurt her own feelings like that forever?

“Hey, you wanna buy or not?”.

“Out of my way, bitch!”.

Charlie found herself on the ground before she realized what was happening.
Someone pushed her, intentionally or not, she fell and her wallet was no longer in her hand. She looked frantically around, on all fours, but there was no trace of it.

“FUCK!” she banged her fist on the curb as the vendor's cart creaked away. 

“Charlie?”.

Charlie looked up at Alastor, standing in the doorway of the store, an even larger paper bag in his arms.

“Blending in with commoners can do wonders for our image but this is seems a bit too much. Stand up, ma belle !”.

Charlie accepted the hand he help her up with. She did her best to shake off the dust and blink back her tears of frustration.

“I'm going back to the hotel, Alastor.” she sighed. “You coming?”.

Alastor didn't move a step. A snap of his fingers and the paper bag disappeared. Then, as his face twisted into a ferocious smile, a horde of black tentacles reached out from his shadow in the direction the peddler had gone. 

The crowd shouted, cursed, and scattered. When the tentacles returned to their master, Charlie noticed that one of them was holding a familiar wallet - along with a lump of scalp and a large blue ear covered in blood.

“Hmmm, a treat for the road!”. Alastor licked his lips.

*

Charlie flopped onto her bed.

Alastor’s tailoring magic had run out the moment they’d stepped through the hotel doors, returning her to the usual clothes, but she still felt dusty and in serious need of a shower. 

The problem, however, was motivating herself to get up.Not that her daily activities had been particularly tiring or demanding (well, except for climbing Alastor’s tower perhaps), but she’d resigned to being in a state of chronic fatigue ever since… well, ever since that happened. The event she was trying to get out of her head by overthinking it.

Charlie pulled her phone out of her pocket, Vaggie’s face smiling shyly at her from the background photo. She sighed. A part of her thought that as long as she didn't change that picture nothing would be really over. Like a door left ajar.

She sat up, tossing the phone away. It bounced on the mattress and landed by something shiny, a little object that Charlie didn't notice before. She frowned, grabbing it to examine it more closely.

It was a brooch. 

Charlie had never seen it before, nor did she have any idea of what it was doing in there.

Maybe it belonged to Vaggie, and she left it behind by mistake. But why would it appear on their bed like that, weeks after she moved out?

Maybe it was part of that thief's loot and Alastor took it by mistake with her wallet and his ear. Charlie put it in her pocket and now that she took out her phone it slipped out too.

It was rather pretty, actually.

Shaped like a high-heeled shoe, made of something that could be silver and diamonds, Charlie had no way to tell.
She was running her fingers over it, appreciating the workmanship, when a deep sense of nostalgia and longing gripped her in return, unexpected and inexplicable as it was piercing.

Was she craving… jambalaya?

Chapter Text

Charlie was a lovely shrimp.
She was in a red pond, swimming around rice grains and leaping out of the water through jalapeño rings. The flicks of her tail followed the jazz music from above, muffled by the thick broth.

"Boys, here's a story about Minnie the Moocher."

A row of trumpets peeped out from behind the peppers, blowing bubbles in her direction. Charlie welcomed them with a smile, still dancing.

"She was a hot hoochie-coocher."

The trumpets braced for another volley. A chill ran up Charlie’s scales: were those angelic spears glinting in the dark of their bells?

"She was the hardest, the hardest and most fragile."

The spears pierced the piece of sausage she had taken cover behind just in time, one after another.

“But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale.”

The sausage now reduced to mince, Charlie had no shelter. She turned bravely to face her attackers, demon once again, but in their place was a thick, viscous darkness, or rather… a swamp?
She looked around, almost knee-deep in the mire. Her heart wrested in her chest with sinister, knowing anticipation.

“Hidehidehidehi (Hidehidehidehi)!”

All she could see were enormous trees, so big that they almost seemed to rise in the attempt to escape. But they were all bent, at some height, plunging their rotten branches in the putrid mud back again. It was a desolate place, where hope seemed to refuse to set foot. And rightly so.

“Hodehodehodeho (Hodehodehodeho)!”

“There he is, over there!” a man’s voice echoed in the distance, followed by the barking of dogs.

She had to hurry. She just knew it.
Charlie sprinted towards the voices, but the bayou slowed her down with the muddy, rotting hands of despair.

“Hedehedehedehe (Hedehedehedehe)!”

Her heart began to beat in time with the chorus —the only time she had left, she knew.
She could never accept it, not in a thousand years.

“Hidehidehideho (Hidehidehideho)!”

BANG!

Charlie fell to the floor of her bedroom, jolted awake as the radio alarm ended the song with a dejected “Poor Min, Poor Min, Poor Min…”.
She blinked, dazed and agitated. Something hit her, just to make things better: “Infernal Psychology 101” bounced off the back of her head to join Charlie and other books and magazines at the feet of her desk. It fell open to a page titled “Ten ways to turn your will to kill into a will to overlive!”.
She stood up and shivered, holding on to her desk. She felt dizzy and sore, undoubtedly due to the night spent studying - awake or asleep on her books. She groaned and cursed, dragging herself to the bathroom.

“Salutations and welcome back to Hell, dear listeners!” Alastor's voice rang over the radio, even over the shower Charlie just turned on. “If you slept at all, that is. Where did your sweet dreams take you last night?”.

“Shush me, you ‘on wash ‘o know” muttered Charlie, her mouth full of foamy toothpaste. Not that she could explain it coherently, even if she wanted to.

“Where were you, hmmm? At your last crime scene? Or at your very last crime scene, with you as the victim? Ha ha! Now now, let me tell you about my dream, let me set the scene for you. New Orleans, 1931…”.

Alastor fell quiet for a moment. Charlie turned toward the radio in the bedroom, a scrunchie in her mouth as her hands were busy with the brush and her hair.

“It’s bright and early and the palm trees rustle, caressing the clear Louisiana sky. But the oaks stretch out their dark, twisted branches as if trying to grasp it!” Alastor's voice sounds longing on the last few words.
“The aroma of coffee lingers in the air, a syrupy invitation to step through the gates of the mansion right in the corner of Chestnut and First Street. Oh, what a gem! You should have seen it! I wonder if it's still there, huh? Can any of the newcomers confirm that?".

A brief interference.

“Ha ha ha, but of course! Later, later, let's not spoil the fun! Where were we? Ah, yes, we are crossing the lush garden of the villa, among its towering banana trees and the flowering bougainvillea. The coffee is not the only invitation drawing us here: a delicious song slips out of the door shaped like a keyhole, just ajar. What do we do, my dears? Shall we accept, hmm?”.

Charlie was only vaguely aware of sitting on the edge of the bed now, hair tied into a messy bun, or of the running shower. Conquered the bathroom, the steam was starting to invade her bedroom.

“And how could we resist? Ah ah ah! Not a chance! The voice belongs to no other than the most desirable guest in town, in the flesh! C’mon, you know who I’m talking about, are you even listening? Anyway, the Mayfair family did not skimp on the whiskey since his throat is not completely dry already! Ha ha! What a night must have been! What a treat, friends of Cannibal Town, what a treat!”.

A brass band started playing in the background, languidly, shortly followed by a piano.

“How do I know? Ha ha ha! What shall we do, my friend? You wanna tell them yourself?”.

A terrible cry, no doubt fueled by the darkest dread, rose from the radio.
Charlie jumped on her feet, yanked back to reality.

“Ha ha ha! Well said, mon chère! From the Cotton Club to Hell, dear listeners! Oh, your cue is coming, Cabby, be quiet or you’ll miss it!”.

Charlie managed to turn off the radio. The only sound was from the shower running, now. And from the echoes of that poor man’s broadcasted screams in Charlie’s head, as she stood in the middle of her room, her shaky hand still on the button of the radio alarm.

Alastor. It was too easy to forget that he hadn’t become an Overlord just with a couple of old-timey puns and tap moves. And of all the souls in Hell, she had agreed to redeem his!
Charlie pressed her hands over her eyes, sighing.

Beggars couln’t be choosers, right? No, she wasn’t going to let that get her down. She would stop improvising, she would make a battle plan - maybe with jugs (plural) of coffee, this time - and she would win this war. For the salvation of Hell, to show Vaggie that she didn’t need an infallible guardian at her side, but most of all…
Charlie stood up, meeting her own astonished gaze in the wall mirror.

…for herself?

She watched as her own expression changed, her mouth curling into a little smile, her gaze filled with determination.
Yes, for herself. Nothing would come between her and her dreams, if she tried hard enough and truly believed in herself. She was the Princess of Hell, for fuck’s sake!

*

The hotel lobby looked like it had been frosted by a blind, insane pastry chef with clear terroristic tendencies.

A glob of what looked like cream, dust, and half-drowned cockroaches dripped from the chandelier straight onto Charlie’s head, slowly sliding down her hair. The princess’s already exasperated expression didn’t budge a bit.
Alastor and Niffty, in their dirty aprons and holding hands through oven mitts, threw back their heads in a cheerful, manic laughter.

Charlie shut the book “Recipes to Kill For: How to Shift from Violent to Glutton”, accidentally killing the cockroach that had the misfortune to hop onto its pages from the Eldritch horror Miffty called “her cake”.

“There you go, kiddo” Husk groned, pushing his creation under Charlie’s nose: an (empty) bottle of gin with a dollop of cream and a cork on top.

“Oh dear, I had no idea pastry making could be so much fun ‘when filled with my deepest feelings’, as you say!” Alastor exclaimed, wiping away a tear and taking a deep bow. “My sincerest thanks, this has been a most enlightening activity!”.

“Yes, cream! More cream! CREAM UNTIL GUTS EXPLODE AND REACH THE SKY! HA HA HA HA HA!” Niffty cheered.

Charlie glared at Alastor, her forehead tingling from her horns pushing to come out. That fact that she shivered at the sight of him just that morning, when he joined them in the lobby after his radio podcast, was unbelievable. Not that he wasn’t still one of the most insane and potentially lethal demons in Hell but - fuck, he was even a bigger asshole!

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket to resist the urge to hit him with his own stupid microphone. When she opened them again, Alastor was nowhere to be seen.
Before Charlie could truly believe her sheer will managed somehow to make him disappear, the demon’s voice echoed around the hotel’s entrance. She turned where he resurfaced - apron and stains free - from the shadows.

“Well well, truly an educational experience. But now, with your permission, I'm expected at Mimzy's club.”

A warm feeling spread through Charlie's left hand. At first she ignored it, blaming her itch for a fight. But the heating of the tiny metal object in her pocket was undeniable now. And it couldn’t be just her fiddling with it. The shoe-shaped brooch was getting hotter and hotter.

“That's not true”. Words escaped Charlie's mouth almost against her will.

Alastor looked over his shoulder, hand still on the doorknob. “Ah ah. What did you say?”. His usual smile was still plastered on his lips despite the chilling tone of his voice.

The whole room fell silent.
Charlie hesitated. She could feel Husk and Niffty staring at her.

“I said… I said you’re not going to Mimzy. Are you?”.

She forced herself to take a step forward. The brooch was still burning in her palm, but Charlie didn’t let go. Oddly, she could have sworn there was a hint of spice in the air, all of a sudden.

“Ha ha ha! A bold demon belle, other than charming!” Alastor chuckled, letting go of the doorknob and turning on his heels.
Alastor moved through the shadows, resurfacing behind Charlie’s back with his hands on her shoulders.
“I just don’t see how my evening plans are any of your business, my dear. Shouldn't you be racking that pretty brain of yours to find my way to redemption right now, hm?”.

“That's what I'm doing, actually.”

“How so?”.

Charlie took a deep breath. She could feel Alastor’s nails stinging her skin even through her clothes. “And your plans are very of my business, at least since last night!”
She turned around, letting his claws slip off her.
“You say you want redemption but you’re not doing anything to achieve it.” she doubled down, poking him in the chest with a black fingernail. Again, that too-familiar feeling burned and tingled her forehead.

“Ha ha.” Alastor gave out a flat, humorless laugh while raising his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Do I need to remind you I spend the day here with you and your lovely activities, my dear? What else could you possibly ask of me? Aren’t we allowed a bit of entertainment after such a…”.

“Honesty.” Charlie interrupted him with something between a word and a growl.
She deliberately ignored Husk, a few steps behind Alastor, with his jaw dropping and his eyes getting wider and wider. She didn’t need to be reminded that no one spoke to the Radio Demon that way. She simply did not care.
That poor singer’s screams. She couldn’t get them out of her head since that morning. Charlie couldn’t stand it any longer.
“So from now on I strictly forbid you to leave this hotel without my supervision, Alastor! Are we clear?”.

Niffty was the first to jump ship. She grabbed her trusty bucket and disappeared down the hall as if her life depended on it, spilling dirty water and bleach.

“Oh. I’m sorry darling, I think we had a little misunderstanding here. You think you have me on a leash now?”.
Alastor's voice sent shivers down Charlie’s spine.

The lights flickered and went out.

The demon’s limbs grew longer and longer, pulling him away from the floor. His long, sharp antlers scraped the ceiling, crowning the mask of madness that a wild, bottomless darkness had transfigured his face into. A greenish aura emanated from his body like a silent, deadly poison.

A primal terror invaded Charlie. She felt as if she had no weight nor substance, and that if she did not retreat immediately she would fall into the black hole that was Alastor. All this while feeling rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move, her gaze into Alastor’s, slowly drifting into the inevitable.

But the brooch held her hand. She wouldn’t be able to explain it any differently: it was as if someone had imbued it with their will to give her strength and courage. A firm “I’m here with you, you can do it”, silent and warm.

And she did it. She did not falter.

A few, interminable seconds passed and the lights came back on softly, bathing the hotel lobby in golden light once again. Husk emerged from behind the barricade of his counter, checking his surroundings.
A normal-sized Alastor smiled from the middle of the room as nothing ever happened.

“Oh dear. I get it now! I think you are the one who could use a little more honesty!”.
Alastor reached Charlie to put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze affectionately.
“Level with me, won’t you? I find your jealousy adorable, afterall!”.

“W-w-what!?” Charlie tensed up. Her thoughts ran in circles for a few seconds. 

“Ha ha ha! You slay me! No need to hide it now: I accept every part of you, dear! Especially the most hungry ones” he pinched her cheek.
“And just to prove it to you, I’ll stick to your wishes. See? The old-fashioned way!” he walked away overemphasizing each step. “Good night, chums!” he chirped before disappearing down the hall.

Charlie waited a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t coming back for some witty remarks before allowing her knees to give out and dropping to the carpet.

“PRINCESS!” Husk cheered, coming towards her. “That was fucking insane, but - shit, kiddo! You deserve a drink!”.

*

Charlie sat cross-legged on her bed, the brooch in her open palm—the right one, this time, since the other was bandaged due to a shoe-shaped burn. No, not a shoe, she corrected herself: a slipper , that was the term that came to her mind whenever she looked at it.
It shone in the fairy lights attached to the canopy above, almost self-complacent about its performance from earlier that day.

“What are you? What Cinderella lost you?” whispered Charlie.

She had heard of cursed objects, some even with a consciousness of their own. But hoping the brooch would spill its secrets if she just asked nicely would have been a bit too optimistic, even for Charlie.
She examined it more closely, the black tip of her nose almost touching its metal, looking for details she might have missed.

“Knock, knock!” came a familiar voice behind her. “May I come in?”.

Charlie jumped so violently that the brooch slipped from her hand, bounced on the bed and ended up fuck knows where on the floor. Did Alastor enjoy startling her like that? And why asking for her permission if he was already in!?
“Shit - ah… hi, Al! What are you doing here?” she smiled nervously.

“Well, there is only so many options in here, thanks to our new little rule about outings” Alastor said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned towards Charlie, emphasizing the last sentence. “What about you, ma chère? Anything picking your interest?”.

Charlie shifted her weight on the mattress, moving as far as possible from him. She noticed (not to her anxiety's benefit), that the door to her room was closed. How long had Alastor been there behind her?
“Oh, well, you know, girly stuff…” she stammered.
Something was slightly off about him that day, even though Charlie couldn’t put her finger on it. She grabbed one of the many pillows on her bed and squeezed it against her chest to put some more distance between them.
“S-skincare, secret diaries, menstruations, planning the redemption of one of the greatest Overlords in Hell… My usual evening routine! I don’t wanna bore you with details!”.

“Oh my! Something must be going very wrong with this ‘skincare’ of yours!” Alastor said, grabbing her hand that was holding the pillow, which bounced away.

Charlie bit her lower lip. “Shit! How does he always notice everything!?” she thought while Alastor inspected her wounded hand.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really! A baking accident this afternoon, nothing to worry about!”.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t comfortable with him checking her hand. While Alastor seemed to dread being touched, he never shied away from patting her or even giving her a quick squeeze, if he was in the mood.
It was the brooch she didn’t feel like sharing.
Not only it gave her the strength to sustain their argument, but even to win it. It somehow gave her leverage over him, she just knew he was lying when he told her he was heading to Mimzy’s. As she knew it was thanks to the brooch in her hand.
It was a power many demons would have likely killed for.

The demon gently twisted her wrist upward, revealing the botched dressing on her burn.
“Hmmm”.

It felt like forever. Charlie forced herself to endure it but they were too close, too still, to quiet. All she could hear was Alastor’s breath and the beat of her own heart. The whole situation felt like a threat dressed up as concern and intimacy.

What the hell was he even checking through all those crumpled bandages!?

Alastor’s claws pushed against the soft skin of her wrist, so close to her veins that they could have bled her dry quickly and with one single gesture, if he wished to.

Charlie gulped, her heart drumming in her ears. Was it just her feeling or had Alastor’s breathing accelerated too?
The horror grew and mounted in her chest when the unmistakable stench of death spread from his parted lips.

That was it. That was way too much.

Right before she could, the demon suddenly let go of her and stood up, startling Charlie and freezing her to the spot.
"Well, dear, I don't intend to bother you any longer. Your evening plans sounds challenging already!”

"O-ok, no problem!” Charlie hesitated for a few moments before springing to her feet. As scared as she was, she had to seize the opportunity to accompany him to the door. "See you in the morning for some new activities!".

What betrayed her was a glance. A single, careless glance, drawn by an innocent sparkle at the foot of the nightstand.
A glance that Alastor - of course - didn't miss it. He merged with the shadows and reached the brooch before Charlie could, lifting it up and starting to study it.

“Hey! That’s MINE!” shouted Charlie, panicking and on the verge of tears.
She had to take it back. She had to make up for her mistakes, for failing Vaggie, for Angel’s broken wrist, for letting everyone down.
She grabbed the demon by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around.

What she saw seemed so impossible that her mind took a second to make a sense out of it. Alastor’s face was frozen in place by an expression so staggering, so absurd, so ultimately wrong that she let go of him immediately.
It only lasted a moment – ​​if it ever did. She wasn’t even sure when his face returned to its usual smile.

“Nice toy you have here, Charlie!” he said cheerfully. “Would you mind telling me where you found it?”.

“It was… in my room. I don’t know where it came from.” she improvised. “She moved out not long ago, so maybe it belongs to…”.

No, she couldn’t bring Vaggie into this. Whatever it was, that brooch and Alastor had a connection. It was the key to his redemption, she just knew it. There was no way of telling what Alastor could have done to Vaggie, even for a wild guess like that.

“Hmm?” Alastor cocked his head to the side. He looked slightly impatient.

“I found it in my pocket last night, on the way back from Cannibal Town.” Charlie concluded with a helpless gesture. “I don't know where it came from, that's the truth. I was thinking of taking it back today to track down the rightful owner but I didn't have the time. We could go tomorrow, if you like.”

“Oh don't bother, dear. I can do it myself.”

“Um… you're not allowed to leave the hotel unsupervised, remember?” Charlie smiled nervously.

“Oh, but there's no need to” Alastor smiled. He turned to the balcony, flexed his arm and tossed the brooch through the stained glass of the French doors.

“NO!”. Charlie scremed, throwing open what was left of the shattered doors and chasing the trajectory of the brooch to the balcony. She leaned over the parapet, frantically scanning the night for even the faintest glimmer.

She heard Alastor's footsteps calmly approaching her. A glyph all crosses and curls lit up in acid green a small lump of earth on the hill where the Hazbin Hotel stood. Blue flames suddenly erupted and incinerated it like a stove at full power, disappearing just as quickly.

“There you go! Right where it belongs!” exclaimed Alastor. “Well, one less thing to worry about. Oh, how careless of me, I broke some glass, let me fix it! Here. Quite Ritzy, hmm? Well, goodnight and see you tomorrow, ma belle . I can’t wait to see what new, exciting activities you have in store for us!”.

Charlie heard the door to her room close behind Alastor. She turned slowly, went back inside and sank into her bed.
The wind blew through the French doors she didn’t bother to close, sending shivers down her spine. Their stained glass depicted now some green, purple and blue ritual glyphs and a crescent moon that looked an awful lot like a certain smile.

It was over.

That was how you knew you still harbored some crazy hope: when that, too, was gone. When the last light went out, swallowed up by a cackling demon whose redemption had always been hopeless.
Charlie sobbed, her face pressed against the blanket. Her body felt numb from more than the cool air of the night.

Oh, if only she had Vaggie beside her.

A bitter smile curled her lips: she was back exactly where she started. She shouldn’t have bothered leaving her room at all.
A familiar pain burned her left hand when Charlie clenched her fists. She squeezed harder. Fuck it, her burn could do its worse! She gritted her teeth and groaned until the pain forced her to open her hand again.

In the middle of her palm, smoking, was a brooch in the shape of a slipper.

Chapter Text

“Oh, wait, I got a better one!”. Angel raised his spoon from the cereal bowl, accidentally splashing Husk in the face.

“Hey! Ain’t you living at the V Tower now?” retorted Husk, wiping his fur with a dishcloth. “Why the fuck do you still come here for breakfast!?”.

Angel shrugged. “We usually shoot all night so our breakfast is more of a… booze brunch, with more booze than brunch. It’s nice to have some sugar from time to time, ya know?” he added in a flirty tone while winking at the bartender - who moved away with a groan, rolling his eyes. “Um… wait, what were we talking about, dollface?”.

"Questions to ask Alastor” Charlie repeated flatly without taking her eyes off the almost-blank page in front of her. A doodle depicting a certain Radio Demon with a halo, surrounded by hordes of puppies, smiled at her from the paper. “I don't know, guys, opening up should be his choice. This almost feels like cheating, it might not do any good”.

Angel snorted. “CHEATING!? Charlie, Smiles is more false than a porn actress on camera! You have a fucking lie detector set to him and you're thinking NOT TO use it!?”.

Charlie pondered his words as Husk cursed loudly, covered in the geyser-like eruption of milk and half-eaten cereals that Angel’s snort hit him with despite the cautionary distance. (“Mph! That’s nothing, rookie! You have to learn how to take it!” the pornstar commented. “We’re filming a clip for the most awarded bukkake show in Hell on Tuesday, wanna come and take notes?”).

Charlie sighed, massaging her own temples.
Angel was right about Alastor: the Overlord was far too good at showing people what they wanted to see - or what they least wanted to see, depending on what reaction he wanted to provoke. And Charlie hadn’t forgotten how she felt when she thought she lost the brooch.
She looked down at it, pinned to her jacket and glimmering in the daylight. The idea of ​​displaying it no longer scared her: now she knew that it would find the way back to her, if it had to.
Did it kinda… choose her, anyway? How? Why? Those questions kept bouncing in her head day and night, but her excitement exceeded even her curiosity: she enjoyed feeling like "the chosen one", more than she was willing to admit.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all fun and games but” Husk sighed, drawing Charlie’s attention “ain’t it a bit... too convenient? Tripping over something like that? What if it came from, I don’t know, higher up, whatever that means? I say you should look into that trinket, kiddo, before it backfires”.

“Here comes the tinfoil hatter!” Angel groaned. “Come on, Charlie, promise me you'll ask him at least some spicy questions! He can't always have been this… frigid, can he?”. Angel gasped, breathless, as from a sudden realization. “Oh God, what if he's a VIRGIN!”. Another gasp. “That's where all his power comes from!”.

Husk shook his head, smirking. “I'd ask him if he actually knows any French, besides “mon chère,” “ma belle,” and that cheap crap. Or when was the last time he brushed his teeth! I'm telling ya, his breath stinks like carrion! Ain’t surprising, with what that jerk eats…”.

“And when did you get that close to Smiles, huh?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “How d’you know what his breath smells like, huh?”.

“Oh, I agree with Husk on that” interjected Charlie. “Yuk! Disgusting!”.
She blinked a couple times, confused, as Angel and Husk slowly turned to her in complete silence.

“Lemme get this straight” Angel blurted out, standing up abruptly. “ Am I the only one who didn’t sleep with Alastor here-!? Ah, my fucking wrist!”.

“Sorry to interrupt your… lofty dissertations” said a familiar voice behind Angel and Charlie’s backs. “But Miss Morningstar and I have some private exercises scheduled for the day.”

Husk started muttering incoherently as he crouched behind the counter, as if some urgent duties suddenly called him.

Oddly enough, Angel looked embarrassed too as Charlie hurried to gather her stuff.
“Private exercises!?” he whispered to Charlie, leaning closer. “That’s the plan!? Are you gonna fuck all that evil virgin power out of him to stop his…?! ”.

“HELL NO!” Charlie snapped, whispering back. “Just… normal redemption exercises!”.

“Oh… oh.” he repeated in a disappointed tone.

“ANGEL!” she snapped again, finally managing to push all her stationery into her cupcake-themed folder. “Wasn’t he ‘more false than a porn actress on camera’!?”.

“Charlie." Angel replied, serious. "I sold my soul to Valentino. If that doesn’t give you an idea of ​​what my taste in men is like--!”.

“I thought I made it clear I am not interested, my effeminate fellow.” Alastor cut him short.
He was in what Charlie recognized as his “waiting mode” (arms crossed behind his back, gaze seemingly off into space) but she could tell by the way one of his lower eyelid twitched that he was running out of patience.

“Ha ha! Good luck getting that into his fucked up head!” Charlie heard Husk mutter, still entrenched behind the bar counter.

“Let's go, Alastor” she set off beside him, armed with her folder and enough patience for both of them, hopefully. “By the way, where are we going exactly? You said you preferred a secluded place for privacy reasons and… well, I understand, given the latest… er, developments.”

Alastor didn’t take it well when Charlie showed up with the brooch appointed to her jacket, earlier that day. She could tell by his pursed lips and stiff posture that it took him all of his almost-infinite self-control not to try to destroy it again. But he must have come to her same conclusion: Charlie and the brooch were inseparable, at least for the time being.

“I was thinking it would be nice to go for a walk and…”. Charlie reached for the knob as the door opened from the other side. The hotel lobby was flooded with light, leaving her almost blind for a few moments.

“Ah, mierda!”
That voice hit Charlie like a slap in the face.
"I mean… Hi, Charlie.”

Vaggie was standing  in the doorway, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

“I came… um, to pick up some stuff I forgot. Didn't think I'd find you here at this hour.” she concluded, shooting homicidal glares somewhere over her ex’s shoulder.

“There's a rumor going around that our hotel turned into a shelter for fractured nymphomaniacs, apparently.” said Alastor. “A waste of time, really.”

Charlie hardly noticed Angel's yells or Alastor’s arm around her shoulders as he led her out of the hotel and down the driveway.
She didn't even flinch when Alastor conjured up an old black Cadillac, opened the door and gently pushed her onto the backseats.
It was almost like being underwater, she thought as if observing herself from the outside. Slowed, numb. Floating.
Only one thing managed to pierce it all. At first Charlie barely noticed, but then she looked again. And in the deep, dark water Charlie was in, that person became the only being in focus.

It was a girl.

Blonde hair, cigarette in her lips. The sole of one of her lacquered mary janes rested against the wall behind her, just around the driveway’s corner. Pretty. Very pretty. Especially in that school uniform, with the short skirt and the sailor style.
Their eyes met and Charlie read it immediately: the stranger recognized her. She knew who she was. And Charlie knew without a doubt that the stranger was there with Vaggie.

Charlie shuddered. If Vaggie’s sight hit her like a slap in the face, this was a stone. It hit her hard and sank, deeper and deeper in the dark, icy water, until it reached the bottom of her consciousness with a sound that reverberated in her whole being.

She did not see it coming. She wasn’t ready for such a thing. She never would. And how could she?

Alastor sat beside her and shut the door.
The car was started and in a few, endless seconds the figure of the nameless girl slid out the edges of the window Charlie was looking through, like raindrops in the wind.

*

They spent most of the day wandering around Cannibal Town, with Alastor leading the investigations to find out more about the brooch and Charlie playing the role of a walking mannequin (“Do you happen to know who might have lost this, good lady? Show her the trinket, Charlie dear!”), her mind too distant and foggy for more difficult tasks.
She barely noticed how much they had strayed from their original plans for the day - assuming that finding the brooch’s rightful owner had not been Alastor’s plan all along. She was in no shape for the redemption exercises she had planned anyway and walking by Alastor in silence was comfortably alienating. Anything to stay out of the hotel, for the time being.

Even as detached from reality as she was, Charlie’s hooves felt like they had walked through miles of streets, stores, diners, houses, squares, casinos, butchers, bars and dance halls when Alastor finally exclaimed “Oh, look at the time! How about we grab a bite, ma belle? I just know a place!”.

Charlie shrugged. Unlike Alastor’s her stomach wasn’t particularly stimulated by Cannibal’s Town specials. But again she could use a break and they weren’t going anywhere with their research.
The only person who seemed to recognize the brooch was an old lady named Susan, who claimed to have bought one in 1952. When they finally opened her jewel box the brooch turned out to be a large bluebottle fly on a pin.
“Oh, we should have gotten that as a souvenir for Niffty! She would have loved it!” Alastor had commented cheerfully.

The two of them were sitting at a table (the only table, in fact, as Alastor demanded from a terrified maître) of a rooftop restaurant not far from Club Hell 666. Its bass could be heard all the way there, not completely drowned out by the screaming and shouting down in the street.
Alastor looked relaxed, leaning back in his padded chair, a glass of red wine in his hand. Only a bloodstain remained on his plate after he finished his steak.
Charlie had tossed most of her meal into the mouth of a huge carnivorous plant that had tormented her all evening, sniffing her neck and drooling on her shoulder.
The restaurant looked more like a thriving garden now, green and intimate, without all the other tables and their guests. Charlie had tried to convince Alastor that there was no need to get them all kicked out but he insisted and she had no mental energy to argue. She felt immediately ashamed of herself, of couse, but that was hardly news.

“One more glass, my dear?”.

“More like one more bottle” Charlie thought, but she simply nodded. The wine was sour and sharp but, honestly, the taste was of the least importance to her at that moment.
She felt the pressure of Alastor’s gaze during the whole dinner. His hands were clasped together and his smile was reduced to a thin line when he finally asked: “Is something bothering you? You barely opened your mouth today”.

Charlie glared at him over her glass. She must have put it down a little too hard because she spilled a few drops on the tablecloth.
“No” she lied. “I’m just wondering when we’ll start those exercises you promised me!”

Alastor was being Alastor by pointing out the obvious - but that, too, was hardly news. Her self-pity was a scene away from turning into a proper pity-party but she wouldn’t make one. She wouldn’t indulge his taste for other people’s misery.

“Oh, those! Of course. I’m all yours, my dear. Whenever you feel ready”.

Charlie hesitated. She didn’t expect him to agree so easily. She was tempted to retort that it was him who took them on a detour through the whole Cannibal Town, again. Probably to try to get rid of the brooch, of all things, the very key to his redemption. But getting back on track was way overdue after such a derailed day.
She cleared her throat and pushed her plate aside to make room for her notes from that morning. Had they always looked that blurry? She squinted her eyes, frowning.
"Today we're going to do a questionnaire. You'll have to answer as honestly as possible. I'll know if you're lying!"

Alastor didn't seem particularly threatened by the ballpen Charlie pointed at his nose.

"Alright, let's get started. Name?"
"Alastor?"

"How old were you when you died?"
"Thirty-nine."

“Where are you from?”
“New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Charlie ran her fingers over the brooch pinned on the left side of her chest. It didn’t seem to have any reaction. She decided to take it as a good sign.

“Favorite singer?”
“Charlie Chaplin.”

“Favorite food? Pleeease DON’T say bullshit like ‘the meat of my enemies’.”
Alastor fell quiet for a moment. “Jambalaya” he answered dryly.

“What do you do for fun?”.
“Are we done beating our gums, my dear? I admit I expected better from you!”

Charlie looked down on her notes, skipping a few lines. “Why did you come to the hotel?”.
Alastor’s smile widened. “For the entertainment! Like I said.”

“And where were you before?”.
“Now, that I cannot say.”

Irritation started bubbling in Charlie’s chest.

“You disappeared for seven years. Why?”
“I cannot say, my dear. I mean it litereally.”

Charlie’s nails dug into the wooden edge of the table. The brooch wasn’t responding, but she could have sworn it was tense, as if it was listening. She was on the right track. If only she could make Alastor cooperate…

“Why not!?”

She forced herself to hold his gaze while the demon remained silent. Not only he didn’t seem under pressure, but he looked like he was studying her instead.
Charlie’s frustration was turning into a familiar tingle in her forehead now when Alastor finally spoke again.

“Let’s do it this way, ma demon belle.”
He leaned on his elbows, his chin on the backs of his clasped hands. “I’ll spill the tea if you spill yours. A sip for a sip, a question for a question. What do you say?”.

Charlie decided to go for a sip of wine instead, to buy herself some time to think. Her notes seemed to float on the paper now, but something told her that most of them were useless anyway, at that point.

“Okay.” she agreed, finally. “I have nothing to hide”.
“And everything to learn.” she added to herself.

“Most excellent!”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed while his smile got wider and wider.

Charlie gulped, her mouth dry in spite of the wine.

“So…” Alastor started, leaning back on his seat. “Why have you been sulking all day, young lady? Hmm? I thought you enjoyed our outings!”

Charlie almost flinched: she wasn’t expecting such a direct (and low) blow. Not just yet at least.
“I-isn’t it obvious?” she stammered. “Do you really need me to spell it out!?”. But she already knew that Alastor wouldn’t accept anything less than an open confession. So she sighed and went on. “Ugh! Ok, ok! Vaggie! Running into Vaggie put me in a bad mood - to put it lightly. My turn now: do you know something you’re not telling me about the brooch?”.

“Yes. Why did seeing Vaggie hurt so much?”.

“Hey that wasn’t a…!”. Charlie bit her lip. The bastard was definitely better than she was at that game. "Because I’m not over her yet. And I don’t think I’m going to be over her any time soon" she blurted out. "Who would ever want to run into their ex, anyway!?".

"I wouldn’t know, I've never had one! Who was that person you were looking at from the window?".

Fuck. He did it again. She let him to do it again!
"You know I haven’t asked you a single real question yet!" she groaned.

"Oh, they all sounded very real to me. Yours, on the other hand, isn’t a real answer, is it? Who was that girl, Charlie?"

"How would I know?!"

"My dear, you know Vaggie better than anyone else! I’m surprised you have no idea. Is that what bothered you? Or that they were obviously out together? Or maybe it was just the fact that she looks prettier than you?"

The table tipped over with a loud crash.

Charlie was pervaded and enveloped by a blaze that shook the canopy of foliage above them like a hurricane, blowing her blonde hair off her horned forehead. Her chair went flying off the rooftop, leaving only the echo of a crash down in the street.

Alastor watched Charlie in her demon form with unchanged expression, his legs crossed and his arms comfortably on the armrests.

She covered the distance between them in one leap, pushed Alastor’s chair onto its two back legs with one hand and used the other to pull him closer by his collar.
She so wanted to headbutt him. To wipe that air of superiority and imperturbability from his fucking face. To bring him back down to earth, or rather, into the mud and shit that everyone, everyone in Hell seemed to wallow in - except for him.
She tightened her grip on his shirt, so close to him that she could see her own reflection in his red eyes and monocle: a face distorted by anger and envy.

Yes. Envy.
That word resonated within her, appalling in the silence like a flash of lightning in the dark.

She wished she knew how he did it. How she could be more like him: unbothered. Untouchable. Flying high above any ordinary misery. Forever proud and free.
Alastor’s face came back into focus, and Charlie found herself staring at it as if she were seeing him now for the very first time.

A cold emptiness pervaded her when the flash of lightning within her and the flame outside faded and died.

The leaves and branches above their heads stopped swirling, stretching again above her and Alastor’s heads with what sounded like a sigh.
Charlie’s shape changed back as she let him go. The chair returned on its four legs with a crash, barely audible over the thunder of bewilderment filling Charlie’s mind and soul.

“The serafuku. The uniform she was wearing" she muttered a few moments later.
Alastor’s looked at her questioningly but didn’t interrupt while she gulped and blinked repeatedly, unable to meet his gaze.
"That’s what hurt the most. Vaggie has a thing for those. I already got one as a birthday surprise for her. I-in my size, obviously."

Alastor's laughter broke the silence like a gunshot.
Charlie looked up, half shocked, half offended, while Alastor gave in to one of the loudest, most maniacal laughs she'd ever heard.

Then it was her turn.

She started slowly, giggling, against her own will. By the end she was holding her stomach as much as he was, trails of tears on her cheeks. She ended up sitting on his lap, resting her forehead on his shoulder to catch her breath.
“Wait!” Charlie frowned, a smile still on her lips and her cheeks still aching. She sniffed the air around Alastor.
He raised his head, his teeth sunk into his lower lip to hold back more laughter.
“You… Oh God!” she beamed. “You actually brushed your teeth!”

Alastor turned pale.

Suddenly, a twig snapped not far from them, followed by rustling leaves. A dark figure moved at the edge of their vision, before it started shouting.
“SHUT UP AND KISS, YOU IDIOTS!”.

Charlie and Alastor turned in perfect synchrony toward the potted carnivorous plant Charlie had fed almost all her dinner: a furry head was emerging from its leaves, paws cupped around its mouth and a slice of ham across its forehead.

“What just happened?” Alastor had just enough time to ask before twenty or so armed creatures came out of hiding, guns drawn.

Chapter Text

“We've been lying in wait for over an hour! Was that really necessary!?”
“But boss! You said to wait for them to start making out! They wouldn’t make a move!”
“Shut up and shoot, fucking peeper!”

Charlie could barely hear their attackers arguing over the noise of their machine guns. Alastor had flipped their table just in time, pulling her behind its cover.
“Al! Who the hell are these people?!”

“Just the dessert, my dear! I almost forgot I ordered it.”
Alastor was lifted up in the air by a series of tentacles that came out of his back and shielded him from the bullets with lightning-fast lashes. His limbs elongated like spider legs while his entire figure became distorted and monstrous.

Charlie was trying to peek at the fight when a bullet missed her cheekbone by less than an inch. Alastor turned to the rat-nosed demon who fired the shot, grabbed him, lifted him over his head and opened his jaws. She looked away and ducked back under the cover of the almost-disintegrated table, letting the screams of their attackers tell the rest of the story.
The smell of blood was almost unbearable at that point. Charlie clenched her teeth, her heart drumming in her ears. Her fingers ran instinctively to the brooch and held it tightly, in search of the comfort it provided before - or of the smell of jambalaya it sometimes conjured, at least.
She shivered and gasped when the metal suddenly turned icy cold against her skin: if holding it during her argument with Alastor felt like a helping hand, this time it was the exact opposite. The brooch seemed to resonate with her feelings, to mirror them, to yank at her hand, to cry for help.

Or at least for her attention.

Charlie blinked a couple of times: her surroundings had turned into a corridor. A dark, dreadful corridor, full of shrieks, gunshots and faint moonlight. Blood was splattered all over the wall in front of her, together with a shadow in the shape of… a spider? A man? A deer?
She forced herself to walk down the corridor against any self-preservation instinct, her eyes glued to the terrifying, impossible shadow on the wall. Unlike Charlie, she’d never seen anything like that - whoever she was.

Charlie blinked again, back on the rooftop and in her own life. Her head was spinning, her forehead beaded with sweat, her breath heavy. Whatever she just experienced felt like daydreaming of the worst possible kind.
A frightened whimper from the other side of her makeshift barricade was the only audible sound now. Could it be deemed safe to come out? Charlie stood up on shaky legs, checking her surroundings. She needed to move, to shake off that horrible dream.

Not that reality were much better, at the moment.
What was left of the rooftop garden was the rooftop and little else. There wasn’t a vase, leaf or ornament that hadn’t been riddled with bullets. The whole terrace was covered in a grotesque carpet made of weapons and the dismembered bodies of demons, imps and hellhounds.

Charlie covered her mouth to suppress the retching.
When she reached Alastor she felt even more lightheaded than the moment she woke up from her dream - or omen, considering how much it had in common with their current situation.

“Well well well... I’d recommend to start talking if you have anything to trade for your pathetic life, little one!” said Alastor, cheerful as ever. He was back in his usual form, except for a single black tentacle coiled around a badly injured imp. The hostage looked terrified, lifted a few feet off the ground

“I-I was just following orders! I swear! ‘Follow those two asking questions about the brooch and take them out!’ That’s all!”.

“Hmm, good start. What else? Who gave the order?”.

“The Captain! Lemme go, please!”.

The tentacle’s grip tightened so much that the assassin's eyes almost seemed to pop out of his head.

“I’ll need you to be a bit more specific, my friend. Who’s this Captain of yours?”.

“THAT’S HOW HE CALLS HIMSELF! Captain! Just “CAPTAIN”!” the imp cried in pain. “He pays well! No one knows his real name! W-we met in the Greed ring, at the theme park… Loo Loo Land! That’s all I know! I swear!”.

Alastor withdrew his tentacle and let his hostage fall on all fours, gasping for air and moaning in pain.
“Thanks for the chat, pal” the demon smiled. “Charlie, dear, what how do you think we should–?”.

Charlie never knew what Alastor wanted to ask her.
Her head began spinning during the questioning, faster and faster, blending reality and daydream into one. One single bloodbath, one single demon - two different women.

And which one was she, now? 

It was as if Hell had suddenly turned off all its lights, plunging Charlie, or whoever she was, into nothingness.

*

“Stars shining bright above you.
Night breezes seem to whisper, 'I love you,'
Birds singing in the sycamore tree.
Dream a little dream of me.”

Charlie could barely stand. Yet she forced herself to climb the stairs and drag herself to the dressing table. The mirror wasn't particularly kind with her when she finally collapsed onto the ottoman in front.

No chance to skimp on makeup that night, huh?

Her brown skin looked dull and grayish, her eyes burdened with dark circles. She sighed, shooting a disapproving glance at the curly mess that was her hair. It drank up humidity from pots and the Mississippi more than many of her customers did with hooch.
Well, at least oven burns were easier to deal with: a pair of gloves and off you went.

She was brushing the bottom of her powder box with all the care of a proper archaeologist when she heard it: faint, muffled, but too sadly known to go unheard.
Charlie sighed, closing the box and heading to his bedroom.

“Mon chère. May I?” she asked the closed door.

Another sniff before the answer. “ Oui, maman .”

Charlie entered the closet that her little gentleman called his room - a temporary arrangement, she told herself every single night - to find him wrapped as usual in his blankets, a single eye and a lock of brown hair peeking from the many layers of fabric. She reached out to stroke him, but the little human cocoon recoiled from her. She did her best not to look - or be - hurt: the teenage years were upon them, after all. He couldn’t stay her little man forever.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I need new clothes. Why do all my classmates have new uniforms!?”

Charlie pursed her lips. “Paycheck’s coming up, mon coeur. I’m sure we could… well, we’ll figure something out. Come on, make some room, I’ll sing you a song.”

“Say nighty-night and kiss me.
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.
While I'm alone and blue as can be,
Dream a little dream of me.”

She could still feel his eye on her as she withdrew from her son’s room, finished getting ready in silence and tiptoed out of the house. He was fast asleep by then, of course, but the feeling of being watched lingered.
It didn’t go away even when her heels started to draw invisible circles on the lacquered parquet of the dance floor. A silly feeling due to her guilt, she suspected. Yet, several hours later, when she glanced at the large clock on the wall with a flute of champagne in her gloved hand, she still hadn’t managed to shake it off.
That single, little, brown eye followed her back home while she walked her new partner along her driveway, nervously squeezing his hand and stifling excited giggles.

“Stars fading, but I linger on, dear,
Still craving your kiss.
I'm longing to linger 'till dawn, dear,
Just saying this”

Different night, different man, same plans. Sweaty sheets, creaking springs, hands and pillows pressed against her lips to stifle moans and screams.
Through the crack of the door left inadvertently open, that little eye kept watching her.

“Sweet dreams 'till sunbeams find you,
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever they be.
Dream a little dream of me.”

Different morning, different newspaper, same plan.
Charlie and her son sat on opposite sides of the table. She was sipping on her coffee, starting to read the news.

Splash!

The cup drew slow, wet circles on the table while it spilled its content over most of the front page. The headline, barely visible through the coffee stain, was reading: …

BANG!

Charlie woke up with a start.
She didn’t immediately register where she was - or who she was - her heart still too caught up in the nightmare. Her mouth tasted sour with fear, her chest heavy with remorse and loss.
She looked down at her left hand, closed in a fist: she was clutching the brooch, of course. The smell of jambalaya felt so real, this time, her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Good morning, dear! About time you woke up from your beauty sleep, hmm?”.
Alastor was sitting by his coffee table, on the side of the room that resembled the bayou.

Charlie pulled the bed covers up to her chin, her pulse and body temperature skyrocketing to impossible levels.

What the fuck was she doing in Alastor’s bed!?
Sure, she’d been drinking the night before, and her memories from later that night were incoherent at best. But surely she couldn’t…! She wouldn’t…?

“Oh, don’t make that face darling, you’re hurting my feelings! Niffty put you in your pajamas, I didn’t lay a finger on you - except for when I carried you back here after your dramatic fainting spell, that is. By the way: lunch is served, and I won’t take no for an answer! It’s not acceptable for the Princess of Hell to starve herself unconscious, no sir, not under my watch… Where are you going?”.

“TO MY ROOM!” Charlie snapped, flushed, slamming the door behind her as she left Alastor’s room. She needed some space, some time to reorganize her thoughts.

She hadn’t taken ten steps yet when the demon emerged from the shadows beside her, giving chase.
“May I point out that distancing yourself from yours truly could prove potentially lethal? Whoever attacked us in the city might decide to come and finish the job, and my room is the safest in the whole hotel. You remember a certain picture show advertisement that made our current residence public knowledge, yes?”.

Charlie stopped abruptly.

It was true. She didn’t even think about it. And how could she? Everything was happening too fast!

"Everyone at the hotel is in danger!”. She resumed walking - and faster. “Alastor, we have to–!”.

"Uh-uh-uh! No need to worry that pretty little head of yours!” he interrupted her, following her pace. “Leave the hotel defenses to me, my dear. After you’ll finish the jambalaya I so lovingly prepared for you we'll go reap the fruits of our investigation. We didn't act as bait for nothing, yesterday!”.

"We did WHAT yesterday!?” Charlie turned so abruptly that her neck produced an eerie creaking sound.

"Oh! Oh, dear!" Alastor smiled, his hands clasped behind his back. "You didn't think we showed off that brooch of yours all day just to play boy scouts, did you?".

“Ah… ALASTOR!” Charlie roared in outrage.

The Radio Demon put on his best sardonic smile.

“And ANGEL!”. Charlie didn’t miss the white fur that just disappeared around the corridor’s corner with suspicious timing.

“Shit!” the pornstar’s voice echoed. He cleared his throat before making an (official) entrance. “Hey, you don’t like people enjoying your walk of shame? Don’t do one!”

*

Word of the attack at the rooftop restaurant had spread quickly, apparently. Angel, Cherri, Sir Pentious, and King Lucifer himself had been at the hotel for a while now, hanging out with Husk, Niffty, Keekee, Razzle and Dazzle until they heard footsteps and shouting from upstairs.

Charlie tried not to notice Vaggie’s absence, but her father’s embarrassing exuberance proved a great distraction. He seemed to genuinely dislike Alastor, making a spectacle of himself every time he came even remotely close to his daughter.
Alastor, for his part, seemed immensely amused, doing his worst to provoke him.

“What can I say? Taking care of my Princess is the least I can do!” he said while daring to handfeed Charlie with his jambalaya. Lucifer looked like he was about to bite his arm off, spoon included. “Charlie dear seems to care for my soul more than anyone else’s, afterall!”.

‘Charlie dear’ decided it was time for her dad to turn on his heels and meet any other member of staff or even guest, at that point. Starting immediately.

“Well, Char-Char…” said the King of Hell rubbing the back of his neck after Niffty almost talked his ears off with her ‘ultimate bad boy’ nonsense. Charlie had to stop her from glomping her father more than once.
“I see it takes more than a few bullets to take down a Morningstar, huh?”.

Charlie smiled nervously as he hit her shoulder with playful punches. He was using a tone that she recognized as his ‘social batteries are running out’ one. She was honestly relieved to know he was about to leave, now that he made sure his daughter was safe and sound.

Oh, if he only knew.

Sure, he figured out that Alastor was bad company (duh!), but Charlie didn’t exactly tell him about her plans to redeem the Overlord or about the brooch. Not that she could, even if she wanted too, as complicated as things were.
Yes, some alone time to ponder was sorely needed.

“Promise me you’ll call me before you get into trouble again, okay?”

Charlie sighed. “Okay, dad...”

“Yes, dear?”.
Alastor appeared beside her, causing a drastic change on Lucifer’s face. “Oh, sorry! I thought you said ‘dadd–’!”

Charlie didn’t give him the time to finish his sentence.
She showered her father in apologies and goodbyes and pushed him gently but urgently outside of the hotel perimeter - and at a safe distance from Alastor, above all.
“Tell me honestly: do you have a DOUBLE DEATH wish!?” she then gasped, her back pressed against the barred entrance doors “WHY the fuck do you have to provoke him!?”.

"Why does anyone do anything? Sheer, absolute boredom, my dear!" Alastor shrugged. "If the welcome back committee is done now, we should get back to our… redemption activities. The plan was to visit a certain ‘Loo Loo Land’, If I recall correctly.”

"Hey! How come I get sermons and he gets a date at the theme park?!” Angel protested from the couch he was sharing with Cherri.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. She remembered that imp mentioning that place, but things weren’t exactly adding up.
“Your plan, maybe.” she retorted, picking her words carefully. Alastor made abundantly clear how much he cared for his privacy. Addressing their investigations about the brooch in a room full of people wasn’t exactly helpful.
“How do you expect to enter the Greed ring, for starters? Human souls can’t cross the Pride ring border!”.

“I have my ways” Alastor answered dryly, looking at his fingernails.

Husk sighed from his bar. "He’s gonna put her in danger again, I’m telling ya. Are you gonna do something about it or you wanna King Lucifer to waltz back here to kick our asses!?"

"Another shootout? Some action, finally!" Cherri stood up, cracking her knuckles.

"Uh, I… I'd like join this… group date, if I may!" interjected Sir Pentious shily, from the opposite side of the room.

"Heh heh heh! Amusement park!" Niffty chuckled, right by Alastor. "Blood!"

Husk sighed again, putting his bottle down. “What, we just play along and go with them? Really?”.

“‘We’!?” Charlie frowned. “No guys, hey! No way! I’d be TOTALLY up for it in normal circumstances, but this isn’t gonna be a nice day out! It might be dangerous! It's between me and Alastor! I-I don't want you risking your life, taking a literal bullet for—”.

“What a WONDERFUL idea!” Alastor interrupted her. “The more the merrier! About time the hotel activities included a healthy field trip! Follow the mic, chums!”.
The demon slammed the double doors open, his microphone up in the air like the umbrella of a tour guide.

Charlie sighed while everyone, by the one, marched out of the hotel. She followed quietly, massaging her temples, with the threat of a migraine throbbing in her skull.

Chapter Text

“I know I’ll regret asking, but” Husk sighed, tailing Alastor, Niffty Charlie, Razzle, Dazzle, Angel, Cherri and Sir Pentious on the sidewalk. “the goal of this merry fucking band is…?”

“Fun! What else do you expect from an amusement park!?” Charlie replied way too quickly, a fake smile plastered on her face. “Just focus on the rides, ok? Oh, and remember to stay out of Alastor’s way! As far as possible, actually…”

“I ain’t exactly a regular” observed Angel, checking his surroundings with curiosity. “I don’t even understand how Smiles got us here. Do you think they have rides for everyone’s ‘amusement’? What if I want to get ridden!?”

Charlie glanced at Alastor, leading the group to the theme park entrance, while Husk groaned from the back of the line. She was wondering the exact same thing - how they got there, not the “riding” part.

Back in the Pride Ring, Alastor led them through what looked like a hole in the very fabric of space, connecting the back of an abandoned warehouse by Cannibal Town’s border to the Greed Ring. It looked more like a scratch than a hole, Charlie noted, leaving her wondering what kind of claws or fangs could have produced it. Whenever she tried to get closer to Alastor and ask him, he just brushed her off pointing at this or that landmark in the distance.

Now that the theme park loomed before them, Charlie had to recognize it was a more desolate view than she had expected - which was saying something. She had heard about the mockup of Lu Lu World, the park her father built for her when she was little and later abandoned, and not in flattering terms.

Alastor coughed a couple of times to get the attention of the imp at the ticket booth. “Good afternoon, good man! This Overlord and his entourage here would like to enter your miserable facility - now” he added, cocking his head to the side with an unfriendly expression.

“...For the right price!” Charlie intervened, standing in front of him with a handful of cash.

The imp gulped and grabbed the money. “W-Welcome to Loo Loo Land! Or, errr, what's left of it…”

Charlie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The park burned down a couple of days ago - a fight between an imp and a clown, they say.” the imp shrugged. “I don't know, I'm just here to loot like everyone else! Well, have fun!” he waved before disappearing, a jingling bag on his back.

Charlie, Angel, Husk and Sir Pentious looked at each other in disbelief.

“YES! LOOTING! Now we're talking!” Cherri cheered.

*

The group ventured into the park with a growing sense of squalor. Little more than signs and dust was left of the endless rows of kiosks and stalls: “Balloon Attack,” “Ice Cream Bugs” (to Niffty’s displeasure), and “Hot and Cold Drunks” (to Husk’s) seemed to have been looted long before they arrived.

“Great, now we can’t even try to have fun!” Angel sighed, crossing two pairs of arms.

“No reason to be so pessimistic”  Alastor smiled.
A black aura expanded from his microphone when he used it to hit the ground.

Husk, Angel, Sir Pentious and Cherri took a few steps back but the magical aura, dark and bright as a starry sky, expanded so quickly that it enveloped everything in its path, them included. The carnival lights began to flicker and shine in green, electric blue and purple, while the rides slowly came back to life with a creak of gears and off-key music. Even some of their missing parts seemed to reappear in neon colors, while a number of little, round, dark creatures, dressed as workers, scattered in all directions to man many of the stalls and kiosks.

“Not bad, hmm? Life is all about opportunities: while some people leave them to rot, others are smart enough to seize them” Alastor commented with a smirk. He glared at Charlie, before continuing. “We could broaden the horizons of our little enterprise, don’t you agree? Your dad surely could use some healthy competition.”

It was an evening to remember, in retrospect.

Angel challenged a very pissed Husk to compete with him at the shooting range called “The Extermination”, where you could shoot Exorcist dummies to break the local record—at least until Cherri intervened with a grenade, turning the whole thing to dust. “Ha ha ha! I WON! Hey, think about it first next time!”.

Sir Pentious persisted in following - seven times in a row - Angel and Cherri on the roller coaster, although he continued to pass out.
Niffty, who did not reach the minimum height for the attraction even on her toes, was just as stubborn. Razzle and Dazzle had to save her from a free fall of several feet three times per ride, on average.

Sir Pentious was still unconscious, ungracefully dumped on the nearest bench, when the group decided to take a break and grab a bite. Angel, Cherri and Niffty were discussing excitedly what to try next when Charlie sighed, sitting at a table near the food stalls.

“It’s nice to see them so carefree, for once” she smiled, her chin in her hands and her eyes shining with affection for those she now considered close friends. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten the reason why we’re here!” she added dryly, shooting a reproachful look at Alastor.

The demon smiled as usual, sitting beside her. “Que sera sera, my dear. whatever will be, will be. The night is still young. How about we have a little fun too, while we’re at it? Hmm?”
Alastor stood up and Charlie looked at the hand he offered her with a little bow. “Children will survive a few minutes without their Hazbin mom and dad.” he winked, pulling Charlie to her feet.

 She let him take her by the arm and lead her out of the golden circle of the lamppost’s light. Her heart sank a little when her friends’ laughter echoed behind them.
“We should start searching, now that they’re distracted” Charlie observed, her stomach knitting in tension. “Where do we start?”

Yes, it was way too easy to fall for their own diversion. But she had to endure it if she wanted to stop the Extermination and allow her friends to enjoy more nights like that. Alastor’s redemption was the key and although she didn’t always agree on his means, inspecting Loo Loo Land was the most obvious course of action to find more intel about the brooch. And she definitely needed to understand more of those visions, nightmares or whatever they were.

Alastor didn’t answer. He was leading her down a desolate walkway, around a half-charred circus tent and then a corner. The lights were dimmer down there, and the voices of their companions were completely drowned out by the distance and the hum of the enchanted machinery.
It was just the two of them, not even one of Alastor's servants on sight.

Charlie shot Alastor another glare, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His smile was confident, his walk carefree.
And then it hit her. The most unexpected, out of place and embarrassing of thoughts.

Why the hell did she feel like they were sneaking away to make out!?

Charlie coughed, the feeling in her stomach growing exponentially in intensity.
It was completely insane, obviously. Come on, it was Alastor! He was known not to be interested in… well, anyone. Yet thinking about it didn’t help drawing her attention away from their linked arms. From the point where the insides of their elbow met, warm even through their clothes.

“You look a little flushed, my dear.” Alastor observed suddenly. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped with a childish tone she regretted instantly, turning away to hide her treacherous, burning cheeks.

“Maybe you’d like to sit down?” he asked, pointing at a nearby bench.

Charlie looked at him and swallowed hard.
The bench was half-hidden by a burnt tree. If she had learned anything from her highschool years, it was that that place had ‘MAKE OUT SPOT’ written all over in invisible capital letters.
She shook her head and pulled away from him, frowning.

Damn, of course he was just messing with her! He had a real talent for spotting other people’s weak points. Not that how easily she could get embarrassed was exactly a secret.

“What is it, Alastor? Why did you bring me here?” she crossed her arms and took a deep breath. If only she could redirect half the blood that had rushed to her face to her brain!
“What are you trying to distract me from this time?”

Alastor's smile widened, his eyelids half-closed over his glowing, red eyes.

“We obviously can't question anyone now” Charlie pressed on, encouraged by his silence. “The fire changed everything. We're practically left with nothing, not a step further than where we started. So don't– oh no.”

Alastor's smile widened even further, his hands clasped behind his back.

Charlie backed away. Her head was spinning, her fingers felt numb.
“Oh no, no, no, no, no…”

They were acting as bait. Again. Incapable of finding him, Alastor was set on luring this Captain out of hiding.

"I see you're a quick learner!" came the voice of the Radio Demon, distorted as he changed and grew, his limbs so long they disappeared into the darkness. "Good girl!"

A couple of gigantic steps and Alastor's microphone shone like a blood-red beacon, far above Charlie's head and ten times bigger than normal. When Alastor lifted it, sticking it into the remains of the Ferris wheel, its lights lit up bright red and something between a sound and a shock wave spread out, making them explode like firecrackers. Charlie instinctively protected her head with her arms, but that did little to help her against the ringing that filled her ears to unbearable levels.

Her eyes widened. Where was Alastor?

"Good evening, damned listeners!"
The voice of the Radio Demon came from every speaker in the park. Charlie spun around, even more disoriented and dazed.
"Forgive the technical difficulties, but tonight is a special occasion. We're live from Loo Loo Land, Greed Ring: ça va sans dire that you need to make do with what you find! Ha ha ha!”

Charlie tilted her head, then her eyes widened even more: was it just her imagination or did the Ferris wheel, impaled by Alastor’s mic and in profile, resembled a certain tower now?

“But enough chit-chat: why did I say “we”? Because tonight we have a special guest, dear listeners!”

Charlie jumped as she felt Alastor’s claws on her shoulders. A moment later she was enveloped in darkness, and the next she was surrounded by red-lit windows. Alastor, sitting opposite her in the cabin at the top of the Ferris wheel, pointed at her theatrically.

“Charlotte Morningstar, your Princess!” he smirked, his eyelids almost closed. “Say hello to our audience, Charlie!”

Charlie looked in horror at the microphone shoved under her nose, speechless.

“Breathtaking!” Alastor commented, bringing it back to his chin with a sharp smile. “But now let's get back to the reason behind this exciting trip” he continued, leaning back in his seat.
“It was brought to my attention that someone down here still thinks they can… how shall I put it? Play with the Radio Demon. Throw the stone and then run and hide, throw and hide. A prank, an innocent tease, huh? Ha ha ha! Well, I am happy to tell you, dear Captain, that your prayers have not only been heard but answered: I have come out to play!”
Alastor's grin was now so obscene that drool trickled down his chin. His horns had already broken through the cabin ceiling in several places.

Charlie shrunk down in her seat, her hand running to the brooch that pulsed, warm, like a human heart.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not nice to keep your playmates waiting, hmm? Come out - or don’t! Either way, ready or not, HERE I COME!”

The light that burst from the brooch filled the cabin like a violet flash. Charlie saw Alastor’s outline flicker, his microphone vibrate until it slipped from his hand and hurtled through the air in her direction.

Bench, butterflies in her stomach, music.

A chaos of incoherent thoughts filled her mind as the microphone slowed down until it floated midair near the brooch. It reached it softly, tinkling against the surface of the slipper once, twice, three times.

Prom, giggles, first kiss.

What song was playing when it happened? Seviathan walked her out of the gym, they sat on that bench, and then…

“Oooh!”

She could almost hear its start.

“I said hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (come on, come on)”

No, she wasn’t imagining things: Alastor's microphone was playing that song, exactly how it was played in her memories.

“Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up”

“What the f…! What’s going on? What are you doing?!” Alastor’s voice was tinged with an unusual emotion.

When he reached out to take back his microphone, the light intensified to an impossible extent, dazzling them both.
For a moment, Charlie had the inexplicable certainty that she, Alastor, his microphone and the brooch had been fused together by that incandescent flash. They were a single entity now, a fluid of pure heat, energy and thought.

Then music exploded.

“Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something”

Charlie was plunged into smoke and darkness. Acid green and violet flashes cut through them like lighthouse beams.
“Alastor! AL!” she shouted, barely able to hear her own voice over the music coming from everywhere.
She was moving blindly, unable to determine where she was. Not on the Ferris wheel, that much was certain. She suddenly hit a smooth, hard surface, bounced backward and fell to the ground. She stood up, panting and in pain, finding herself staring at her own reflection.
The mirror was tall and narrow, the only real object in that sort of nightmare. Charlie felt its edges, coughing for the smoke. It bent in a different direction at some point, forming an irregular wall.

Could she be in the mirror maze?

She moved forward, careful to trust her hands before her eyes. The smoke finally began to clear.
“Alastor! Al! Where are you? Can you hear me?”

“Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused”

Charlie almost didn’t recognize herself when she came across a mirror that portrayed her in period clothing. She was wearing a feathered headband around her short hair, high heels and a long sequin dress. Her head started spinning the moment she realized why she didn’t recognize her reflection at first: she was wearing a different face too. The one of a beautiful, curly-haired, mixed-race woman. One she came to know only recently - but deeply.

“Annie” Charlie whispered. She had no idea of where the name came from.

The woman smiled at her, a glint of understanding in her doe eyes. A large, dark, humanoid shadow materialized behind her and Charlie turned instinctively, hairs standing up on the back of her neck. But there was no one there, nothing besides wisps of blue smoke. When she turned back to the mirror, the woman was gone.
Charlie was about to let out the breath she had been holding when a pair of red dots lit up in the dark beyond the mirror: two glassy, ​​feral eyes, close to the ground like those of an animal on the prowl.
She assumed a defensive position when the thing attacked.

“Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something”

The chorus returned and Charlie, unarmed, lowered her arms. She blinked, confused, staring at the new scenery in front of her.
She was now standing before a heart-shaped entrance, topped with pink and red lights and a sign that read: “Love Tunnel”. Unintelligible voices were coming from inside.
“Alastor! Is that you?”. Charlie’s voice echoed as she bent to fit the surprisingly low and narrow passage.

The interior was hot and humid. She was forced to crawl before she could stand up again, in a sort of cave with smoky pink lights. Charlie strained her ears: yes, she could definitely hear voices, one of them belonging to a woman. No, not any woman: it was Annie. She ventured forth, down the curved corridor with newfound determination.
The voices started to get clearer, but produced anything but words: sighs, whimpers, choking verses, moans.

Charlie put her hands to her mouth, blushing and recoiling.
She shouldn’t have heard these things. She shouldn’t have been here.
The red lights casted shadows on the wall in front of her: a female silhouette being surrounded by male figures pushing her, pulling her, touching her…
Charlie looked away.

The voices sounded more and more excited when the woman’s sighs and moans turned into screams and sobs, both heartbreaking and blood-curdling.
Charlie felt torn. Half of her wanted to come to that woman’s rescue, but the other half just wanted to run.
Silence and darkness fell in the tunnel before she could make up her mind. Then something damp brushed the back of her hand. Charlie pulled it back in horror and ran without looking back.

The light coming from the exit looked like an unreachable salvation. Damp sighs surrounded her like a mist, and things that felt unmistakably like tongues brushed her knuckles, her elbows, her ankles, every inch of skin they could reach and even the heels of her shoes. Tears broke the dam of Charlie’s endurance and rolled down her cheeks as the fresh air of the night welcomed her back.

Snip!

The sighs and the tongues were no more.

It took Charlie several seconds to gather the strength to look back, where the cutting sound came from.
Her skin crawled at the sight. A huge blade barred the “Tunnel of Love” like a guillotine and a pool of blood spread in front of its entrance like a doormat.

“I said hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (come on, come on)”

Another blink, another darkness. A new nightmare, she knew by now.

Charlie found herself in a dark, desolate lot this time. The only light came from a moving carousel in the distance, with its warm golden glow. She started walking without even noticing, drawn like a moth. Before she knew, she was running.

“Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up”

Someone was riding one the horses. It was a boy in an old-fashioned school uniform, going up and down with the movements of the shiny pony he sat on. He had his glasses balanced precariously on his nose, a large patch on one elbow.
The carousel spun slowly, but never as slowly as Charlie. She felt as if she were running underwater, barely moving from her starting point.

“Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?”

The music had turned into an eerie chorus, devoid of music, punctuated by the clapping of hundreds of ghostly hands.

As the child disappeared behind the middle pillar of the spinning carousel, a young man in dignified clothes emerged from the other side. His bearing was confident, his eyes piercings, a smile dancing around the corner of his mouth. He had something in his right hand, hidden by the muscular neck of the warhorse he was riding. But Charlie's attention was drawn to the base of the carousel, now engulfed by fire.

“I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something”

Charlie reached out toward the blazing carousel, a scream trapped in her throat. The ride was impossibly slowed.
The young man disappeared behind the pillar like the kid before him, and for a few moments Charlie thought he would never reappear.

And he never did, in a way.

“Some of them want to use you (hold your head up)
Some of them want to get used by you (keep your head up)”

A figure in a red coat emerged from behind the pillar and the flames that enveloped it, completely different from the human before him. His hair was longer, red, topped with animal ears and dark horns. The glasses had given way to a monocle on a chain, his mother's sweet brown eyes to red pits of madness. His sharp, yellowish teeth were exposed by a savage smile. A knife glinted a little further away, from a pool of blood that followed its owner like a dress train. Among the flames and bubbles of blood, Charlie thought she saw something that looked terribly like a pile of human eyes, hands and tongues.

“Some of them want to abuse you
Hold your head up (keep your head up)
Hold your head up!”

Alastor went up and down to the rhythm of the music and the ghostly handclap, his clawed hand gripping the golden pole smeared with dark red fingerprints. The hellish, half-melted mount between his knees seemed now impaled, its muzzle distorted in an expression of pure agony.
The demon stiffened his legs, tightened his grip on the pole, threw his head back and let out an abominable, slow, silent laugh.

Charlie watched, immobile. She couldn’t look away. She watched as he howled, to his last spasm of laughter.

“I said hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (come on, come on)”

The disco ball cast colorful reflections on the dark ceiling while the music vibrated within the gym walls.

Charlie came to her senses. Her heart was pounding, her skin covered in cold sweat. Even her knees felt like they were about to give in. She held on to the punch table as the party raged all around her.
Yes, it was her high school dance, just as she remembered it. Except for the blue, purple, and green lights and the fact that she had no reason to be here now.

“Alastor”. The thought shot through her like a sliver of ice. She had to find him.

Charlie pushed through the students, her breathing shallow, her head spinning, her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of his coat, his ears, his hand resting on the top of his microphone. Her stomach tightened. She needed to see him.

“Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up”

A hand grabbed hers out of nowhere. Charlie screamed, feeling herself pulled into the spotlight. A dark crowd was watching her from a lower level now: she was on stage, somehow.

“Bonsoir, ma belle. Were you looking for someone?”

Charlie looked at the hand clasped in hers. Her gaze traveled up the sleeve of the red tuxedo, the bow tie, the sharp smile, the heavy lids over the piercing eyes, until it reached the heavy, shiny crown nestled between the large black horns.
She raised a hand, breathless, feeling the unmistakable tips of a crown on top of her own head.

“Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (come on, come on)"

Alastor spread his arms and the crowd erupted in cheers so loud they reverberated through Charlie’s bones.
The gym seemed to have grown infinitely larger now, the ceiling transformed into a deep red sky. The stage rose precipitously above Hell itself now, its inhabitants as small as grains of sand.

“Alastor!”

The demon turned to look at her with a smile, his hair ruffled by the high-altitude wind.
“Yes, my queen?”

Charlie gasped. She felt she had an infinite number of things to tell him, to ask him, so tangled up that they wouldn’t come out of her mouth.

Something was faster than her.

A giant black hand shattered the sky like it was a mirror, reached out to them, grabbed Alastor and dragged him into the void beyond the precipice.

"Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up (moving on)
Hold your head up (moving on)
Keep your head up!”

The only audible sound was the metallic clatter of Alastor's crown bouncing at Charlie's feet, followed by a shower of sky shards.

Chapter Text

Charlie woke up with a start. Red stars stared back at her coldly from the Greed Ring sky.
She sat up examining the cabin she was in. It was still at the top of the Ferris Wheel but it had been unroofed like a can cracked open. The brooch was warm and buzzing under her fingers.

What the fuck happened? Where was Alastor!?

She rushed toward the jagged edges of the cabin while dizziness threatened to rearrange her insides. But she still looked down.

Smoke curled up from craters in several places around the wheel, far below her. The whole theme park seemed dull and dead now, even worse than before their arrival. Not a soul was in sight and the only lighting came from the coin-shaped moon and the few, flickering lights left untouched by the latest wave of destruction.
Charlie caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. And her heart skipped a beat when she recognized two little horned heads darting through the air, not far from her.

“Razzle! Dazzle!”

The two demons made a violent u-turn and Charlie jumped. Razzle had taken the form of a dragon when she landed on his back, and so had his twin.

“Dazzle! Go find the others! Razzle, we have to find Alastor, eyes peeled! Let's go!”

The two dragons roared in response, taking off so fast that Charlie had to hold onto Razzle's neck not to be thrown off. She squeezed her eyes shut against the wind that whipped her hair on her back, her heart beating wildly against Razzle's fur.

What were those visions she had? Something told her they weren’t simple nightmares. Everything had a meaning, a logic, a continuity that that hand seemed to have shattered like an intrusion, an incursion, a kidnapping.
For a moment Charlie thought it was the way she had clenched his fur in her fists that had made Razzle roar, but a sharp movement of the demon’s head drew her attention to a  circus tent, miraculously intact —enough to allow a giant black hand to slither almost imperceptibly into its shadow.

“ALASTOR!” Charlie screamed. She could feel her stomach almost in her throat as Razzle dove, baring his fangs.

His jaws snapped shut around the shadowy wrist. The dragon twisted his neck and Charlie dismounted without taking her eyes off the red figure slipping from the enormous hand’s grip.
She rolled onto the circus tent, dove with her arms stretched forward and found herself crashing to the ground, her knee flashing with pain from the impact with the stone - but with Alastor miraculously in her arms. She looked down at him, gasping: he seemed unconscious, his chin resting on his chest. His face was hidden by his hair except for a trickle of blood dripping from an unspecified point on his head, staining his jacket. She let out a sigh. But she wasn’t even finished when an earth-shaking roar brought her attention back to the fight.

Razzle and the hand were wrestling now, with the hand trying to strangle the dragon as it bit at its fingers. A barbed tail slashed through the air and hit the circus tent, which folded on itself and collapsed.

Charlie clutched Alastor’s helpless body to her chest, attempting to protect him with her own body. The fight was too out of scale, they had to move.

“Well, well, well” came a growling, unfamiliar voice from behind her, pinning her to the spot. “Isn’t it the Princess of Hell herself? Our quarry does have friends in high places!”

A half-dozen hellhounds emerged from the ruins of the tent, their clothes shabby and tattered, sinister smiles on their faces.

Charlie swallowed dryly. They were surrounding them.

“W-who are you? What do you want from us? Leave us alone!”

One of the mastiffs cocked his head to the side. “Hey, no one's here wants to harm you, beautiful! We wouldn't dare. We're here for him.”
“Yeah, who’d want to deal with your daddy?” echoed another, getting closer and closer. “Give us the kid and let's get this over with.”
“Mphh! “Kid”! What am I, a puppy then!? Good thing we had a sketch!”

Their voices became a meaningless buzz. Charlie looked down at the dried blood on Alastor’s chin, her ears filled with Razzle’s roars and a whistle that drowned out every other sound. The brooch had grown heavy on her chest, throbbing slowly like the footsteps of someone trying to make their way through a swamp, in a race against time, against death, hounds excited by the promise of fresh meat…

Charlie jumped to her feet and threw her arms wide open.

The hellhounds’ eyes widened.
“Hey, cutie” said one of them. “I like group dancing, I do! But now we have something to…”

“NOT ANOTHER STEP!”
Charlie was invaded by a fire from deep within, expanding towards her extremities like a controlled and silent explosion. The horns had slipped out of her skull like claws while her skin seemed to sizzle with power like never before.
“TOUCH HIM AND OFF WITH YOUR PAWS!” she panted, pointing the trident that just appeared in her hands to the nearest muzzle.
Everything was still for a few moments while Charlie resisted the urge to turn to check on Alastor’s state. He was still lying a few inches from her heels.

One of the hounds whistled amusedly, taking a few steps forward. “People say a lot of bullshit about you, Princess! Go figure. Wimpy, spineless, airheaded… I see a real firecracker here! What do you think, boys? She would make nice company for the evening, huh?”

Charlie pushed the tips of her weapon against his throat as the others chuckled.

“Um… not to be a party pooper, but this is King Lucifer’s daughter we’re talking about!”  one of the younger hounds coughed. “If we get caught, well, erm, ‘having fun” with his daughter…”
“Exactly” the one Charlie pressed her trident against sneered. “If we get caught. I don’t see any witnesses here.”

Charlie didn’t see the blow coming. The trident seemed to simply slip from her hand with a clinking sound, her forearm burning of its own accord. In an instant she was wrapped in hairy arms, a chest going up and down against her back, rancid breath in her ear.
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, all the fury and power of a moment ago gone like a candle flame.

Then came the blood.

It splashed first on her cheeks, hot and ferrous. Then, as she fell to her knees, she felt it sticky under her knees and the palms of her hands. Finally she heard it dripping beside her, before the body of its owner collapsed and covered it.

“Chivalry is really dead, mh?”

Charlie snapped her head up, following that voice.

“Well, what would you expect from a pack of rabids?”
Alastor stood before her, though bent over his microphone. She could see his usual smile, the tentacles writhing and bloody behind his back.

Charlie smiled. Something inside seemed to loosen up, but they were both far from safe yet. She retrieved her trident and stood up, flames returning to fuel her in invigorating waves of power.

The remaining hounds hunched their heads into their shoulders, snarling. Even so it was five against two - and Charlie didn't miss the way Alastor's chest shook with ragged breaths, nor the trickle of blood that leaked from his mouth.
The attackers dug their hands into their pockets and behind their backs, baring their fangs and pulling out weapons of every shape and size.

“CHAAAAARLIEEEE!”

Their collective attention was drawn to the sky. A red-cheeked dragon with a bowtie-shaped patch on its neck was approaching at full speed, almost directly above them. A slender, multi-limbed figure was peeking from its back.

“YOU LOOK FUCKING HOOOT IN THIS FOOOORM!”

A blast of flame hit and engulfed the hellhounds in front of them, turning them into screaming, burning embers that had the good graces to run off to extinguish themselves - or turn to ashes - somewhere else.
Dazzle landed a few feet away from Charlie and Alastor, letting Angel, Husk, Sir Pentious, Cherri, and Niffty slide off his back.

“Charlie’s Angels at your service, baby!” Angel exclaimed with a wink.

“Wow girl, no one told me you had a fucking DRAGON!” exclaimed Cherri, wrapping her arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “You should have told me sooner if you wanted me to join your half-assed hotel!”

“Uh, ah… I have servants too!” tried Sir Pentious, raising his hand and looking terribly embarrassed. “Eggs, uh… in my room…”

“Razzle!” Charlie suddenly remembered, pushing Cherri away with urgency.
There was no sign of the second dragon or of the dark hand, except for the (further) devastation they wrought on Loo Loo Land.
“Did anyone see him?!”

A regretful muttering rose from the group.

Charlie pressed her lips together with determination. She was almost on Dazzle’s back when she heard the sound of a certain microphone hitting the pavement behind her.
“Alastor, no! You’re staying here with the others! You’re hurt and helpless, that’s out of the question!”

When Alastor raised his face toward her, the way the greenish light of the coin-shaped moon danced in his eyes and on his teeth sent shivers down Charlie’s spine.
“And missing the occasion to meet someone who wants to see me so ardently? An unforgivable rudeness!”
Alastor clenched his fist until dark blood dripped from it. The demon stood upright again, his head held high, his smile wide, his arms spread proudly.

Charlie opened her mouth to protest but a low, powerful roar vibrated in the air, silencing her. A huge reddish body crashed into  the roller coaster, shattering it, and then onto the ground a short distance away, in a cloud of dust and debris.

“RAZZLE!”

Charlie rushed in his direction, anguish trembling in her chest. The dragon was gone: tiny, in the crater made by its draconic form, was a winged and very injured goat. Charlie knelt beside him, followed by Dazzle who had also returned to his usual form, visibly terrified.

“You've always been such a show-off, kid.”
The voice came from the darkness, slightly muffled, somewhere between the carousel and the candy apple stand.
“You can pretend to be a dandy all you want, but I've always seen right about you. I've always sensed your true intentions, your wild, uncivilized nature.”

Alastor came forward calmly. “Nice words for someone who plays hide and seek, huh? Come on, come out and play. Or are you afraid I'll bite?” he smiled.

“All smiles and puns, huh? Just smoke and mirrors, an old script you could never let go of. Especially with your mother.”

A metallic shimmer gave away his position. Up there, at the top of a smaller Ferris Wheel, one of the apple-shaped cabins had been hollowed out to make room for a throne that looked a lot like Lucifer’s. But the creature sitting on it was nothing like Charlie’s father.
The shimmer came from a handcuff with a broken chain around one of the demon’s wrists. His posture seemed relaxed, but his claws were digging into the throne’s armrests.
He looked like a hellhound, but not quite: three canine heads emerged from his double-breasted jacket. The side ones, snarling and drooling, wore crumpled hats that resembled those of police officers. Most of the middle one was hidden by a metallic muzzle. The eyes just above it were icy blue, narrow and piercing.
No, Charlie had never seen a hellhound like that.

“Almost forty and still a mama’s boy!” he shook his middle head. “New Orleans sighed in relief when you finally got out of the way.”

“The Captain, I presume? Pleased to make your acquaintance, quite the pleasure!” Alastor bowed, his ears slightly tilted back. “I see you’re done your homework. I suppose digging that deep wasn’t exactly easy. My compliments! A real truffle dog!”
The Radio Demon clasped his hands on top of his microphone.
“Who holds the leash you’re on, hmmm? Vox? Be nice and give me a name. Maybe I’ll leave a recognizable corpse” Alastor’s voice trembled on the last word, horribly distorted. His horns reached out like claws to the moon.

The demon sighed behind his muzzle, massaging his temples. “Still with that damn arrogance! You just can’t have a civil conversation, can you?”.

“A bit hypocritical of the person who just tried to kidnap me, old pal!”

The three-headed demon relaxed on his throne, his side heads drooling profusely on the padded shoulders of his police jacket.
For a few seconds no one said a word. Charlie did not dare interfere - and so didn’t the others - while Alastor and the Captain stared at each other in silence.

"I have one last warning, Alastor" the cerberus demon resolved. "Stay away from Annie and I will let you continue with that trail of blood and depravity you call afterlife. Do we have a deal?"

Alastor froze for a moment before bursting out laughing spectacularly. He shook from head to toe, hands crossed on his stomach and eyes threatening to leave their sockets like champagne corks.
“Oh, you could have told me you were a comedian! I would have invited you on my show tonight!” he concluded, almost out of breath, holding on to his microphone. “I'll propose a deal, old pal, and a good one. Take back your tin trinkets and leave the Pride Ring at once. Any ring, while we're at it.”

‘Tin trinkets’. Charlie’s hand ran to the brooch on her chest. The Captain’s eyes followed that movement, shining with attention.

Suddenly, she was weightless.

Something smoky had grabbed her and lifted her off the ground, levitating her towards the three-headed demon.

“Charlie!” she heard crying beneath her as she tried to wriggle free of the enormous shadow hand - completely in vain. In a matter of moments she was floating just inches from the Captain and his many hungry jaws.

The demon reached out for the brooch, touching it with an unreadable expression.

“How did you get it?”
His voice suddenly sounded different. Low, warm, almost - Charlie frowned - even hurt, maybe.

“Sorry to disappoint you but this princess is already taken. Go find yourself one!”
Charlie felt the familiar touch of Alastor's claws on her shoulder before slipping away from the shadow hand's grip and landing in the Radio Demon’s arms.
“You thought I was going to leave you in the hands of that brute, ma belle?” he returned her gaze with a smile, placing her down next to the rest of the group, who gathered protectively around her.

“Oh, but I already have one.”
Everyone turned to the Captain, his large shadowy hand waiting like a spider on top of his Ferris wheel cabin. His actual right hand was clutching a small silver object.

“The brooch!” Charlie screamed, before covering her mouth with both of her hands.

The silver slipper shone one last time in the moonlight before the Cerberus’ fist closed around it with a sinister snap. A small purple flash, a wisp of smoke, and the remains of the brooch bounced at Charlie’s feet with a tinkle. The Captain seemed in a far better mood after throwing it.

“Annie is finally where she was always supposed to be: by my side”. Charlie could sense his smile through his voice. “A safe distance from the son who got her nothing but a life of pain and sorrow.”

Charlie knelt down to pick up the remains of the brooch. Emptiness was spreading in her chest, where her bond with the silver slipper used to be.

“Say her name again and it will be the last word you utter” came Alastor's cold voice. “My mother is in Heaven, you scum!”

“No she isn’t, thanks to YOU!” the Captain's voice echoed in the park.

Charlie looked up at Alastor. His mouth was open, a half-smile frozen on his face. For the first time ever, he seemed speechless.

“It stings, doesn’t it? Knowing you’re the cause of her damnation. Where did you think that brooch came from, huh? That it fell all the way from Heaven?” The Captain chuckled. “Even in this life you remain a thorn in the flesh for her. Her first and last thought, an eternal concern.”

The aura rising from Alastor was so intense it almost hurt. Charlie and the others instinctively moved aside as the Radio Demon was enveloped by a thick black fog, crackling with murderous energy. Only his grin cut through the darkness, dripping with blood.

“Don’t you worry, kid” the Captain continued. “I’ll tell her you died tonight, and this time there will be no further realms to drag us into. She can find her peace, finally.”

The shadows moved so quickly that everything was over in the blink of an eye.
Alastor, having leapt forward, was crushed on the ground by the shadow hand. Dozens of blood-red glyphs lit up around him only to flicker and go out an instant later like exhausted neons.

The Captain raised his right hand. The handcuff with the broken chain emitted a faint violet glow. “Goodbye, Alastor. If you have a shred of affection for your mother you’ll know we’ll never cross paths again.”
In a snap of his fingers, all that remained of the Cerberus was an empty throne.

“ALASTOR!”
Charlie freed herself from Husk’s grasp, which had been holding her until that moment.

Alastor was still on the ground, his eyes fixed on the sky, his smile now reduced to a thin line. Blood stained his jacket, his hair, his face.
After what seemed an impossibly long time, he sat up. 

Charlie reached out a hand. The demon slapped it so fast that all she noticed at first was a sudden burning sensation on the back of her hand.

“HEY!” Angel snapped. “Is this any way to treat someone who risked their neck to save you?!”.

“Al...” Charlie whispered, holding her stricken hand to her chest.

The Radio Demon didn’t answer, his face hidden by his hair.
He got to his feet, staggered a few steps leaning on his microphone and vanished into his own shadow.

Chapter Text

Charlie paced the hallway. She did try to entrust that strategic position to Keekee but with no results, since she found her asleep at least half the time. The radio tower was the easiest to keep an eye on thanks to its lights, so Charlie had opted to check it by leaning out of one of the windows of the corridor overlooking Alastor's room.

They had not heard from him for three days.
Where he had gone after their "theme park trip" was a mystery. And even though Husk claimed that there was nothing to worry about because “that was the kind of guy who won't die even if you kill him" Charlie couldn't help but be consumed by anxiety.
She had never seen Alastor like that, in that state. So taken aback, so affected, so vulnerable. Him, who was always two steps ahead of everyone! It was terrifying.

And then there were the questions. Oh God, so many questions.
They started popping in her mind like popcorn from that vision (dream? Magic-induced trip?) about the carousel, and had only multiplied since then, threatening to tear the little paper bag that was her brain.
And yet, in the absence of the person directly concerned, she didn’t feel like talking to anyone about it. It didn’t feel right. It was bad enough that someone as relatively stranger as Cherri had witnessed that very personal discussion with the Captain. Of course, there would have been no audience if a certain demon hadn’t decided to drag everyone to risk their lives for him! And she wouldn’t be venting her anger against a poor wall right now, if that demon had done as he was told and had not left her side!

“Errm… Was it a bad wall?”
Angel's voice brought her back to the present, freezing her with a hoof in mid-air.

“Oh, hi Angel!” Charlie composed herself, tucking a stray lock of hair back into her hairdo and folding her hands behind her back. “And Husk! Do you guys need anything?”
Charlie wasn't surprised to find them together. Angel was a regular at Husk’s bar - oddly enough for someone who claimed he couldn’t move back to the hotel because of his long working hours and the commuting time. Not that she minded, obviously.

“I always need something, doll.” Angel frowned with a smirk. “But you look like you need it even more right now.”

Charlie tilted her head, puzzled, causing Angel to burst out laughing.

“Ignore him, please.” Husk rolled his eyes. “Still no news?”

Charlie shook her head, trying to hide her disappointment.

“It ain’t necessarily a bad thing, you know?” he shrugged, looking nervous. “I mean, he acts like he’s some fucking knight in shiny armor with you, most of the time, bus he aint a…”

Charlie couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Angel had his arm around her neck, practically yelling in her ear: “Hey, why don’t we hang out, just the three of us? You only come out of the hotel to try to get yourselves killed, lately!”.

“Safety is kinda the point of the Hazbin Hotel, Angel” Charlie pointed out with a tense smile. “That and redemption. That’s why I need to keep an eye on– well, why I need to be ready anytime. There’s not much time left for Alastor’s redemption, you know”.
“And it’s not like it’s going that well” she concluded in her head, grimacing.

“Why don't we... I don't know, take a walk around the hotel?” Angel suggested, dragging her to the elevator already. “We'll steal Niffty’s keys and we’ll tell her we saw a mother roach sneak under Alastor's door. She won't take her eyes off it until it opens, I swear! What's her fucking problem with mother roaches, anyway!?”

“Trust me, you don't wanna know” Husk sighed, following them. “You really want to lose this bet, don’tcha?” he added in a lower voice, smirking.

“You wish, kitty” Angel replied over his shoulder, winking.

*

Charlie was lying beside Angel on the rough wooden boards of the crow’s nest, hands clasped behind her head and legs dangling over the small circular railing. Climbing up the ship beached next to the hotel had been a more enjoyable pastime than she’d expected: the physical activity seemed to have loosened her muscles while Angel’s chatter kept her mind busy. She wasn’t surprised he was so popular, regardless of his… “work performances”: he was good company when he was in the mood, capable of making her smile under any circumstances. Charlie felt immensely lucky to be able to call him her friend.

Husk was perched a little lower, only making occasional comments, his back resting against the mast and his long tail casting shadows on the great white sail.

“What then? What did you say?” Charlie prompted her friend.

“What the fuck could I say at that point?” Angel spread two pairs of arms. “‘Sorry, I thought you were your brother’!? Hell no! He was better than him in bed, anyway!”

Charlie laughed so hard that she had to hold onto the railing for fear of rolling down.
“Oh, you!” she gasped, then, red in the face. “How do you get yourself in such situations!?”.

“No fucking clue! Explain it to me, please!”

“About THAT…” came the voice of a certain barman from the lower level.

“Oh, yeah, yeah… erm” Angel sat up, followed by Charlie. She was still massaging her cheeks, sore from laughing.
“There’s something I wanna ask you, dollface, but… promise not to go crazy like you always do, ‘kay? I need a real answer here. Make sure a certain pussycat down there can hear ya loud and clear.”

“Oookay?” she raised an eyebrow.

“‘kay, sooo… Husk and I couldn't help but notice…”

“PLEASE SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, THANK YOU!”

“Oookay, I've noticed that… you and Alastor spend a lot of time together lately.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. I need to redeem him, remember?” Charlie commented, mostly to fill the silence.

“Yeah, ‘kay, right, BUT…” Angel looked strangely embarrassed. “Oh, FUCK THIS! I’m the least suited person in the whole hell to sugarcoat these things! AND YOU STOP GIGGLING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL DOWN THERE! I CAN HEAR YA!”

“Angel” Charlie rested her hand on his friend's shoulder. “The fact that I'm dedicating all my time and energy to Alastor's redemption doesn't mean that I've forgotten about you. I know it may seem that way, but cross my heart that it's a choice dictated by…”

“I'm not JEALOUS, damn it!” he pulled away, shocked and vaguely offended. “That's not the point! AAAH!” he held his head in two of his hands, waving his others. “I can’t believe you don’t realize what’s going on! I can't, I just can’t, I fucking REFUSE to!”

“Realize what?” Charlie blinked.

“Shut the fuck up and pay” Husk's sneering voice intervened. “Just face it, kiddo. You lost.”

“Okay, Charlie, now be quiet and let me explain. Alastor…” Angel swallowed hard, starting gesturing. “...is at a crossroads. On one side, the afterlife as he’s always led it: murders, radio broadcasts, manic laughters, being a frigid asshole... you get it. Your regular Alastor.”

“Alastor’s packed his bags” Husk intervened.

“And on the other… something else, I don’t know what! You could find out together!”

“And now he’s loading them into the car” Hush sighed.

“Thing is, dollface, how the hell are you supposed to redeem an Overlord if you can’t even understand your own feelings!?”

“Uh!” Husk sounded amused, this time. “Didn't know he owned that one. Ain’t half bad, I'll give him that.”

“I think I don’t understand… what I don't understand?” Charlie smiled tentatively.

“He starts the engine… and drives off. Fuck yeah! Hope he’s gone for good this time. Good riddance.”

“Husk, where are you going with this metaphor?!” Angel jumped up, leaning over the railing. “I don’t even know what we’re getting at, now!”

Husk just raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger at the road below.
When Charlie imitated Angel and followed Husk’s finger, she noticed an old-fashioned red convertible speeding off with a certain Radio Demon at the wheel.

*

Charlie was panting so hard she thought her lungs would explode.

She’d just descended every level of the ship, run down the hill, hijacked an ice cream truck with a screaming boy still clinging to the half-open freezer - he later fell in, judging by the noises -, shared a car with a couple so “busy” in the backseats they barely noticed Charlie hijacking their vehicle, jumped on a series of cars stuck in traffic and finally slid down the passenger seat of Alastor’s convertible like it was a waterslide, sweat seeping through every layer of her clothing.

“YOU. COULD. HAVE. WARNED ME!” she growled between her teeth, emerging from the car’s floor and sinking into the beige leather seat. She welcomed the wind on her skin as Alastor drove off without a word or a glance, his smile reduced to a thin curved line.

They slalomed through traffic until they reached the outskirts, where the cityscape suddenly gave way to a reddish desert as far as the eye could see. Alastor's car turned onto a road that seemed to stretch out into infinity, a line of charcoal splitting the landscape in two.

Charlie looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly she realized what seemed so out of place: Alastor was actually driving. He wasn’t leaving it to the little shadow creatures he simply called “his friends.” And hadn’t Husk said he’d loaded the trunk with what looked like luggage? The Alastor she knew could summon anything he needed out with a snap of his fingers. Was he still recovering from the fight? He must have used a lot of power to transport them all to a different Ring, re-power most of the theme park, extend his broadcast’s reception, change shape multiple times, heal his wounds…

“The gears in that pretty little head of yours make a rather unnerving noise, my dear” said Alastor without taking his eyes off the road. “Ask, if you must.”

Charlie gasped for a few more moments, taken aback. “Oh, well… erm, knowing where we’re headed wouldn’t be bad, for starters” she tried to play it off, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alastor stuck an elbow out the window, his ears flattened on his head by the wind.

“And…?” Charlie prompted him, impatient.

“I said you could ask, ma demon belle, not that I would answer.”
Alastor's lips parted almost imperceptibly, revealing his sharp teeth. “Consider it a surprise trip for both of us: for me in terms of company, for you in terms of destination. Let's enjoy a quiet, relaxing road trip, shall we?” 

Charlie did her best to disguise with a pout the spontaneous, annoying smile that pulled the corners of her mouth upwards. At least one hundred more questions were buzzing in her head, but she would respect his request - for now.
She had missed that bastard. 

*

The view and the hum of the engine were their constant - and sleep-inducing - companions.

Charlie didn’t mind sitting next to Alastor in silence for once, without any provocation, psychological games to her detriment or mortal danger of any kind. It had been so long since she had some real rest that sleep caught her completely off guard, only revealing itself when she was awakened—hours later, judging by the color of the sky—by the still silence of the turned-off car, broken moments later by a cacophony of voices.

Charlie rubbed her eyes and yawned, the will-o’-the-wisps floating around the convertible and dazzling her with their bright green and violet lights.
She looked around, alarmed. It took her a few seconds to spot Alastor’s back, not far from the car but surrounded by a swarm of demons. Some of them resembled rag dolls, while others looked for all intents and purposes like impeccably-dressed skeletons, with their skulls painted in bright colors. A couple of them held the reins of horses with flames for mane.
They had all gathered around him, speaking warmly in an unknown language and giving him smiles and pats on the shoulder. Charlie looked up at the sign over the wooden huts they parked in front of: 'Woodoo Village'. She had never heard of it.

A skeleton-like woman with long brown hair sticking out of a top hat looked with curiosity before asking an incomprehensible question in a particularly loud voice.

“Oh, Princess Charlotte Morningstar! King Lucifer’s daughter, of course” Alastor replied in English, turning in her direction with a friendly smile. “My business partner and traveling companion, at the moment.”

Charlie waved shyly as dozens of eyes (and empty sockets) stared at her. “H-hi?”
She didn’t need a mirror to know that she didn’t look particularly regal that night – if she ever did.

“Charlie, this is Brigitte, the village chief.”

Charlie got out of the car to shake the woman’s boney hand. The small crowd parted as she passed, watching her with clear interest.

“Enchantèe, your highness” Brigitte bowed, switching to a purring English that reminded Charlie of cinnamon and melted butter. “We’re not used to visitors, but Alastor's friends are our friends. I hope you enjoy our modest village.”

“I need your help as soon as you have a minute to spare, cherie - but not before my usual room. Forgive me for the short notice” Alastor interjected, saving Charlie from articulating a sufficiently polite response. She sheepishly withdrew her hand, left outstretched. “It’s been a long journey and I must admit that recent times have not been very kind to us in terms of tranquility and rest” Alastor continued.

“So I heard” Brigitte observed, giving him a surprisingly penetrating look for a pair of hollow eye sockets. “But I regret to inform you that the Kwazman Hotel was wiped out by the latest eruption, three weeks ago. There’s a reason why don’t get many visitors around here: the Lust Rings might still be unapproachable but that doesn’t mean it can’t scorch us with its lava.”

Charlie looked around, trying to recall her geography classes. She could still make out the shape of a mountain against the evening sky, in the distance. She frowned: volcanoes were a Wrath Ring’s prerogative, if she remembered correctly. But that kind of things tended to blur into each other where two or more Rings connected - as the curiously purple evening sky was doing over their heads in that exact moment, now that she looked.

“We’re not going to trespass again into another Ring, are we!?” she gasped. Not that it would have been a problem for her, with her hellborn status. But their latest trip to the Greed Ring wasn’t exactly an experience she wished to repeat. “W-where are we going this time? Wrath? Lust!?”.

“Heavens, no!” Alastor wrinkled his nose, in response to Charlie’s last word. “Well, with the Kwazman gone what do you suggest to do, my dear?” he returned to address Brigitte. “Surely our royal guest can’t be left out in the cold!”

“There is another accommodation, a little outside our village’s borders” Brigitte pondered. “It’s called “Last Chance,” a rather fitting name, I’d say. Follow the river south, you can’t go wrong. Nothing compared to your usual room at the Kwazman, but…”

“But it will do for tonight” finished Alastor. “À demain, ma chère, and thank you” he kissed her hand.

Brigitte accepted the gesture, pleased. “Wait, Alastor, before you thank me. I haven't committed to help you with anything but your room yet. Bòn nui.”

Charlie watched her sway in her patchwork skirt as she and the other villagers walked off, down the village’s main street, with a cheerful chatter trailing behind them.

*

The river turned out to be a long tongue of lava that lit up the sharp, black banks in red and gold. Charlie admired the large bubbles that popped on its surface as Alastor's car sped along it.
When the demon pulled the handbrake they found themselves in the shadow of a tall, crooked building, quite different from the wooden huts of Woodoo Village.

“Looks nice!” commented Charlie, accepting the hand that Alastor helped her get out of the convertible with.

The front was bubblegum pink, with flashing red signs that reminded her of their hotel. The moment Charlie and Alastor walked through the sliding doors, a sweet, rich scent of vanilla and roses greeted them - along with a shrill voice.

“WELCOME TO OZZY’S LAST CHANCE, KING ASMODEUS’S LAST OUTPOST!”.
A ginger fox-like demon in a pink valet uniform rounded the front desk, darting toward them.
“I’m Evelyn! Your concierge, valet, maid, cook, dominatrix, masseuse, lingerie boutique assistant, bartender, couples therapist, stimulants dealer, and occasional body buryer—not that the last two are related, hehe! At ALL! Ahem! How can I help you tonight?”

Charlie could have sworn she saw Alastor lower his ears and take a few steps back as Evelyn took her hands in hers, her green eyes shining over her pointy nose.
“Wow! Um…” Charlie swallowed hard. “W-we kinda need a room.”

“Oh dear, you came just in time then! We got the very last room!”

“A room” came Alastor’s voice from an unspecified point behind Charlie’s back. “Double, as in with two beds, correct?”

“Oh, I'm sooo sorry! As I said, we only have one room. One bed. Take it or leave it!”

“Um… and is there any way to swap rooms with some other guests? With a fee for the inconvenience, of course!” Charlie chuckled nervously, one hand already in her pocket in search of her wallet.

“Ha ha ha! Oh sweetie…” the receptionist said, suddenly changing her light tone to one that made the hairs on the back of Charlie’s neck stand up. “There is always ‘only one bed’ around here.”

An eerie silence fell in the lobby. Charlie thought she heard the sliding doors open, as if someone was quietly trying to sneak out.

"This hotel isn't called that for nothing!” Evelyn resumed, regaining her carefree tone as she took Charlie's arm. “Come on, the joys of the Lust Ring await you - without you even having to cross the border! Leave your bags with me! This way please!”

*

Charlie held on to the edge of the sink as she watched the half-naked girl staring back at her from the mirror. A nervous, slightly unsettling smile trembled on her lips, between two cheeks that looked too red even for someone fresh out of the shower.

The boutique she’d found on the second floor offered everything an ill-equipped tourist like her could possibly need—especially if her schedule included shooting a porn movie. She didn’t hate the peach-colored lace lingerie, she had to admit, but she’d had a hard time finding pajamas and a change of clothes that would allow her to stick her nose out of the dressing room without wishing the floor would swallow her.

Not that the bedroom had proven any less treacherous. In the bathroom alone she tried three bottles before she’d found anything that wasn’t lube or spray cream. And the king-sized bed made a noise sounding an awful lot like a vibrator when Alastor tried to turn on the nightstand light, when they first entered the room.
They had learned the hard way to be wary of any object bearing the brand of Asmodeus’ sex toy (and more, apparently) factory.

Charlie tied her pink lace robe around her waist with a sigh. There was no point in putting off what couldn’t be avoided, right? They’d had dinner, cleaned up, and now it was time to go to sleep. Alastor had already made it clear that he wasn’t yet recovered enough to conjure up another arrangement for the night, “and I don’t think I’ve given you any reason not to trust my gentlemanly code, hmm?”.

Finally convinced to slip out of the bathroom, Charlie wondered with a hint of hope if among Evelyn's many services there wasn't one that could make her unconscious again, by any chance.

Alastor sat against the headboard, the v-neck of his pajamas peeking out a burgundy dressing gown. He seemed absorbed in his reading but Charlie didn't miss the nervous trembling of one of his hooves against the blankets at the bottom of the bed. That place seemingly out of Angel's fantasies must have pleased him even less than her.

Charlie took a deep breath. Her side of the bed seemed so far away, unreachable from the bathroom’s door where she stood. Perhaps Alastor noticed because he closed the book with a snap, put it back on the nightstand and turned his back to her with odd timing, starting to take off his robe.
She didn’t miss the chance: she did the same with hers, dropped it on the floor and dove onto the bed, pulling the covers up to her nose.

“Goodnight!” she heard her own voice exclaim, a little too loud and shrill.

The light went out. She thought she heard Alastor chuckle as he laid down, his back to her. “Goodnight, my dear. Que les rêves t'accompagnent.”

It didn’t take Charlie more than two minutes to realize that she wasn’t going to have a good night.
She couldn’t find a position that would allow her to be at the same time comfortable, as far away from Alastor as possible, and on more than a few square inches of mattress. To make matters worse, there were thumps and muffled voices coming from the rooms next door, leaving little doubt as to the activities of their guests.
Charlie’s cheeks had grown so hot that she feared they might start glowing in the dark like nightlights.

Half an hour later she could barely resist the urge to jump up or scream into her pillow. She rolled over for the umpteenth time, glancing at Alastor sideways. Was he really asleep? Her gaze climbed over his red and black hair spread out on the pillow, his relaxed ears, his shaved nape left uncovered by the collar of his pajamas. A weird, sudden thought intruded among the others: she wanted to reach out and touch it, that shaved nape. To feel the tingle against her palm, spread her fingers and sink them into his hair.

The couple next door moaned louder.

Charlie sat so abruptly the entire bed trembled.
What the fuck was she thinking?!
Heat spread like wildfire from Charlie’s cheeks to the rest of her body.

“Did you see her?”. In the silence of the room, Alastor's voice made her jump.

“Seen? Who?” she asked, confused, her hands running to her chest. She did not know what worried her the most: his question, his strange tone or the mini-heart attack he just caused.

Alastor kept facing the wall in silence. His body seemed too tense for someone asleep, Charlie could see that now.

Something stirred in the depths of her memory as her heart returned to a bearable pace: the image of a child curled up in a bundle of blankets, shaken every now and then by a stifled sob.
“I thought you were asleep” Annie’s warm voice had said that time, with an accent not unlike Brigitte’s. “Come on, make some room. I’ll sing you a song.”

“Hey, hobo man
Hey, Dapper Dan
You've both got your style
But Brother,
You're never fully dressed
Without a smile!”

Charlie heard her own make its way through the room, at first timidly, then more confidently.

“And your clothes may be Beau Brummelly
They stand out a mile
But Brother,
You're never fully dressed
Without a smile!”

She closed her eyes, giving herself over to the music. Words and notes flowed from her as if she had been singing that song all her life, rather than just in a dream.

“Who cares what they're wearing
On Main Street,
Or Saville Row,
It's what you wear from ear to ear
And not from head to toe
That matters

So, Senator,
So, Janitor,
So long for a while
Remember,
You're never fully dressed
Without a smile!”

The last note faded, leaving an unbearable silence. Charlie found herself filling it by humming the melody from the beginning.
She continued until she lost track of time, her back resting against the padded headboard of the bed. When she finally opened her eyes again, several minutes later, it was to find the origin of a new noise.

"Goodnight Al" Charlie smiled, listening to his light snoring.

She leaned toward him as his silhouette went up and down with his slow, regular breaths: yes, he was fast asleep. For real, this time.
The part of his face she could see from her new position seemed calm, peaceful. She found herself wanting to lie down next to him, to put her arm around him, to share that cozy feeling with him.

But was that all?

Her eyes darted to his nape again.
She wanted to bury her face in his hair. To take a deep breath and find out what he smelled like. To get closer to him, to feel his warmth. To kiss the back of his neck, gently. To feel that inviting nape under her fingertips and her lips. To breathe out just by his neck and enjoy the sight of his goosebumps, then sneak a hand under his clothes and…

Charlie stiffened, hitting the break of her own thoughts.

"Thing is, dollface, how the hell are you supposed to redeem an Overlord if you can’t even understand your own feelings!?’
Suddenly, Angel’s voice emerged from her memories, like a radio only she could hear.
‘I can’t believe you don’t realize what’s going on! I can't, I just can’t, I fucking REFUSE to!’

When Charlie put her hands over her mouth, her face felt so hot she almost feared it would set on fire.
“Shit” she muttered.

Chapter Text

Charlie was cutting her pancakes like a serial killer trying to cut a body into pieces: as small and unrecognizable as possible.

“Not hungry, my dear?” observed Alastor, from the other end of the table.
He was wearing his most dazzling smile, that morning. Even the dark circles that surrounded his eyes since the fight with the Captain looked much better.
“At least try to finish your coffee! What will happen to my impeccable reputation if I keep parading you around the village as if I hadn’t let you sleep a wink last night!”

Charlie made a great effort not to spit out the contents of her cup like a geyser. She ended up choking on it, obviously.
Yes, Alastor was feeling much better, she thought while glaring at him over the napkin she was convulsively coughing into.

His smile widened further as he adjusted his bow tie.
“Well, if you’re not going to eat we’d better get going. There’s no point in keeping Brigitte waiting.”

Charlie stood up with her head down, her cheeks still on fire. She followed Alastor when he left a few bills on the café table and marched along the village main street.

They had arrived almost an hour ago, when Charlie had claimed to prefer “the local cuisine” (whatever that was) to the menu at the Last Chance. She suspected the previous dinner had been spiked with some “stimulant” from Evelyn: she still couldn’t explain what the hell had gotten into her the night before. And the worst part was that the effect didn’t seem to have worn off yet! Charlie took one last look at the back of Alastor’s head before looking down again, flushed.

Yes, it was that damn hotel. That and the lack of intimacy she suffered lately. She took a deep breath and kept walking. Yes, she just had to clear her mind.

Woodoo Village lived up to its name. Its wooden colonial houses were decorated with charming green and purple lanterns and fetishes composed of what appeared to be severed heads and disturbing-looking dolls.
The feeling of being watched was almost unbearable. Some villagers observed them from the privacy of their upper floor shutters while many passersby stopped to stare at Charlie with amusement or straightforward lust in their eyes (or empty eye sockets, sometimes).
Charlie kept walking with her arms crossed on her chest, covering the neckline of the most innocent-looking dress she managed to find that morning at the Last Chance Hotel.

Alastor walked ahead of her, tapping his microphone on the pavement whenever he wasn’t swinging it. He was wearing a dark coat she’d never seen on him, draped over his shoulders with elegant nonchalance. Its empty sleeves swung rhythmically against his narrow hips.

Charlie quickened her pace to catch up with him—if only to avoid continuing to stare at him. “You haven’t explained why we came here, anyway!”

“Ah! Why you came here is still a mystery, cherie” he laughed. “As for me, to see dear Brigitte, of course."

She fell silent for a moment.

“An old friend” Alastor continued. The glance he shoot her didn’t bode well. “My very own goddess, to be precise.”

“Goddess?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“It's a long story. Oh, Kokoye! Old pal!” Alastor brightened, suddenly veering to the left.
The double doors of a small but pretty villa led to a dark room. The demon walked through them familiarly.

The thick, sweetish, smoke of incense hit Charlie when she followed into the room. Her eyes watered, adjusting to the dim light.
A big guy standing in a corner outstretched his arms and Alastor threw his coat into them. He had a dark complexion and sported a crest and a tail that made him look like a rooster. Charlie shivered when he fixed his frowning gaze on her.

"Oh, don’t worry my dear: Kokoye, this big six here, is just shy! Give him a few hours and you'll make great friends!”

Charlie swallowed hard, drawing her almost-transparent shawl closer to her chest.

Kokoye kept quiet and led them into the house.

A hint of wood and varnish pierced the sweetness of the incense while their footsteps creaked on the rough floorboards.
A hammering completed the picture as Brigitte appeared in a doorway, tool in hand, bent over a work table in the middle of a small workshop. Sawdust covered the floor like snow and danced in the beam of light from the window.

Charlie’s heart sank. It reminded her of her dad’s lab, the one she loved to sneak into as a child to discover what wonders he would produce that day. Brigitte’s top hat almost seemed like a premonitory sign, in retrospect.

The village chief blew a lock of brown hair away from her skeletal face before hitting the shapeless trinket in her hands with the hammer one last time. “‘Took you long enough. Did you rest well?”

“Splendidly!” Alastor beamed.

Charlie could swear that Brigitte shot her a sly, amused look before taking off her gloves, slapping them on the table, and walking past them through the door.
“So, Alastor. Are you going to tell me why you came all the way from Pentagram City or do you enjoy leaving me hanging?”

"You know me too well, ma chère" the demon sneered, following her. "Can I ask for a cup of that nice tea of ​​yours, maybe with a little brown sugar, hmm?"

"Ha! That’s new."

"Oh, not for me, no: our sweet princess here has a history of fainting. It seems I can’t get her to eat almost anything, as of late.”

"Oh! D-don’t worry about it! I…”

Brigitte spoke over Charlie, before bursting into laughter. "Well, your 'delicacies' mainly consist in half-rotten deers!"

Charlie crossed her arms uncomfortably. She followed them to a screened-in back porch overlooking the river and the seething volcanoes just beyond. The three of them hunkered onto some tall wicker armchairs while Kokoye disappeared in what Charlie suspected was the kitchen.

Alastor and Brigitte were still teasing each other when the latter finally spoke up.
“Well? Surely you didn’t come all the way here just to say hi. That would be too much of an honor!”

Alastor took something out of his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table between them. Charlie winced as the slipper-shaped brooch, however deformed, clinked on the glass surface.
“I came across this curious little object. I think it might fall into your field of expertise.”

Brigitte took it cautiously, turning it over in her skeletal hands for a while. “Hmm. A woodoo artifact of considerable power, altough broken. Where did you get it from?”

“It’s a long story, my dear. What can you tell me about its functioning?”

A greenish aura emanated from Brigitte’s knuckles and enveloped the brooch.
“Hmm. Interesting.” she noted simply, her eye sockets absurdly emptier than usual as she took her time in a silent and occult analysis. When she was finished she put the brooch back on the table with a snap.

“So?” Alastor urged her, crossing his legs.

Kokoye had all the time to serve Charlie an enormous, steaming cup emanating an intense scent of mint before Brigitte spoke again.
“This object had a notable psychic charge, before it was deactivated. The kind that naturally settles in the objects of those who possess great power, but above all a great will. A bit like what happens in haunted houses: memories, fears, regrets, unfulfilled dreams, recurring thoughts, obsessions... all these things leave a trace. But there's more.”

Charlie noticed the way Alastor gripped the armrests, his eyes narrow with interest and impatience.
“This isn’t just a passive process. Whoever owned this brooch left something at the bottom. On purpose.”

“At the bottom?”.

Alastor nodded. “Yes, like a message in a bottle.”

Charlie weighed the demon’s words. The smell of jambalaya, the nightmare in the bayou, Annie singing to Alastor, the dance party, the wink… The memory of the dreams was hazy, made more of feelings than facts.

“Maybe it’s not an explicit message. It could be coded” Brigitte agreed, thoughtfully. “It’s not that unusual, when you don’t know where your message might end up. Didn’t you say you ‘came across it’, dear?”

“Indeed. Just before it was damaged, something extraordinary happened that I can hardly explain - you will be able to enlighten me, no doubt.” Alastor flattered her, propping his elbows on the armrests and clasping his hands. “My microphone seems to have… connected with this trinket, somehow. Transporting the princess and yours truly into a dreamlike dimension. Completely out of control.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing uselessly. “You… you were there too?” she finally asked. “I thought it was just a dream. I mean, my dream. Does that mean you also remember the labyrinth, the dance, the tunnel, the–”

“The carousel. Yes.”

A hot shiver ran through Charlie.
Alastor’s red eyes pierced her from above his clasped hands, the same color of the blood that had stained the carousel, the knife, his hands…
She glimpsed the demon’s teeth sinking into his lower lip, even through the screen of his clasped claws.

“E-erm.” Brigitte cleared her throat.

Charlie plunged her red face into her enormous cup, hoping the herbal tea would wash the residue of the drugs from her body.
Yes, she had to be high. As a kite.
That concierge, Evelyn, must have drugged her, somehow. Nothing else would explain the shiver and the odd arousal she got from the bloodlust she saw in Alastor’s eyes. They were just talking about a bloodbath, for fuck’s sake!

Charlie kept jugging. Noisily.

“It is possible that the brooch resonated with your microphone, yes.” Brigitte continued, tense. “Especially if there is a deep connection between you and… whoever possessed the brooch. Add to that the immoderate use of your power evidenced by the miserable state you were in when you dragged yourself here yesterday and–sacrebleu! Does that spirit of yours never stop moving!? I’m sweating like a sinner in church just looking at it! I swear, I'll never understand why you still carry him on your back like this!”

“What can I say?” Alastor smiled, enigmatic. “To each his own company.”

Charlie blinked, puzzled. She didn’t understand a single sentence coming out of Brigitte’s mouth, but for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of a sort of shadow behind Alastor. But it was just for the blink of an eye.

“Anyway.” Alastor continued. “It’s all very fascinating, my dear, thank you very much for the precious consultation. But it doesn’t solve our dilemma: how do we get to the message hidden at the bottom of the brooch? How do we find out what this talisman still has to tell us? I have the feeling that the brooch was broken before it could fulfill its purpose, and for that very reason.”

“Well, then whoever destroyed it knew exactly what they were doing.” observed Brigitte. “Who did it? And how?”

“A certain ‘Captain’” Charlie replied, since Alastor was silent. “Three dog heads, dressed a bit like a policeman, very powerful. Never seen before. Never heard of him.”

“The most powerful and smartest people tend to pull the strings from behind the scenes, like puppeteers, instead of starting a radio broadcast and appointing themselves Overlords” Brigitte sneered, shooting a malicious glance at a certain demon. “No wonder someone powerful enough to destroy this brooch is virtually a nobody, in Hell.”

Charlie shivered: it was true. Who knew how many demons were weaving their webs and waiting in the shadows for their chance. She felt a new fire ignite in her gut. “If only they came out into the open during the Extermination! They could turn the tides!”

“Oh, Charlie” Alastor intervened in a condescending tone. “Not even us Overlords intend to engage in this battle. And we rule over the territory angels invade once– no, twice a year, now.”

Charlie clenched her fists on her knees, trying to swallow the bitter pill. “But with this brooch we could at least get one out of hiding!”

“We must” the demon conceded, nodding. “Brigitte, dear. Any idea?"

“To make this junk work?”. Brigitte scowled. “Well, considering you've already established a psychic bond in the past... And with a little help from me…”

Alastor's smile widened.

“But it will cost you dearly, I warn you!” she added, holding up a finger. “I don't know if you can do what’s required, in your current conditions.”

“I'll help him.”

Brigitte turned to look at Charlie, her empty eye sockets filled with mockery. “You? Oh! And who are you to help? What do you know of spirits and their powers?”

Charlie had enough.

"I am Charlotte Morningstar, heir to the Infernal Throne".
She stood up slowly, emitting a burning aura like a silent, lethal threat. A familiar tingle started spreading across her forehead.
Charlie, on the edge of demon transformation, caught a glimpse of Alastor’s proud smile before addressing Brigitte again. “Hell is my kingdom and cursed souls are my people, spirits included! So watch your mouth and don’t get in my way, bitch!”

After an almost endless moment of silence, Alastor's laughter filled the porch. "Oh, now we've made proper introductions!" he clapped his hands. "Well said, my demon bell! Good girl, good girl indeedy!"

*

Brigitte’s workshop no longer resembled Lucifer’s. A rug had been laid out to cover the wooden shavings and the thick layer of sawdust. Curtains were drawn and a multitude of lit candles were scattered around the room.

“I must confess that double-dying in a fire is not on my to do list this week, ma chère” Alastor observed as Kokoye placed a large black candle next to a dozen incomplete carpentry plans piled in a corner. “Is this really necessary?”

Brigitte did not deign to answer and turned her back to him. When she faced him and Charlie again, she was clutching something that looked halfway between a paper lantern and a sort of mechanical box.
“Give me the brooch” she commanded, almost snatching it from his hand to place it somewhere among the box’s gears.
“The Alastor you are today is not capable of beating the Captain – and that's a fact. If you’ll stop boasting, for once, today you might even recover some pieces you lost along the way.”
The village chief placed the strange object in the middle of the rug. “Hold hands. Form a circle over the music box.”

“Erm… am I the only one here who has no idea what’s going on?” Charlie smiled nervously, reaching for Alastor’s hands.

He held them tightly, dozens of candles reflecting in his deep red eyes. His confident smile opened to reveal sharp yellow teeth.

“You’ll have to start the ball – well, the brooch – rolling” Brigitte continued. “Alastor, cast your mind back to the memories you share. Princess, follow him and lend him your strength. Beware: the realm you’re about to enter may not be made of memories alone. Other eyes may follow your movements and not appreciate everything you do.”

An eerie melody rose from the box at their feet as it began to spin, casting ever-changing shadows and lights.

“Realm!? Eyes!?” Charlie protested. “Where are we going? How are we going to get back?!”.
Her hooves suddenly left the ground. The feeling of floating over the carpet made her dizzy, a sinister breeze caressing her hair and exposed skin.

“The magnolia tree. What color were its flowers? Answer and I’ll get you out, not a minute sooner. Bon voyage, mon chère.”

Everything was swallowed by darkness.

Chapter Text

Charlie sat on a pile of dead leaves. All she could see from that position consisted mainly in Alastor’s legs, stretching - perfectly straight and steady - out of her field of vision.
The smells of the wild vegetation mingled with those of the nearby river. She could get a glimpse of it between the water oaks, at the bottom of the slope where Charlie and Alastor just appeared.
A sense of unreality enveloped her with a tingle when she realized she had no leaves or dirt to shake off, as soon as she stood up: her semi-transparent body seemed to simply pass through them.
“Alastor?” she called, mostly to make sure she hadn’t been robbed of her voice on top of her body mass.

“Hmm?”

“W-where are we?”

Alastor pressed a finger against his lips and narrowed his eyes. His deer ears swiveled from side to side.

Charlie perked up her ears—as much as anatomically possible. She thought she heard voices, in fact, from the direction Alastor was now walking towards.
They hadn’t been in the trees for more than a minute when Charlie caught sight of them: down on the bank, sheltered by a canopy of dark branches, two figures she had come to recognize even at that distance.

Her heart skipped a beat: it was Annie and Alastor.

Young, human, happy. Charlie found herself smiling with them. This Alastor couldn’t have been older than a teenager, and even sitting down you could tell he was almost as tall as his mother—which was no small feat. Their short brown hair still looked damp from the swim their old-fashioned bathing suits and the towel spread beneath them suggested. They were stretching their bare feet toward the Mississippi, the low rays of the afternoon sun glinting on its surface.

Charlie glanced at present-Alastor: he was standing with his back to her, motionless, one hand on the trunk of the elder tree they had stopped behind. Unreadable.

“Did I ever tell you that you have Irish blood in your veins?” Annie smiled, her teeth standing out against her dark, smooth skin. Charlie was surprised: she looked much younger than she remembered. Maybe because she was wearing no makeup and didn’t look as tired as in the previous visions. Or maybe because she had become a mother much earlier than she had initially assumed.

The dark-haired boy sighed. His voice sounded so young and somehow shrill, compared to the current one, that Charlie had to press her hands over her mouth to keep from giggling. “Sure, maman! And French, Haitian, blue, green, sheep…”

Annie hit him playfully with what looked like a musical instrument case. Teenage Alastor hunched his head, a familiar smirk on his young face as he tried to dodge the blow without much effort.
“Come on, big mouth! Help me out with ‘Soldier, Poet, King’!”

“Again!?”

Annie opened the case and shoved the guitar into his hands.
Young Alastor was already playing a few chords when Annie asked, her gaze caressing the placid glow of the Mississippi “Which one do you feel like the most, Alastor? Soldier, poet or king?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, pausing his preparations. “Well, only an idiot wouldn’t want to be king”
“Hmm. But I asked you which one you think you are.”

“Soldier, then.”

Annie grunted her disapproval.

Boy Alastor opened his mouth to answer, frowning, but was interrupted by a splash of water and a high-pitched laughter. Their owners were barely visible beyond the curtain of branches that surrounded mother and son like the walls of a cave, but their flirtatious tones left little doubt as to why they had ventured into such a secluded place.

“Shhht! Easy. They'll go away on their own, after we've given them some atmosphere” Annie said softly, placing a hand on Alastor's bare arm. He looked about to jump to his feet. “Now, I bet that boy would have answered ‘poet’! In front of her, at least. You’ll get it, eventually.”

“Are we going to make music or do you have to keep embarrassing me?” young Alastor rolled his eyes, picking up his instrument again.

Annie looked at him for a long time with her wide, doe eyes, before closing them. When she opened them again, they seemed filled with a golden constellation.

“There will come a soldier
Who carries a mighty sword
He will tear your city down
Oh lei, oh lai, oh, Lord

Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh, Lord
He will tear your city down
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh, Lord”

Young Alastor, his legs crossed to hold his guitar, rhythmically tapped his foot on the shore, splashing water here and there.
Annie kept singing rocking back and forth, her eyes almost shut as if she wished to hold the thousand golden reflections of the Mississippi between her long lashes.

“There will come a poet
Whose weapon is His word
He will slay you with His tongue
Oh lei, oh lai, oh, Lord

Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh, Lord
He will slay you with His tongue
Oh lei, oh lai, oh, Lord”

Charlie reached Alastor to stand beside him. Her eyes were wide, as if she wanted to take everything in: the branches swaying above them, the music dancing on the shimmering water, the vibration of guitar strings as young Alastor joined in the song.

“There will come a ruler
Whose brow is laid in thorn
Smeared with oil like David's boy
Oh you, oh you, oh, Lord

Oh she, oh lai, oh she, oh, Lord
Smeared with oil like David's boy
Oh she, oh lai, oh, Lord”

Charlie realized she was about to cry only when tears choked her and began stinging in her eyes. She rubbed them with her sleeve, her heart so swollen with sentiment it threatened to burst.

“Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh, Lord
He will tear your city down, oh lei, oh lai
Ohh

Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh

Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh”

“Such an angel voice, that woman.”

By the time music faded out, Charlie had definitely lost her battle against tears. She craved to look up at Alastor and tell him that her expectations on Earth and humans had always been high but no, nothing could have ever prepared her for that.
But all she could see of him was a blurry red spot. And all she could do was nod and sniff loudly.

“That's how I imagine it, y’know?” Annie's voice said, strangely distant, just before everything was swept away by a gust of wind, leaves and flashes of an increasingly incandescent gold.
“Just like this.”

“Hmm” young Alastor's voice seemed to agree.

For a moment Charlie wondered if they were about to fly off to the land of Oz. The breeze had turned into a whirlwind, clinging to her clothes and hair like a swarm of bats. She had lost her balance and her arms swung aimlessly. The free fall seemed to open a hole of panic in her stomach.

“Oh, Charlie” Alastor's voice said at some point, as the fall stopped abruptly. “We may be temporarily incorporeal, but if I were you I would avoid sitting on the pavement right during Mardi Gras. Its unparalleled filthiness has a reputation for ignoring every law of physics!”

When Charlie opened her eyes again, Alastor’s broad smile was all she could see, apart from the starry and absurdly dark sky behind him. The demon, who had an arm around her waist, helped her regain her balance while she looked around, dazed and fascinated.

They were in a human city now. A long street full of life, in the middle of what seemed to be a carnival, flanked by tall buildings with verandas decorated in curly wrought iron.
Dozens of masked people entered and exited the cones of light from the street lamps, laughing and shouting to the background of the chaotic jazz music slipping out of the open windows and doors. The few cars that somehow managed to circulate were low, rounded and shiny, a lot like Alastor’s convertible, and buzzed and backfired loudly.

The demon held out his arm for Charlie, his chest heaving in a deep, contented sigh.
“Ah, to be back! Brigitte has truly outdone herself! May I have the pleasure of introducing you to the French Quarter, ma chère?”

Charlie swallowed hard as she walked with him, her head light and her voice still hoarse from tears and fear. “I suppose you know where we are?”

“Oh, I’d recognize New Orleans blindfolded, believe me!” Alastor smiled, turning around to admire his city as if he hadn’t seen it in ages.

And it was - almost literally - like that, Charlie realized with bittersweet empathy. As far as her knowledge on the human world went, the city they were visiting was New Orleans as Alastor remembered it, around the 1920s.

He led her from street to street, pointing out first that general store, then that tailor, then that particular bench where he had once sat and eaten the best gumbo of his life (though he could never confess it to his mother, God forbid! Cross his heart!), so full of anecdotes that he seemed he could go on for days.
Charlie found herself peeking at his face more than once, smiling herself: Alastor's eyes shone with such a new and deep light that it was difficult not to share his enthusiasm, his childlike wonder, the euphoria that made him rush from one shopwindow to another. Not to count her own excitement: she always dreamed to visit Earth. 

“Ah, if only I could have you taste something!” Alastor sighed at some point, the tip of his nose and fingers passing through the windows of a closed bakery.

“It's okay, Al” Charlie smiled. “Your stories are enough. I trust your word.”

“HA!” he lit up a few moments later, slamming a fist into the palm of his other hand. “I know what we could do, even in this phantasmagorical form! This way, ma belle!”
Again, Alastor dragged her along with such energy that Charlie’s hooves barely touched the ground.

“Alastor, I have to ask you” she muttered when they got a little further away from the heart of the celebrations.

“Hmm?”

She tried not to think about it. Not to let that thought spoil that night - if you could call it that. But that unspoken question was already eating her up. 
“Who’s this Brigitte? And how did she bring us here? What is ‘here’ anyway!? We can’t really be on Earth, right? In the past, even!”

Alastor’s face seemed to darken slightly, despite his imperturbable smile.
“I told you: Brigitte is the closest thing to a goddess I’ve ever known. Maman used to tell me stories about her and other spirits when I was a child, ‘to honor her own maman’s traditions’ she used to say, ‘bless her soul’. In her stories she was described as a small, skeleton woman with long brown locks, wearing a top hat. Just as you saw her. Brigitte has always appeared to me, ever since I can remember.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “How? Why!?”
Apparitions from other realms weren’t that common on Earth, as far as she knew - and she had first-hand experience on that matter: she had tried so many times to visit Earth when she was younger. Easier said than done.

“She never spoke to me” Alastor shrugged. “Not until I died and we rejoined in Hell.”

Charlie shivered. She knew that death was a taboo subject for many, and that was the first time Alastor mentioned it with her. “And then?”

“Then?”

“What did she say to you?”

Alastor paused briefly. “She offered me tea. I refused, of course, I hate tea. Oh, here we are!” he changed tone suddenly, stopping in front of the wide open gate of a two-story mansion. “And just on time for Stella's partyl! Splendid! Oh, that woman is a real wild wire!”

Wind rustled through the banana trees and tore a few flowers from the bougainvillea climbing the facade. Charlie grabbed one in mid-air as they crossed the front garden, but the purple flower simply passed through her fingers and landed on the path behind them.
A languid melody unfurled from the keyhole-shaped door, as if inviting them to enter. Alastor didn’t need to be told twice, hopping up the front steps with Charlie still firmly anchored to his arm. The double living room of the neo-Greek villa was crowded with party-goers in sumptuous and glittering costumes. They spun on the dance floor, seeming to move as a single being, sewing the music onto their bodies through dance.

Charlie flinched. For a moment, she felt as if a mask with large black eyes was staring at her from across the room. But then a couple started dancing in front of her, blocking her view.

“May I have this dance, my dear?”
She searched the crowd at the back of the room once more before turning her attention to Alastor, bent in a bow and offering her his hand. A knot tightened in her stomach as he looked at her, a snarky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was sure she was blushing again.
“Do you know the Charleston, by any chance?”

“T-the what?”

The demon yanked on her hand, dragging her toward the dancing crowd. Charlie narrowed her eyes instinctively, bracing herself for the impact that never came. In a few moments they were in the middle of the dance floor, where gloved hands, heels, knees, feathered headdresses and every other type of appendage extended in the dance passed through their disembodied bodies - and vice versa.
Alastor dictated the rhythm with large and funny movements, while Charlie did her best to imitate him, laughing, and not get tangled in her own limbs.

“The only one who can drink like a sailor and keep up with me on the dance floor, who else? Alastor!”

That name caught Charlie's attention even in the midst of the hubbub. The one speaking was a blonde flapper right next to them, graceful and breathless from dancing. Gold paint dripped from her skin in large drops onto her coin-shaped costume.

Charlie raised her eyebrows: did that woman know Alastor in life? Was he well-known or…?
A couple of dance moves and the flapper disappeared as she appeared, swallowed by the crowd and leaving Charlie without an answer.

“Tired? Already?”. Alastor’s tease brought her attention back to him. He pulled her closer, holding her hands to switch to a more intimate style of dancing.

Charlie wished she, too, had a mask to wear when her cheeks caught fire. Alastor didn’t seem to miss that reaction: his smile grew wider, pleased, open, almost hungry, revealing his sharp teeth and a hint of the red, wet tongue just beyond.

The rhythm was getting faster. Alastor’s palms fit perfectly with hers. His nails dug into the back of her hand, almost drawing blood. The demon’s labored breathing tickled her neck, covering it in goosebumps just before the spin, when he pressed his chest against her sweaty back.

Charlie felt about to lose her mind.
The hall swirled all around them, shapeless as a fever dream.
Alastor stood out as the only real element against a backdrop of tin knights, drunken angels with their papier-mâché wings, Cleopatras wearing more diamonds than cloth, satyrs vomiting into flowerpots - and it.
Charlie's heart, throbbing in her ears almost in perfect synchrony with the music until that moment, seemed to skip a beat.

The mask with the big black eyes was still staring at her from the crowd. Now next to the flapper. Now from the staircase parapet. Now peeking from one of the columns. Floating in mid air.
Charlie felt her sweat freeze on her skin: it wasn’t ‘it’, it was them. A multitude of creepy white masks with deep black eyes were closing in.
Her mouth, perfectly dry, seemed uncooperative when she tried to call out Alastor’s name. They were still in the middle of the dance floor, now clear, spinning around the hinge of their intertwined hands.

A fleeting vision choked Charlie when she tried to scream again: Alastor’s silhouette had overlapped, if only for a moment, with a pair of long antlers in the background. They were from the costume of a man dancing right next to them, like them, passing through them with his partner like crazy, out-of-sync reflections.
Charlie held her breath as she recognized a fully grown, living, human Alastor, his face painted white to recreate the shape of an animal skull, the long fake deer antlers precariously balanced on his head. He too was spinning, he too was laughing, holding hands with his beautiful mother, dressed as a deer - and with one of those masks with big black eyes a few steps behind them.

BANG!

At first Charlie thought it was her own voice deafening her. Then a chorus of high-pitched screams drowned out even the first noise: there had really been a gunshot. Dozens of screaming people were running from the room through their ghostly bodies.

“Run” Alastor’s voice said as his hand tugged her toward the exit.

Charlie was grateful for their disembodiedness. The less fortunate humans stumbled and fell onto each other, forming a barrier of flesh, costumes and panic that blocked the passage - but not for Alastor and her. She was about to sigh in relief when something caught her eye, making her glance over her shoulder: one of the black-eyed masks was passing through the tangle of humans, just as they had a moment before. Charlie felt her blood run cold.

Alastor swerved and pulled her once more as they passed the garden and the gate, their breaths short, the claws of his other hand tightening around her shoulder. Charlie felt like she was suffocating when a black fog started swirling around their bodies.
“Shhht. Breathe, my dear, but slowly” Alastor whispered in her ear between short breaths, his gaze intently scanning the hundreds of people pouring out of the mansion.

Charlie did her best to control herself as her eyes slowly adjusted to the magical darkness. All she could hear was people screaming.
When the first of their pursuers passed through the gate and looked in their direction, she felt Alastor’s nails dig into her shoulder like a silent warning. The black-eyed mask turned and floated away.

It felt like an eternity. Charlie tried to calm herself down by focusing on the details of their surroundings: the word “FIRST” written a little further on the irregular sidewalk, the stars shining in the darkest sky she had ever seen over her head, the bored little girl rocking back and forth under the blossoming tree just across the street

A whistle.
Charlie was drawn to it as in the Pied Piper tale. Alastor turned towards it too: it was the same tune boy Alastor and his mother had sung and played on the riverbank, no doubt about it.
Man Alastor crossed the gate, still whistling. His fake antlers were gone, a top hat was now in his hands. He crossed the street and reached the girl.
“Ah, a perfect Maman Brigitte!” he commented, placing the hat on her head.

The girl lit up—quite literally, if Charlie’s eyes weren’t deceiving her. Human Alastor put a finger to his lips, waved at her mimicking to take off his already-absent hat and walked away, still whistling.
Charlie couldn’t take her eyes off the girl under the tree. There was something terribly familiar and melancholic about her, her dark eyes, the light that shone in her gaze, if only for…
She froze. The now-familiar feeling of sudden free-falling seemed to empty her insides as the girl, First Street, and all of New Orleans began to fade like a chalk drawing in the rain.

A howl pierced the night.

Demon Alastor’s hand tightened around Charlie’s shoulder as he sucked in a sharp breath.
She frowned: Alastor gasping? Fear crawled across her skin like a horde of spiders.
“A-Al?” she heard her voice shake. Dark was falling fast as notes of damp, vegetation and stale filled the air.

“We must go”.
The demon's voice came dryly. The lack of its radio filter magnified Charlie's fear, turning her blood into ice.
“Now!” he almost shouted, pulling his own ears.

Charlie backed away, slipping away from Alastor's protective shadow. She sensed movement at the edge of her vision: a mask had frozen on the spot. It turned in her direction, staring at her with its eyes as black as chasms.

The howls grew louder. Along with the barking and splashing of hurried footsteps in the bayou.
The mask floated in the darkness that had enveloped First Street, coming closer and closer.

Charlie opened and closed her dry mouth without making a sound.

The little girl on the opposite sidewalk seemed to look intently at something very close to Charlie now. A magnolia petal fell right on the top of her top hat.

“PURPLE!” Charlie cried.

New Orleans disappeared, the bayou disappeared and all that was left was a strong smell of sawdust.

Chapter Text

Charlie coughed up sawdust, on all fours. Whether she was blinded by some new spell or simply in the dark was revealed to her only when light flooded the room from the creaking door just opened. She blinked, still disoriented. Brigitte's workshop, not exactly tidy to begin with, looked even more chaotic than usual. Long wisps of silvery smoke rose from the candles as if they'd just been blown out, some of them lying in a pool of wax.

The village chief’s silhouette stood out against the rectangle of light from the door, hands on her hips and top hat askew on her head. "What did you do down there!? First you're gone for hours, and then you come back in this state! You didn't attract the Eyes, did ya!?"

"Are you talking about those fucking creepy masks?" Charlie snapped. "You should have been more specific! What the fuck was ‘the Eyes’ supposed to mean!? At least Alastor protected us with his shadow, otherw-" she stopped abruptly. Alastor was nowhere to be seen. He seemed in a terrible state when the dogs' barking got louder. Charlie's blood seemed to freeze in her veins when she wondered if he'd been inadvertedly left behind.

"Ha ha! That? Just a parlor trick!"
Alastor's radio-filtered voice filled the workshop when the demon emerged from the shadows gathered in the corner of the room.
"I'm curious: what kind of creatures are these ‘Eyes’ of yours? I'm afraid you owe us an explanation, my dear" he smiled, adjusting his bow tie.

Charlie couldn’t stop looking at him, dazed and relieved, while she got back to her feet. No one would have believed he experienced a panic attack merely just seconds earlier, if they hadn't seen him with their own eyes.

For a moment, the light from the corridor was completely obscured by Kokoye's imposing figure. The rooster demon entered and silently passed them, starting to pull back the curtains and restoring some order in the workshop.

"Let's reap the rewards of your little trip first, shall we?" Brigitte sighed, bending down to pick up two objects from where she'd placed the ‘music box’ at the beginning of the ritual. "I had to swap the first with a new one when your energy seemed about to shatter it. It was about to happen again, and we probably could have crafted a third one if the princess here hadn't shouted the password."

Charlie pouted and crossed her arms. "Sorry I tried to save us!"

Alastor approached, letting Brigitte pass him the first artifact. The paper walls that resembled a lantern had completely disappeared, revealing the typical circular structure of an old-fashioned music box. Instead of the usual little animals or spinning ballerinas, it featured a small hill surrounded by a perfectly circular stream of water carved with small waves. It was inhabited by two figurines, one with an open mouth, the other holding a guitar. Charlie leaned closer as the demon's fingers brushed the inscription at the base: ‘Heaven’.

"This appears to be the first message in the brooch," Brigitte explained pragmatically. "You can wind it up if you want."

Charlie didn't miss the way Alastor's knuckles paled around the edges of the music box.
"No need, my dear. Show me the second."

Brigitte obeyed while Alastor offered Charlie the music box with Annie’s and his teenage self’s miniatures. She turned it over in her hands, awed by that little wonder of magic and nostalgia. It was hard to believe that the event it depicted had happened over a century earlier, rather than that very morning.

‘“Ball'" Alastor read out loud, drawing Charlie's attention to the second artifact.
It depicted a dance floor this time, with dozens of small, masked dancers. The two figurines in the middle represented a young man with antlers spurting from his mask and a woman whose carnival outfit resembled a doe.

"Oh, the audacity of choosing a Wendigo, of all costumes!" Brigitte giggled, slapping Alastor's arm playfully. “You wanted to get caught, didn't you?”

“I wanted them to try”. Alastor’s smile widened.

Charlie glanced at the hand Brigitte had placed nonchalantly on his forearm before clearing her throat and speaking up. “Erm… nice! Now that we’ve gathered all the clues, we can move forward with our research! Thank you Brigitte, your contribution was really... something, but now–”

“Oh, but you haven’t gathered all of them, have you?” the other interrupted. “There’s still one left, thanks to a certain princess who shits herself at the first difficulty.”

Charlie inhaled sharply.
Ok, that was it. Fuck diplomatic formalities. More and more creative insults started gathering in her mind like storm clouds while her forehead tingled.

"Ladies! Ladies!" Alastor interjected. "We're all exhausted from this difficult morning. How about we take a break and get something to eat, hm? Oh, I'd kill for a jambalaya right now!"

Charlie didn't take her eyes off Brigitte's spiteful eye sockets.

"Alright" Brigitte conceded without breaking eye contact (Charlie shivered: wasn't that how sorcerers cast and maintained the most dangerous curses?)
"Kokoye, go prepare lunch and dust off the good china. We have very important guests today."

*

Charlie couldn't shake the feeling that ‘good china’ was code for some kind of poison. She only tried the jambalaya when Alastor himself fed her from his plate.

"Really, my dear? I wouldn't call it too salty! Here, have some of mine, you probably just had an unlucky portion."

Charlie made sure to maintain eye contact with Brigitte the whole time it took Alastor to stick his fork in her mouth ("Oh, I see you've got your appetite back! Th-that's my hand, darling.")
Caution be damned. It was worth cursing yourself to admire that little bitch's annoyed face.

Ding-ding!

A bell rang somewhere and Kokoye excused himself to answer the door.
“They came to see the village chief” he explained a few moments later. “Should I ask them to come back later?”

“No thanks, Kokoye, I’ll be right there. I’ve lost my appetite”. Brigitte tossed her embroidered napkin next to the half-eaten plate. “Go ahead and clear the table, please.”

Kokoye nodded, getting to work as Brigitte left the dining room.

“She should have waited until she got to know you better before proclaiming my friends are her friends. Ha!” Alastor chuckled, once Brigitte was out of earshot.

Charlie grunted. “It’s not my fault she’s all over me! What the hell am I supposed to do!?”

“Oh, there’s a lot you could do, actually. Thing is: would you do it?”
Alastor's grin had become almost obscene, now. His red eyes were almost closed over his intertwined fingers.
"I didn't know this side of you, my dear. May I confess how… adorable I find it?"

Charlie clenched her fists on her thighs, struggling futilely with the blushing taking over her cheeks. She sought refuge in the glass that hadn't yet been taken away, taking a long drink of water.
As she tried to look in every direction except Alastor's, she noticed Kokoye's continued absence. He was probably in the kitchen doing the dishes, judging by the splashing sounds.

Great. That was exactly the opportunity she'd been waiting for.

“Uh… I wanted to ask you something, Alastor.”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

“Brigitte... has she always looked like this to you?”.

Alastor tilted his head, the chain of his monocle dangling against his cheek.
“May I ask why you want to know?”

“Earlier, in front of the villa, after the ball... Didn't you notice the little girl you gave– I mean, human you gave…?”

“Oh, you mean that sweet little Creole girl I gave my top hat to? It’s been so long! Yes, I vaguely remember her making me think of our Brigitte. But nothing more.”

“Oh” Charlie sighed, sagging in her chair. So was the fact that the girl was right under the tree just a coincidence? Or was there a connection between the two that they couldn’t quite grasp yet?
“What about those masks, those… ‘Eyes,’ how she call them?” she tried again. “What was that dark, muddy place they were about to take us to? I think I’ve seen it before, in a dream.”
Seeing Alastor scared had seriously affected her. Getting him away from that place had taken priority over everything else. She hadn’t dared mention it to Brigitte, of course, not even when she’d blamed her for the partial failure of the ritual, and she didn’t think Alastor would mind that omission.

"I don't think the two things are necessarily related." Alastor began to dismantle it again, idly toying with a dirty knife. "The bayou and these Eyes, I mean. Am I right, ma chère?"
The demon raised his gaze to meet Brigitte's, who had just returned to the dining room.

The village chief sighed, crossing her arms. "You're not giving up, are you?"

"No. It’s not in my nature."

Charlie watched the two maintain eye contact as if it was a duel, a feral grin on one side and a hard expression on the other, until Brigitte seemed to finally give in.

“Alright!” she sighed, returning to her seat at the head of the table. “I’m not sure what they are either. Some kind of guardians, I suppose. Maybe even angels.”

“Guardians of what? Those things didn’t look like angels” Alastor bristled with interest, leaning forward to sit on the edge of his chair. Charlie thought his expression turned into the one of a cat stalking a wounded bird.

“Before we entered these memories, you said they might not like everything we did. What were you referring to? Enlighten me, please.”

Brigitte squinted her empty eye sockets in a conflicted expression. “These… music boxes… can only be generated by a strong emotional bond between the memory and the person recalling it. Today it was a little different, given the involvement of the princess and the brooch, but… in general, if the bond is really, really strong…”

Alastor awaited patiently while Charlie fidgeted on her chair. It was clear Brigitte had no desire to continue, to the point she was uncomfortable even to look at.
"...one could risk altering reality," Brigitte finished in one breath. "Changing events, at least slightly" she finished in a whisper.

For a moment, it was as if the entire Hell had fallen silent.

"Oooh" came Alastor's velvety voice.
The cat was definitely purring now, its tail still wagging languidly.
"Interesting. Very interesting. And how much longer did you plan on keeping these cute little toys for yourself, huh?"

Brigitte stood up abruptly, slamming her hands on the table.
"They're not toys, don't you get it?! They have the potential to condemn us all, if they've drawn Heaven's attention!"

Alastor chuckled, leaning back in his seat.
"You can't know that for sure. Besides, we're in Hell, chérie, have you forgotten? Isn't that punishment enough?"

Charlie bit her lower lip: she had to admit that she too recognized the usefulness of those artifacts. Those floating masks, those Eyes, had a terrifying and unspeakable aura, and that was undeniable.
But what if those music boxes were their secret weapon to stop the Extermination? Could she afford not to even try using them?

“Shit! I knew telling you was a bad idea!” Brigitte continued, shaking her head. “Listen, this is all speculation! I-I-I’m not sure of anything that just came out of my mouth!”

“A speculation from a mind capable of crafting such artifacts” Alastor observed, magically conjuring the ‘Heaven’ music box in front of them.

“What did we do to draw the Eyes' attention, though?” Charlie interjected, genuinely curious. “I don't think we altered reality in any way… I mean, we were incorporeal, no one seemed to see us, and then–”.
Realization hit Charlie like a bucket of cold water. A flash of understanding seemed to light up even in Brigitte's empty eye sockets—or was it panic? Charlie saw her mouth a silent ‘no’ and fell silent.

"Well, it looks like we hit an impasse" Alastor observed, standing up. "Maybe we should get out of the way, Charlie."

Charlie jumped to her feet. An endless chain of questions and answers was unfolding in her mind, like the one of a just-dropped anchor.
"Y-yes, just a moment. Brigitte, do you mind showing me the restroom?"

The village chief returned her gaze with suspicion. "This way."

Charlie followed her into the corridor.

"Hurry up, dear!" Alastor, left behind, raised his voice. "I don't think your dear daddy would understand if you ended up in a woodoo catfight under my protection!"

"Oh, there's no risk" Charlie thought, almost piercing the back of Brigitte's neck with the intensity of her gaze. "I got the upper hand now."
Charlie’s heart seemed to beat louder in her chest while she followed the other woman down the corridors of the mansion. For the first time since they set foot in that creepy fucking village, she felt in control. Yes, maybe she was being reckless, maybe she was risking to draw the wrath of the most powerful woodoo witch in Hell but– fuck it, it was worth it.
That bitch was getting on her nerves - and obstructing their investigations, for whatever reason.

Brigitte locked the door as soon as they entered. She had led Charlie into a study, very different from the dirty and messy workshop they performed the ritual in. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and a desk upholstered in green velvet was pressed against the only wall not occupied by bookcases. The shelves were filled with heavy tomes and jars containing disturbing objects that Charlie preferred not to identify.

“Speak” the skeletal woman ordered. “Alastor might have given me ideas. I was just thinking about giving a couple of my dolls a new hairstyle.”

Charlie curled one corner of her mouth, crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest bookcase before speaking. Brigitte could play hardball all she wanted, but she could sense the tension behind her sharp words.
“I knew I’d seen that adoring look somewhere before. Why didn’t you tell Alastor you were the girl he gave his hat to, under the magnolia? Are you afraid he’ll find out you were the one who attracted the Eyes?”

Brigitte fell silent for a few seconds. Then she snorted, a joyless smile opening like a wound on her bony face. “I admit I underestimated you, princess. But then again, birds of a feather flock together, right? Don’t think I didn’t sense the depth of your infatuation with him.”

This time it was Charlie who remained quiet, pursing her lips. She opened his mouth to retort that her feelings were none of her business, but Brigitte was quicker.

“And yet you’re still far from the truth. Did I slip into the body of my human self, revisiting the memory of our meeting in First Street? Yes, I did. Did I do it on purpose? No, obviously. It happens when the connection to the memory is too deep: I learned this the hard way. I barely escaped the Eyes that time, and since then I haven’t dared to set foot in that memory again.” She laughed bitterly. “Let’s not even get into the paradox of my name: with that hat on I reminded Alastor of the Brigitte I had yet to become! Ha ha! Stuff to lose some sleep over. And yet you’re surprised someone from higher up came to investigate my “toys”? Princess, listen to me and stop poking the bear. Forget about my music boxes, pretend you never knew they existed.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you ever tell Alastor that that girl under the tree was you? You had already met in life, so what? There wouldn't even be any need to mention the music boxes! What’s the point of hiding it?”

The village chief sighed. "Alright. I know you won't be convinced until you've seen it with your own eyes. You're that stubborn."
She turned to a display case and opened it with a key hanging from a lanyard around her neck. When the doors swung open on their creaking hinges, they revealed several rows of music boxes. They appeared in many different shapes and sizes but were all rigorously painted and lacquered, unlike the rough wooden ones they had created together earlier. Brigitte grabbed one and closed the case.

Charlie approached the desk Brigitte placed the music box on. This one depicted what appeared to be a wall-less bathroom, with a checkered floor splashed with a red liquid. At the center of the scene was a dark-skinned girl, a slightly younger version of Brigitte than the one under the magnolia in First Street. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes torn and pulled apart indecently.

When demon Brigitte wound the music box, a familiar tune emerged, strangely upbeat for the scene. The figurine began to spin, alternately raising and lowering its carved hands and face to mimic its weeping. A little further away, a miniature man laid facedown in a puddle of faded red, as if watered down, his trousers rolled down to his ankles and with his fat bottom exposed. He simply rotated passively around the female figure, as if trapped in her orbit, while the broken sink beside him splashed him with large wooden drops.

In a slightly larger orbit revolved a slender and completely black figure, the figurine of a man with a long knife in one hand and the index finger of the other pressed against his lips in the universal gesture of silence. He seemed friendly, cheerful, as if the whole thing were a performance for the little girl's amusement.

“I didn't get a good look at his face. I had identified him by his pseudonym, though: the Wendigo, the cannibalistic serial killer all over the newspapers. To us rape victims, he looked more like Archangel Michael fighting the Devil. But journalists didn’t care about our side of the story, of course. Don't get me wrong: Alastor enjoyed what he did, that much was clear, he was no angel. But when the people who should be your angels look the other way, it all comes down to the devil you know.”

The ‘Soldier, poet, king’ melody seemed to double, overlapping disharmoniously when Brigitte placed the first music box back in the display case and took out and wound a second artifact.
Same melody, totally different scene, except for Brigitte's figurine. Under the magnolia tree whistled a human Alastor, placing his top hat on her head. The mechanisms controlling the  gates to the villa opened and closed rhythmically, freeing or imprisoning dozens of trembling miniatures in an eternal, motionless flight.

"I recognized him by the song he was whistling" Brigitte explained. "The very same he was humming the day he saved me."

Charlie almost didn't hear the last sentence: all her attention was focused on the carved magnolia tree. It was the only thing that hadn't been painted yet.
"Brigitte…"
Charlie’s pupils danced between the little girl's figurine and the wooden tree. "You said these music boxes are created when you have a strong bond with a memory. Why didn’t you remember–?"

"Ah, yes, I said that." Sorry, Brigitte, dryly. "And yet I can't remember the color of those flowers. Strange, huh?"

Charlie gazed into Brigitte’s empty eye sockets. "You only had eyes for him. You really are in love with him, aren’t you?"

The corners of Brigitte's mouth twitched.
"Don't come out with such statements as if they were big revelations. Your intelligence didn’t make the best first impression, Princess, but I was starting to think again."

Charlie felt a tangle of emotions growing uncontrollably in her chest. Jealousy, bitterness, and anxiety crushed her from the inside, begging for an escape route.

She couldn’t take it any longer.

"Why didn’t you tell him you're the little girl he saved!? Why have you appeared to him his whole life without ever speaking!?” she finally lashed out, slamming her hands onto the desk. The music box rattled between her and Brigitte.
“Have you ever confessed your feelings to him, at least?! What do you think you're going to solve by staying holed up down here, in a village forgotten by the rest of Hell!?"

There they were. Those words, finally off her chest, still hanging in the air between them.

Part of Charlie was hurting for saying them out loud. Pushing Brigitte to confess her feelings was painful, picturing her and Alastor together much more so.
But she had to ask. No one deserved to suffer like that. And on a deeper level, Charlie sensed she had to know why she did.

Brigitte took a couple of steps and sank into the armchair. The music box in the case played out its last muffled notes and went off.
The woman ran a skeletal hand over her bony face, a silent laugh shaking her chest. “Damn, I can’t believe I’m actually having this conversation. With you, of all people.”

Charlie crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the desk, waiting. She had all the time in Hell. She wouldn’t let her off the hook now.

Brigitte smiled coldly when she finally sighed and met her gaze. “Let me ask you a question, first. Why do you think Alastor has never put two and two together? He’s clever, very clever, when he wants to be. How could he not recognize me in that little girl under the magnolia and on the bathroom floor before that, if even you could connect the dots? ”

Charlie decided to let the not-so-veiled insult slide, for once. “You’ve grown. And then you died. You changed quite a lot.”

"Nah, too easy" Brigitte shook her head and stood up. The carved Alastor placed his hat on the girl's head for the last time before stopping.
"We're invisible to Alastor, Charlie. All of us. No exceptions."

The music box stopped. Its last note seemed to linger in the air, a lonely ghost of the melody it used to be.

"Trust me, I've spent my entire afterlife building music boxes that would allow me to peek into his life, to return to those rare moments we shared – moments he doesn't even remember. Hoping to find a clue, a link, a lever to open that damned armored heart of his. Nothing! NOTHING! That man, that demon, is absolutely UNCAPABLE OF LOVE, CHARLIE!"

Charlie felt dizzy. As if her body was suddenly drained of all the blood.

"Oh, I would have settled for even familial love, at some point! For him to grant me AN ​​OUNCE of the affection he felt for Annie! But no, of course not: the demon buried that too. Oh, did you think I didn't recognize the brooch his mother always wore when she went out at night? A gift from Alastor, bought with his first paycheck as a WWL speaker! I'll tell you even what shop he got it from, if you like!"

Her tone had become shrill now, almost maniacal, as she paced the study.

"I don't believe you." Charlie barely heard her own voice, when it slipped from her lips.

Brigitte turned, a savage grin on her bony face as she closed the distance between them in two long strides and pushed Charlie against the bookcase behind her. A large jar swayed and fell from one of the higher shelves, crashing at their feet. An acid-green liquid spread its acrid odor throughout the study, the fleshy lump it housed splattered on the floor like a roadkill.

“Oh, sure, you are ‘special’! You are “different”!” Brigitte mocked her. “Tell me, Princess: how many times did he kiss you, huh? How many times did he hold you in his arms? How many times did you find yourself alone with him, silently begging him to mount you like any other gentleman would have the decency to do, only to find yourself staring at the ceiling from a FUCKING COLD AND EMPTY BED!? HUH!?”

Charlie was vaguely aware of something warm and wet rolling down her cheeks.

“As I thought. I really didn’t need to send you to the Last Chance to know that. Oh, sure, he loves the effect he has on us. He entertains us, amuses us, teases us, flatters us, provokes us—up to a point. Can you remember a single time he’s maintained physical contact with you for more than a few seconds, without abruptly pulling away? No? Ha ha! What a coincidence! ‘But you really know everything, Brigitte!’, ‘you must be a fortune teller, Brigitte!’”.

The skeletal woman craned her neck until the brim of her hat met Charlie's forehead and her tears followed the princess's, dripping onto her dress.
"He finds physical contact repulsive" she articulated, her voice cracking. "He's an ‘ace' as young people these days say. They’ve a word for everything, huh? And you ask me why I'm 'holed up’ down here? Why don't I 'confess my feelings’ to him? We don't need to sign a contract with Alastor, Princess, for him to own our souls. There's your fucking answer."

*

Charlie rushed out of the study alone.

Brigitte followed calmly, her heels clicking on the hallway floorboards.

Kokoye shot her a worried look from the kitchen, to which she replied with a shake of her head and a reassuring expression. She wiped her face with a handkerchief, just in case the bastard picked the worst possible moment to start worrying about her feelings.

She caught him rummaging through her workshop when she went looking for him. How surprising.
"Are you already trying to steal my secrets? I thought I made myself clear: you and your princess will have to look elsewhere for weapons. I’m not gonna support your stupid cause. I've already done everything I could for y’all."

"Ha! You caught me red-handed!" Alastor exclaimed dramatically, turning around with his hands raised. "I was actually looking for my brooch. I'd appreciate it if you'd give it back to me, my dear. Now."

Brigitte reached into the hem of her patchwork skirt and threw it at him. “You better chase after your princess before she does something particularly stupid.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his teeth bared in a silent warning. "Your girl talk sounded… intense. Any unexpected developments?"

"In a way. Your little doll proved smarter than I thought. Maybe there’s still hope for her."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me. Young Morningstar is full of potential!"

Brigitte let those words resonate in the room and in her mind with all their implications.

"Well, as you said, I don't want to leave Charlie wandering around alone, especially in that little dress. Thanks for the company, Kokoye—I might steal a few of your old-timey puns for my podcast, ha ha! See you soon, my dear."

The rooster demon handed Alastor his jacket and escorted him out.

Brigitte was about to reply with a sharp "To the next favor, Alastor" when a suspicious, magical glow drew her attention to the counter where she'd caught him snooping.
She heard the door close behind her guest as she reached out a skeletal hand to a music box she'd never seen before.
“Fils de pute!” she whispered, studying it carefully.

How did he learn so much about the creation ritual!? The miniatures were still rough around the edges, all right, but it was surprisingly well-made for a beginner with only a few minutes to craft. She loaded it.

“Hey, Kokoye! What’s this song called? Sacrebleu, these humans churn out way too many to keep up!”

“Hmmm… ah! ‘Sweet Dreams’ by Eurythmics!” replied Kokoye’s deep, velvety voice, brimming with enthusiasm. “Ah, the golden age of synthpop! Magnifique! ‘Video Killed the Radio Star’, ‘Maniac’, ‘What is Love”, ‘Running Up That Hill’…!”

Brigitte frowned. ‘Synthpop’, whatever that meant, didn’t sound like Alastor.
She continued to study the music box and its figures. Was that some kind of circus tent? And the two figures in the middle–
The artifact slipped from Brigitte’s sweaty hands with a thud and rolled on the counter.

Kokoye's voice echoed from the kitchen, singing over the clatter of dishes:

“Take on me!
Take on me!
Take me on!
Take on me!

I'll be gone
In a day or two

So needless to say
I'm odds and ends
But I'll be stumblin' away
Slowly learnin' that life is okay

Say after me
It's no better to be safe than sorry!”

Chapter Text

Charlie’s forehead rested against the cold glass of the window. Her eyes were unfocused, ignoring the landscape just beyond.
"Nice" she thought to herself. "Right out of an emo music video. Middle school Charlie would be so proud of me right now."
She had asked Alastor if there wasn't a quicker way to get back to the Hazbin Hotel. He said no, since he had no intention of leaving his favorite car in Woodoo Village.

The sky was too dark for that time of the day. A black cloud had risen from one of the nearby volcanoes and hidden the sun while they were still having lunch with Brigitte (another element TormentedPrincess666 would have loved, surely). The volcanic ash rain it produced was so insistent and invasive that Alastor was forced to close the convertible’s hood.

Charlie was wandering aimlessly when Alastor found her, after she stormed out of Brigitte’s house. She had retrieved her clothes from the village's modest laundry, asking the owner to offer her a place to change. Getting back into her usual clothes helped make her feel a little better.
She had walked the main street twice, from top to bottom and back, before heading to the riverfront. It was a place she would have found charming and inviting under any other circumstances, with its string lights and panoramic tables. But she was in no mood for its dance floor now, with its happy couples and old-fashioned romantic songs. She resolved to walk a little further before crouching on the river bank, at a safe distance from the lava.

It seemed she was the only one left out there when the volcanic ash settled like a blanket of black snow. Alastor must have called her name several times before she noticed his presence, because when she looked up at the hand he was offering her, it had already collected a thin layer of ash. She stood up on her own, avoided his gaze, and slipped into the car parked a little further. The objection about their means of transportation had been the only exchange between them.

Now the car was speeding through the desert between Pentagram City and the many, small, mostly abandoned towns like Woodoo Village that dotted it. The ash drummed ever more faintly on the hood and windshield, but it was still perfectly hearable in the complete silence that reigned in the car.

Charlie felt torn. Half of her was in pain, yes, and unmistakably so. But the other was ashamed, disappointed in herself. And the way she was clearly overreacting wasn’t helping at all.
Angel tried to warn her she was catching feelings for Alastor. She brought this onto herself. She had allowed herself to fantasize, to get too close to him, to feel something that most likely wasn’t mutual. To cross a line she, a professional, shouldn’t have.

She took a deep breath, trying to control her altered pulse.

Fuck. Her daddy issues made her look for love and connection in all the wrong places, she knew that. Typical Single Charlie™ behaviour. She should have known better.

“I love you whether or not you love me
I love you even if you think that I don't
Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you

But I don't mind
Why should I mind?
Why should I mind?”

Charlie grunted. That song reminded her of cigarettes, puffy hairdos, and colorful aerobics suits - other than the very personal situation she was trying to distance herself from.
"Can we change the station?".

The music shifted to a soft swing without Alastor moving a muscle, hands on the wheel and eyes glued to the road.
"Oh. Have we found our tongues again?"

"Not for long."

"Is it fair to ask the reason for this silence?"

Charlie bit her lip. "No."

Alastor nodded, his imperturbable smile reduced to a thin line.

There it was: that stupid, tingling excitement she felt whenever he talked to her, even in that situation. Charlie slumped back in her seat and sighed quietly, her back firmly turned on Alastor.

How could she be so stupid?

Brigitte and her warnings aside, it wasn't like Alastor wasn’t preceded by his reputation. Everyone knew of the Radio Demon, of his thirst for blood and power. Fuck, the only thing missing to make him the perfect embodiment of a red flag was a pole to hang him from!
‘He finds physical contact repulsive’. Brigitte’s words hit her like a slap, again, when Charlie’s memory brought her back to a lane she had no wish to visit.

There she was again, that night, in her room, when they were just beginning to discover the brooch’s potential, burns included. Alastor was holding her wrist to inspect the dressing on her palm, his breath short and smelling of rot.
What did she attribute his sudden escape to, that night? Embarrassment, resisting the urge to bleed her dry? Maybe both.
‘He finds physical contact repulsive’: those words hurt before they rang true.

The absence of any lover in living memory, the “neglected” women, as they called themselves, constantly surrounding him in Cannibal Town, the way he attempted to leave the Last Chance Hotel as soon as he realized what it was really about... It was all so obvious, in hindsight. Idiot-proof. And there she was: the ultimate idiot.Days of butterflies in her stomach, light-headedness, smiles and laughter, racing heart, the delicious torture of hoping for–

It didn’t matter. It never did, afterall.

*

Flashes, frantic screams, fists banging on the car windows.
Nothing the headache she woke up to welcomed warmly.

“MISS MORNINGSTAR!”
“YOUR HIGHNESS!”
“LOOK THIS WAY, PRINCESS!”
“IS IT TRUE THAT THE NEXT EXTERMINATION WILL BE IN SIX MONTHS, THANKS TO YOU!?”
“WHY DID YOU LEAVE PENTAGRAM CITY?”
“WHERE’S YOUR BUNKER?”
“WHAT DID YOU NAMED THE BABY?”.

Charlie blinked, disoriented. Where was she? Who were all those people? Why were they surrounding the car?
“W-what baby?” she mumbled instead, rubbing her eyes.

Her door opened, a familiar red overcoat visible just beyond.
"Miss Morningstar has no intention of making any statements at this time."
Alastor wrapped his arm around her waist as soon as she got out of the car.
"My podcast will resume very soon, I promise. We invite you all to tune in and know everything our Princess has in store for us. Big things are coming!"

Charlie pulled away from Alastor and the crowd of screaming reporters disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, both of them reappeared in the hotel lobby, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

"CHARLIE! Ma che cazzo! "

Angel, sprawled on one of the couches, was the first to run toward her, followed by Razzle and Dazzle. Husk simply glared at them both over his bottle while Keekee stretched on the bar counter. Alastor disappeared into his shadow before the welcoming committee even had time to reach them.

"Where the fuck have you been!? I called you a hundred times!” the pornstar exclaimed, showing his phone. “The Vees took advantage of your absence to start a shitstorm against you, it's on TV and all over social media!"

"I–". Charlie’s voice wouldn’t come out. The worry she could see in Razzle and Dazzle’s eyes, fluttering around her, suddenly felt too much to bear. Somewhere inside a fragile dam broke, and before she knew she found herself sobbing on Angel’s chest fur.

*

Charlie let her gaze wander on the flames in the fireplace, her cocoa starting to warm her from the inside too. Keekee had curled up on the sofa between her and Angel, rewarding them for their caresses with satisfied purrs.

“Just to confirm” Angel summarized, crossing his legs. “Your rival in love shouted all this stuff at you, correct?”

Charlie sighed, clutching her mug. “I wouldn't call her that. She never leaves her remote village. And it's clear Alastor is not interested in anyone, anyway.”

“That's exactly what I'd want you to think, if you were my rival” Angel smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Especially after seeing that pretty face of yours next to the man I’m horny for.”

“I don’t know, Angel.” It was clear he was doing his best to cheer her up (which she was immensely grateful for, by the way) but she didn’t want to lie to him. “Her arguments seem very… sincere. Realistic. I mean, it does add up, doesn’t it?”
Only when Angel fell silent did she realize how much she’d wanted him to contradict her. She finished her cocoa in one gulp, clacking the mug on the coffee table. She had refused the vodka shot Angel offered her first, but part of her wished she hadn’t. At least she could have blamed the tears she felt burning in her eyes on the alcohol now.

“Listen, dollface. I’ve been in showbiz for a while now, and you have no idea how many times people talked shit behind my back. That’s what jealousy does to people.”
Angel winked, leaning back on the couch. “Point is, people like to talk, and labels are not nice when they’re forced onto you. Many weren’t even a thing in my day, I swear I’m still catching up, it’s neverending. Have ya ever heard Alastor call himself a… what was it again? Sexless?”

“Asexual. A person who feels no sexual attraction, or at least not the way most people do.” Charlie corrected him, embarrassed. “Some of them cannot even tolerate being touched. Sexless is when you don’t have any… you know.”

“Oh. Oh! Better! Way fucking better!” Angel sighed, visibly relieved.

Charlie bit her lip. She would have laughed, had she not been so uncomfortable.

“Anyway, you’ll never find out if you don’t talk to him directly. I may be playing devil’s daughter’s advocate here, but I wouldn’t trust that bitch. This Brigitte seems like some kind of magical stalker to me.”

Charlie sighed, unconvinced. “But how am I supposed to ask him? It’s such a delicate, personal question. You know he doesn’t share much. What would stop him from lying, anyway?”

“Can’t trust his words? Let facts speak for him! And speaking of facts: he does touch you, Charlie. A fucking lot, for someone who’s supposed to be touch-repulsed.”

Charlie bent her legs and surrounded them with her arms. She sighed, resting her chin on one knee, lost in thought.

Angel was telling the truth. It wasn’t uncommon for Alastor to pat her on her head, put an arm around her shoulders and stuff like that.
But touching someone in a romantic way was entirely different. And he never allowed her to touch him . Not that she tried. Being on the receiving end had always been enough for her - until now.

"Honestly, Angel, I-I don't know if I can even do this. What if I cross boundaries I shouldn't? I'd hate not to respect someone for who they truly are. And it’s not like I’m not hurting already. If I’ll expose myself again..."
Charlie flinched. The word ‘repulsive’ just came to her mind out of the blue, sharp and merciless.

Angel leaned over to rest a hand on her shoulder. He gently turned her face with the other, looking her in the eye with a very serious face.
"Charlie, you managed to get him to brus h his teeth . There’s nothing you can’t do at this point."

He actually made her laugh this time.

*

It had been dark for a while when Charlie peered out of her room's windows again. The crowd of journalists gathered around the hotel had only thinned, not dispersed. At one point, Charlie had even feared a kidnapping case she knew nothing about was unfolding: a helicopter had circled the upper floors for several minutes. Her curtains had remained closed ever since.
She didn't have the guts to turn the TV on. And she was in no rush to find her phone, which had been missing since she'd jumped in the car with Alastor toward Woodoo Village. She wasn't in the right state of mind to worry about the Vs' latest ploys to discredit her at the moment.

Charlie's gaze flicked to the door next to which Razzle and Dazzle were standing guard (read: snoring, huddled together). It felt like it was staring at her, telepathically commanding at regular intervals: “Chaaarlieee! Isn't there someone you should go and talk to, like you promised?”
She threw herself onto her bed with a groan.

It was always so easy, listening to Angel. As if only her feelings were at stake. Would she even be able to redeem Alastor if he wouldn’t reciprocate her feelings? Would she handle the new storm of sadness that would inevitably overwhelm her?
She felt horrible for even thinking such things. Yes, somehow she would, she told herself, rolling on her back to stare at the string lights over her bed. She would have to.

A burning feeling grew in her gut, spreading to her chest: she wanted to see him. Badly.
Wasn't that absurd?
She ignored him for hours, just that afternoon. She even tried to publicly push him away, as soon as he touched her. Alastor could have lied to her, he had most likely toyed with her feelings, and he would do it again. Yet the need to see him again, to hear his filtered voice and the comfort of his presence made her restless.

The muffled voices from the street level raised their volume and Charlie snapped back to reality. She returned to the windows and pulled back the curtains just enough to notice a new stir among the reporters. They were now surrounding the van a postman was exiting, looking as if he hated his job more than ever. He was struggling through the crowd with a large package in his hands, so slowed down he could barely move from his starting point.

Charlie opened the window very slowly, to draw as little attention as possible.

"What is it about? Can you at least give us some information about the sender?" she could hear a reporter question him.
"CHARLOTTE MORNINGSTAR! Unless that's your name, I'm not paid to give you shit!"

"Razzle! Dazzle!" Charlie said half shouting, half whispering.
The two demons opened their eyes, stretching and yawning.
"Sorry to wake you, but could you do me a little favor?" she smiled, desolate.

Less than a minute later, she was already struggling with the packaging. She'd closed the window right behind Razzle and Dazzle's tails, who had dropped the package onto the floor. ‘FRAGILE’ was written on its label, which a very panicked Charlie read too late.
"Shit, shit, shit!" she cursed under her breath. The amount of old-fashioned wrapping paper and string she was struggling with was insane. By the time she finally managed to open the package, Charlie had mentally prepared herself to assess the damage.

The first clue to the package's contents froze her in place: a rough wooden frame draped with sheets of paper, miraculously intact, depicting various glyphs.
Charlie dug her hands into the box to grab the object from its circular base, extracting it with the care one would use with a newborn baby. She stared with bated breath at what she recognized as the embryo of a music box, kneeling beside the open but not yet empty package. A sheet of paper still laid at the bottom, covered in an old-fashioned handwriting that made the ink dance in wide flourishes.

‘This is not a gift. I’m merely repaying a debt" the opening read. But Charlie's eye was caught by something else: there was another music box, at the bottom of the box, and this time perfectly formed and developed.
Charlie leaned over the cardboard edge to study it, her expression changing dramatically as the rough wooden figures gradually took on meaning.

*

"ALASTOR!"
Charlie continued to pound on the demon's locked door. "You have to come to my room, right now! We're ready for the third one!"

"Do you really have to boast like this?" Angel's head peeked out of a half-open door a little further down in the corridor. "Three rounds isn't that many, doll!"

Charlie glared at him. "Do you know where’s Alastor? I haven't seen him since we got back!"

"Shouldn't you have spoken to him by now?"

"Angel! Do you wanna help or not!?"

"I'm not so sure anymore babe, if this is your way of thanking me!" he frowned, crossing a pair of arms over his silk robe.

"Sorry, Angel," she sighed, tense. "But this is important. Very. Annie's soul could be at stake. And then– wait, wasn't your room on a different floor?" she interrupted herself, squinting her eyes to identify the dark room Angel peeked from. "Who's on that bed?"

"’NIGHT ‘NIGHT, CHARLIE! GOOD LUCK ON YOUR THIRD ROUND, BABE!"

The door slammed shut just inches from her face. Charlie sighed again before spinning on her heels. Unless Alastor was in that bed (now, that would have been a dramatic turn of events), she had nothing left to do here. She let her hooves lead the way, her head pounding like it was about to explode. She couldn't stop thinking about that music box, the two figures at the top, the expressions on their small carved faces–
“No” she thought to herself, pressing a hand to her chest as if it could help slowing down her racing heart. "Don't get your hopes up."

When Charlie heard the familiar clinking of bottles and glasses coming from the lobby, she associated it with a sense of comfort and familiarity: Husk at his bar, one of the few certainties of the Hazbin Hotel. She was twice surprised when she heard Alastor and Niffty's voices echoing off the high ceiling of the lobby,and theirs alone.

"It's been a while since I've seen you go all out like this, sir!"
"Oh, my dear. Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it doesn't happen. When the pussycat’s around we end up discussing business most of the time. So his bar isn't my first choice for a refreshing drink. But you know, when the cat's away..."
"...the mice are SLAIN! HA HA HA!"
Some of the following noises didn't bode well for the local rodent population.

"Now leave us, Niffty. I have a feeling Miss Morningstar has come not to talk to me."

Charlie was startled. How did he notice her, quietly crouched behind the handrail!? She got up and descended the last flight of stairs, trying to regain some composure.

Alastor sat on one of the bar stools, his long legs spread in a relaxed pose, a glass half-full of whiskey in one hand. The bottle he'd probably poured it from was still coated with a thin layer of frost. The demon was using the part that melted to draw wet circles on the counter, absentmindedly.

Charlie wished she hadn’t noticed his bowtie was undone when she stuttered: "I-I know how to find the third message in the brooch!"

An unexpected sense of triumph filled her chest as she watched the demon's smile go from mocking to astonished, and then from astonished to pleased.
"Now that 's my Princess!"

Chapter Text

Charlie remembered that lesson with unusual clarity. She was in high school during her sophomore year, shortly after the golden age of TormentedPrincess666.
Seviathan had returned from summer holidays with a new haircut that turned some heads in their class - Charlie’s included, of course. She was sketching his portrait on the edge of her Humanology book, as the professor went on with his monologue.

“Death is a focal point for all humans, dead or alive. No hellborn can claim to fully comprehend it: it is an absolute, unique and unrepeatable moment, an end and a beginning, a metamorphosis, the completion of the work called human being.”

Her drawing was horrible, she knew it. Yet she kept thinking that, had she continued to shade his eyes or jawline, she would somehow work a miracle.

“As such, it leaves an unparalleled imprint on a soul’s afterlife. It defines their appearance, their abilities, even their psyche, in some cases. Here lies the most common mistake, in fact: to consider death a past event, instead of a moment stretching into eternity.”

Charlie looked up at the professor. The lesson had become a little too convoluted to go along with her lighthearted sketch.

“There are many documented cases of souls being erased from the face of Hell by the mere memory of their earthly death. Heart attacks, suicides, violent deaths of various types. The hows are many, it’s the why they all have in common”.

“Professor…?”

“Yes, Miss Morningstar?”

Charlie coughed, embarrassed by the collective attention, but she would overcome her shyness, at least this time. It was her job as princess of Hell to learn about that sort of thing. Protecting her people took priority.
“Why do these souls… well, let themselves be dragged down by their earthly death? Why don’t they just… move on, once they’re here in Hell?”.

The professor gave her a long, silent, understanding smile before answering.
“Miss Morningstar. Do you think you could survive the day that damned you for all eternity? That caught you at your weakest, tearing you away from everything you loved?”

*

Charlie was on all fours, a piece of charcoal between her sweaty fingers as she traced the probably largest and certainly most crooked pentagram of her life.
She almost wished Alastor would make one of his sarcastic remarks about her poor drawing performance. The demon paced up and down the radio studio, rhythmically clicking his microphone and sipping a coffee. Even with his best smile plastered on he looked clearly troubled and restless.
She sat up and removed a lock of hair from her face to take a good look at her work.
“Okay, we're almost there. All that's missing now is the candles. Brigitte specified that–”

Alastor made five black candles appear around the pentagram with a snap of his fingers. One more and they lit up, giving the studio a warm and disturbing atmosphere at the same time.

Charlie let out a shaky sigh: they were almost ready. Why was she so tense? Brigitte’s instructions were very clear, but it wasn’t like she performed woodoo rituals every Tuesday.
What if something went wrong? What if they ended up back at the exact moment they ran away from? Who would get them out of trouble this time?
She had a bad feeling. This couldn’t all be a ‘magical stalker’’s plan to get rid of a rival and perhaps even of the object of her hopeless love. Or could it?

“No point in dawdling now, my dear.”.
Alastor's voice brought her back to reality. His smile shone in the candlelight as he stepped forward, adjusting his bow tie.
“Shall we begin?”.

Charlie forced herself to stare into the demon's blood-colored gaze. She felt her stomach twist, as if the tip of a knife were slowly sinking into it.
“Alastor… you know what we're getting into, right?” she forced herself to ask.

Something seemed to jolt behind the demon's eyes, before they closed in laughter.
“Hahaha! My dear… I wish I didn’t.”

Charlie's stomach tightened to the point that she feared her dinner would soon come up to say hello.
“Are you sure you want this?"

“Seeing my mother again?”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed, two cracks open on the deepest, hottest of hellfires.
“More than anything.”

Charlie took his hands.

The candle flames started flickering. The music box at their feet started spinning, spreading a discordant and sinister tune. A chill draft wrapped itself around their ankles, rising to shake their clothes and hair.
A sound similar to that of a scream grew in volume and pitch as Alastor’s hands tightened their grip on hers. The room spun around them in smudged spots of light and shadow.
Charlie flinched when she gazed up at Alastor to find three pairs of eyes looking back at her, glittering above as many grins: Demon Alastor, Human Alastor, Shadow Alastor. Their hands all converged in hers.
When the scream that Charlie finally recognized as her own reached the note of a boiling tea kettle, a new gust of wind grabbed them with its enormous, invisible claws, dragging them into the darkness.

“The moon and you appear to be
So near and yet so far from me
And here am I on a night in June
Reaching for the moon and you”

Charlie found herself under a starry sky, dry grass under her back. She propped herself up on her elbows, dazed. Chicadas cried in the distance, slowly overtaking the ringing in her ears.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Alastor springing to his feet, just beside her, tense and with his microphone held slanted in front of himself.
She stood up too, looking around warily.

‘Louisiana State Police—New Orleans, Precinct 10’ read the sign in front of a seemingly harmless two-story house. An old Victrola phonograph could be seen on one of the windowsills, under some colorful, striped awnings. Its melancholy music crept up to them in the hot summer night.

“I wonder if we'll ever meet
my song of love is incomplete
I'm just the words, looking for the tune
reaching for the moon and you”

The door to the police station swung open, revealing two figures hurtling down the front steps with something bulky in their arms. Charlie’s heart sank: it was human Alastor and Annie, although older and more battered than when she’d last seen them.
Annie was wearing a long dress, torn in several places. She limped noticeably, and her gray hair was in disarray over her shoulders.
Alastor looked slightly better, although his glasses were broken and his shirt was stained with blood in several places.
Charlie shivered. This last detail cast the sack they were carrying in a different light. It easily had the length and shape of a body, and the weight too, judging by the way the two skinny humans put it down it at the bottom of the stairs to catch their breath.

“I wonder if we'll ever meet
my song of love is incomplete
I'm just the words, looking for the tune
reaching for the moon and you”

"W-we can't… be seen here!" Annie gasped, frantically looking around. "Damn, you really had to pick a… a full moon night… to come and free me!?"

Human Alastor's chest shook with a breathless laugh.
"I'll make sure to check… the lunar calendar… before my next murder, maman!".
The smile he revealed as he raised his face to the sky was a little too reminiscent of his demon self, Charlie thought.

Rustling of leaves, followed by a bark.

"What is it, boy?" a male voice echoed in the brush beyond the building, distant but surprisingly loud in the wide open space. "You smell anything interesting?"
"Neil said there are still deers in these woods!" said a second voice.
"Yeah, and I'm Greta Garbo! Alligators ate ‘em all when the woods sank into the swamp, you idiot!” added a third.
"Well, this part's still afloat, innit!?" the first one protested.

"Merde! This way!" Annie nodded, lifting her end of the sack again.
Charlie and Alastor followed the two humans as they fled from the bush, dragging the body away from the road and down the slope where the police station stood. They weren't even halfway down when the sack slipped from Annie's hands. Human Alastor let it roll into a depression a little further down, where it crashed into a rock with an unpleasant snap.

"Merde!" Annie reiterated, clenching her fists.

"You can't help me" human Alastor murmured, matter-of-factly. "You're hurt, you'll only slow me down. Go home. I'll get rid of the body. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

“Alastor, no! No way! Leave Neil alone, come with me! They'll kill you on the spot if they catch you this time!”
Annie tugged at her son’s vest without moving him an inch.

Human Alastor kissed her cheek before walking away, towards the body.
“Good night, maman.”

Demon Alastor followed suit while Charlie reached Annie instead. She never had the change to have a good look at her and she felt drawn to her, now more than ever. 
She was still such a beautiful woman. Even the immense pain she was visibly in and the bruise under her left eye couldn’t dim her grace. Her full lips trembled imperceptibly and tears hung on her lashes like dew. She blinked several times in the attempt to get rid of them but they wouldn’t stop coming. Her eyes didn’t leave her son while he walked into the bayou, lingering on its tree long after he disappeared.

Charlie looked away, overwhelmed. She followed her own Alastor when he, too, entered the thick vegetation, chasing his human self. Part of her felt like a coward for leaving Annie in that state, but it couldn’t be helped. Everything around her was just a memory, as she had to remind herself. And, most importantly, they still had a message to find.

A howl.
It brought something back to her mind, as she advanced among the oaks bending toward the water they were born from. A distressing, oppressive nightmare that tasted like an inevitable fate.
“Alastor! ALASTOR! “ she found herself calling. Her head was spinning, panic flapping its wings like a dove trapped in her chest.
She almost fainted with relief when she spotted a reddish figure further away, on an islet beyond the reeds to her left. She sprinted in its direction, as fast as the swamp allowed her to. Moonlight was barely penetrating the branches now, contributing to the impression of floating in a landscape of darkness and smoke.

A new howl, followed by a bark.

Human Alastor dumped the body onto the islet. A lifeless arm escaped the makeshift sack, resting on the muddy bank.

Charlie felt a shiver run through her body like an electric shock. Was it a trick of the light or were those antlers she saw emerging from human Alastor’s head? A blink of an eye and they were gone. No, they must have been just shadows from the branches above.

Human Alastor sat down, panting. "Some well-deserved rest, at last. What do you say, old man?" he smiled at the corpse beside him.
Charlie tried not to look at the lump of flesh and broken bones protruding from the flaps of cloth. What could have reduced a human being to that state!? She decided to fight off the retching by concentrating on the hat that had escaped the sack, rolling a little further away on the islet. It was a dark and crumpled police cap.
"How about a nice refreshing bath, mh?"
A few kicks and shoves later, the battered body was swallowed up by the marsh. A few barks later, the body had already sunk in a multitude of bubbles.

“The moon and you appear to be
So near and yet so far from me
And here am I on a night in June
Reaching for the moon and you”

Demon Alastor slowly made his way up the islet. He sat next to his other self, his eyes closed as he smiled and sang along with his human counterpart.

“I wonder if we'll ever meet
my song of love is incomplete
I'm just the words, looking for the tune
reaching for the moon and you”

The chorus of two identical voices made Charlie's skin crawl. The two Alastors swayed in perfect synchrony in the moonlight: human and demon, body and spirit, covered in blood and immaculate in his blood-red suit.

New howls and barks, claws scraping on roots. Excited voices.

“ALASTOR!” Charlie cried, turning in the direction of the now too-close pursuers. “We must go!”
She had no intention of witnessing the spectacle that was about to follow. Nor would she let Alastor.

‘Professor?’
‘Yes, Miss Morningstar?’
‘Why do these souls… well, let themselves be dragged down by their earthly death? Why don’t they just… move on, once they’re here in Hell?’
The professor gave her a long, silent, understanding smile before answering.
‘Miss Morningstar. Do you think you could survive the day that damned you for all eternity? That caught you at your weakest, tearing you away from everything you loved?’

The memory popped into her head like a jack-in-the-box. Charlie turned again and gasped helplessly while demon Alastor’s figure overlapped its human counterpart until they seemingly became one. Only an eerie glow betrayed the presence of the demon’s spirit in his mortal body.

“I wonder if we'll ever meet
my song of love is incomplete
I'm just the words, looking for the tune
reaching for the moon and you”

An Eye opened in the dark of the bayou.
Charlie felt its gaze pierce her like an arrow. She backed away, tripped over her hooves and fell in the mud without raising a splash. The white mask with its deep, empty eye sockets floated toward them, followed shortly by two others.

“Oh, I told you it was a deer! Didn't you see those antlers?”
The voices were getting closer, together with the barks, the frantic sloshing of footsteps and the light of a torch cutting through the dark in quick, irregular beams.

Charlie got to her feet, staggered hastily to the top of the little island and threw herself on her knees before Alastor. They were getting surrounded by hunters on one side and Eyes on the other.
“ALASTOR! WE MUST GO, NOW!”
A bubble of panic burst inside her chest as her disembodied hands went right through the two overlapping Alastors. The glow surrounding his body was barely discernible now.

Human Alastor continued to sing, looking at Charlie without seeing her.
The full moon was reflected in pieces on the broken lenses of his glasses, and covered in small specks of blood.

“The moon and you appear to be
So near and yet so far from me
And here am I on a night in June
Reaching for the moon and you”

Alastor began to blur. So did the islet, the tree trunks, the slimy surface of the water.
Charlie gasped, her hands solidifying before her eyes: she was returning to reality. Alone.
The masks were a few feet behind Alastor when Charlie stood up and turned her back to it. Tears stung her eyes as a fire blazed inside her, exposing her fangs, tail and long, curved horns.

“NOT ANOTHER STEP!”

The familiar feeling of waves of power spreading from the core of her being reached the tips of her fingers when she spread her arms. Just like she did that time at the theme park, in front of the hellhounds. Just like she did in the scene represented in the fully-formed music box Brigitte sent from Woodoo Village. Her figurine was standing on the very top of it, her arms spread protectively in front of a wooden Alastor who stared at her with wide eyes.
Charlie couldn’t believe her eyes when she first saw it, at the bottom of the package. Brigitte said music boxes could only be generated by a strong emotional bond between the memory and the person recalling it, and since she had no memory of creating it, it could only mean one thing.

Charlie spun on the spot, turning her back to the dogs. The hounds were crouched, ready to pounce.

Human Alastor seemed to focus on her for a moment, just before the demon’s soul leaped out of his body and lunged at her.

Charlie smiled. Something brighter and warmer than her blazing power seemed to bloom in her chest when Alastor grabbed her by the jacket and held on to her. She surrounded him with her arms. 

She felt pulled backwards. The masks, the bayou and the attacking dogs vanished and everything went dark. Alastor’s nails dug deep into the fabric of her jacket while the hounds’ growls gave way to a symphony of jaws, flesh and pain.
A moment stretching into eternity.

BANG!

They landed still clinging on to each other. They rolled and floundered in the dark, lit only by the blood-red sky beyond the radio tower windows.
Alastor turned to the side and vomited profusely. Charlie quickly kneeled beside him to pull his hair away from his face. His chest rose and fell in the long, deep breaths when he finished, in between coughing fits. She watched him wipe his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket with his free hand. The other one was still clinging to Charlie’s jacket. They were both shaking.

None of them said a word.

Later, Charlie couldn’t tell how long she sat in silence next to Alastor, watching the wisps of smoke rise to the ceiling from the extinguished candles all around them. Nor how Alastor’s head ended up resting on her chest. Her fingers stroke his hair, gently.
“It’s okay,” she only remembered whispering. “It’s okay. It’s over. You’re home.”

Thanks Meowtcha for this amazing artwork! <3