Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sivvy weaved through Vee Town, doing her best to avoid the crowds. She never understood why demons gathered outside VoxTek shops to watch the same three commercials loop endlessly across glowing screens. Yet dozens still stood there, willingly brainwashing themselves with every flashy jingle and product pitch.

Clouds rolled in overhead, thick with the stench of sulfur. She’d checked the forecast that morning and thrown on her acid rain-proof jacket—Hell’s version of practical fashion. Still, she didn’t want to get caught in the downpour. Adjusting to the weather down here was just one of the many little joys of damnation.

It was always hot and humid in Hell. Something was always burning. Whether it was a building or a random person.

A demon, she corrected herself. They were demons. She was a demon.

She had only been in Hell for a little over a year. Blending in was a matter of survival. It didn’t take long to realize newcomers were often chewed up and spat out by Hell’s culture.

She passed another storefront and checked her reflection. She still hadn’t gotten used to her new body as a demon.

Her features were deerlike: two large, expressive ears that twitched at distant sounds, and two small horn nubs sprouting between them. Her hair had turned an orangish hue, swept to one side with an undercut on the other—one horn hidden, the other exposed.

Her feet had become hooves. Thankfully, Hell’s shoe stores catered to all manner of bestial anatomy. Beneath her jacket, her skin was now covered in soft orange and white fur, dappled with white spots like a fawn’s.

She wore big, round-rimmed glasses. Her green eyes looked even larger behind them.

She adjusted her jacket, pulling up her collar and continued on her way. As she walked, she noticed for the first time, a shop right beside one of the more popular VoxTek Stores with a shoddily nailed sign over the name of the shop, reading ‘Old Crap’. She peered into the window and saw a variety of vintage items: gramophones, record players, radios. Intrigued, she stepped inside. The shop reminded her of an antique store on Earth.

The walls were lined with shelves, some holding radios and equipment, some with selections of vinyl records, and others with antique curiosities—tin toys, jars filled with strange liquids, and worn leather-bound books that crackled when opened.

What caught her attention was a large display of antique radios, several of them very old. She stepped up to the case and admired each of them. One had a beautiful cherry wood case with a brass-plated stereo and intricate designs. She turned to the cannibal running the shop.

“This one is rather beautiful,” she admired.

“Indeed,” the cannibal replied, walking around the counter. “All of our radios have been expertly restored by the shop’s owner--”

As if on cue, the door opened, the bell above ringing softly. A tall demon, wearing a red pinstripe suit walked in. His hair was a striking pink with black tips cut in a bob. Two tall, pointed ears stuck out the top of his coif with two small deer antlers. A sharp toothed grin resided permanently on his face, baring yellow teeth.

She recognized him instantly—his face had once grinned from old posters, and his name still rode on whispers like smoke.

“Speak of the devil,” the cannibal said, smiling at the Radio Demon. “I was just telling this young lady, here, about your fabulous radios. It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Greetings, Vincent, looking well,” the Radio Demon said, his voice covered in a radio filter. He walked toward them, his microphone cane rapping on the wooden floor. “Yes, I do recommend that beauty. Sounds just as it did when it was made.”

Sivvy smiled politely. “It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a radio quite like it.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart,” Alastor preened. “Tell me, what brings a young demoness such as yourself to this side of town?”

“Settling old accounts, you could say,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s nice to be on the other side of that.”

Alastor raised a brow. “Living life in the risky lane?”

“You do what you have to. I’m sure you’d know all about that,” she said, glancing toward him as she continued to marvel at the radio.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “And what could a lady like yourself be in debt for?”

“Well, that’s rather personal but I’ll shamelessly plug: I own a cafe-bookshop near Cannibal Town. Needed startup money to get on my feet. Now that that’s out of the way, I’m home free.”

“A bookshop in Hell? My, my, I do believe you’ve misread your audience. Culture? Down here? Haha!”

“Oh, there are some who still appreciate a good book. Just like some appreciate a good radio,” she said, picking the radio up off the shelf.

Alastor watched her as she set it on the counter in front of Vincent who began ringing it up for her. He was intrigued. Rare was it that he met a demon who could stand on equal footing with him in a verbal sparring. That is, a demon that didn’t immediately run for the hills at the sight of him.

Vincent carefully packaged the radio for her, setting inside a cushioned box. Sivvy took the box and walked past Alastor. “Blackthorn Avenue, if you want to stop by,” she said as if in passing. Alastor watched her leave.

Vincent whistled low. “Don’t find one like that down here too often,” he said, polishing a gramophone bell.

***

Sivvy walked toward Cannibal Town with her purchase safely in her arms. She hopped on the trolley toward the older part of town. Older not in the sense of age but time. Most of Hell was culturally up to the times with Earth but there were some parts of the Pentagram that held an older charm. Cannibal Town looked like it was straight out of a 1910s fashion magazine. She enjoyed their aesthetic if not their culinary desires.

For several months, she had slowly been making waves with the book selection at her store ‘Between the Pages’. The cannibals preferred entertainment that didn’t come on a screen.

The trolley hissed to a stop and Sivvy stepped off into the hazy red light of Cannibal Town. Smoke curled from the chimneys of soot-streaked brick buildings, and the tang of iron filled the air—always stronger near the butcher's district. A trio of demons in suspenders and bowler hats tipped their hats to her as she passed. She gave them a tight smile and kept walking.

Her shop was just outside Cannibal Town proper. As an outsider with a sense of self preservation, she knew better than to set up shop in the cult like district. While the people had been kind to her and oddly welcoming, she knew a wrong step could land her on someone’s dinner table. So, she settled for friendly neighbor.

‘Between the Pages’ was a charming little cafe-bookshop, with large glass windows framing the green door. The name of the shop was hand painted by Sivvy herself in gold and black lettering that matched the aesthetic of Cannibal Town. Bestsellers sat in the bay windows, offering a peek at what was inside. As she unlocked the door and stepped in a soft bell rang. She shut the door behind her, flipping over the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’ and stepping behind the counter. She set down her new radio and began looking for a good spot for it.

She had been looking for something to play soft music in the store without resorting to buying a sound system from VoxTek. The radio would do perfectly.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of roasted beans, old paper, and lemon oil. Wooden shelves lined the walls, each one packed with spines in various stages of wear. A small glass counter sat near the front, showcasing freshly baked pastries. The coffee and espresso maker sat on a workstation behind. The shop was small but cozy, offering a few tables and chairs at the front for customers to enjoy their beverages with a good book.

On the counter beside her was a simple chalkboard pricing sign, listing prices for hardback and paperback items along with a sparse food and drink menu.

She found a spot for the radio on the shelf behind the counter, next to a stack of local poetry zines and a half-burnt candle. With a soft click, the radio came to life, crackling for a moment before settling on a low instrumental jazz tune. Her customers would enjoy that.

Satisfied, Sivvy leaned on the counter and looked out the front window. The morning crowd was thin today. Just the way she liked it. Her regulars tipped their hats to her through the window, stepping inside with the soft bell jingle of the door.

“Good morning, Hal,” Sivvy said to a tall cannibal as she poured his usual cup of black coffee.

“Mornin’, Miss Sivvy,” he said. He took his cup with a nod and made his way to murder mysteries.

Zelda and Minnie walked in, waving to her before heading toward the romance novels.

“Oh Zelda! I have a new one for you,” Sivvy said before the cannibette passed.

“Oh honey, you always get me the best stuff,” she said, sauntering over.

Sivvy picked up a new romance novel from behind the counter. “This one’s hot off the presses. Regency romance just for you, doll.” She handed Zelda the novel.

“Ooooh,” Zelda stared at the cover in awe. “Listen to this Minnie, “As tempers flare and corsets tighten, Lady Genevieve must decide if passion is worth the scandal.” She read in a dramatic voice.

“Oh, let me borrow that when you’re done with it,” Minnie said, inching closer to peek at the cover.

The women laughed together at the counter. Sivvy checked Zelda and Minnie out, handing each a to-go cup. The two women left arm-in-arm. Hal returned a few minutes later with a new murder mystery.

“Ah, that’s a good one, Hal,” Sivvy said as she took the paperback. “You’ll love the ending.”

“No spoilers!” he exclaimed. “Did I say that right? My grandson would double die if he heard me say that.”

Sivvy chuckled. “You got it.”

***

Elsewhere, the scent of steeped roses hung thick in the air as Alastor sipped coffee from a porcelain cup.

“Tell me, Rosie,” he said with a lazy grin, “what do you know about a charming little bookshop just outside town?”

“Oh, it’s the cutest little shop,” she said brightly. “The girls in the Emporium love it—they’re over there all the time. Little sinner that runs it is called Sivvy. Cute little deer demon, Alastor,” she added with a wink. He rolled his eyes.

“Know who owns the place?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.

Rosie narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why? Thinking of buying her out?” she teased, setting down her teacup. “Didn’t think you were the real estate type.”

“Oh, Rosie, you wound me, dear,” he said, clutching his chest with mock offense. “I’m simply curious. Met the little doe this morning. She bought one of my radios.”

“Aw, how sweet!” Rosie said, grinning.

Alastor grimaced. “She mentioned she’d just finished paying off a debt for her shop. Strange, that—considering it sits just along the edge of Vee Town.”

Rosie’s face soured. “Ugh. The Vees have been creeping closer to my turf for years. She’s probably caught in the middle without even realizing it.”

“Apologies, my dear,” he said, slumping slightly. “I feel I’ve left you vulnerable. No buffer, no warning.”

“You could’ve at least sent a damn letter,” she scolded, though her smile softened. “But I’ll let it slide if you tell me what you really want with this little bookshop.”

“Perhaps I’m wondering why you’re not interested?” Alastor retorted. “A new sinner in town, catching attention for a bookshop. It’s poetic, really.”

“I’ve been focused on my own rather than outward expansion,” Rosie said pragmatically. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the improvements.”

“Why, yes, I have,” he said, gesturing to the bustling tea shop. “Why not offer her a place in town?”

“You know how my cannibals are toward outsiders,” she said, sipping her tea. “Plus, it’s just a bookshop.”

“A bookshop your cannibals like,” Alastor added.

“Since when does Alastor, Radio Demon, take interest in my business,” she said with a raised brow.

“You’re protecting her,” Alastor said flatly, breaking the tension.

“Perhaps,” Rosie shrugged. “I like her. She’s quiet, keeps to herself, a demon of her own.”

“So, she’s not on anyone’s books,” Alastor said, rubbing his chin.

“That’s not what I said,” Rosie insisted.

Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Not on yours, then.” He tapped the rim of his cup, eyes gleaming. “Which begs the question... why not?”

Rosie leaned back, unbothered. “Because I’m not in the business of leashing every stray that walks into town.” She met his gaze, calm and cold. “And because not everything has to be owned to be respected.”

Alastor tilted his head. “But it makes things easier. Cleaner.” He paused a moment. “Safer.”

She squinted at him over the rim of her cup. “What are you planning?” she said more to herself than an actual question.

Alastor stood, picking up his cane. “Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t be much of an ‘enigma’ if I revealed everything to you, would I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do tell me what you find out,” she said as he turned to walk away.

“Always, darling,” he said, tipping his head toward her as he left.

Chapter Text

Sivvy was working in the back of the shop when she heard the doorbell ring.  

“I’ll be right with you!” she called through the stacks but heard no reply. She set down the box of paperbacks she was sorting through and straightened up, dusting her hands off on her apron as she walked to the front of the store.  

The shop was completely empty. The door was shut. No wind, no footsteps. Just the low murmur of jazz and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath her hooves.  

“Hello?”  

The storm had just cleared outside, leaving the glass fogged at the corners. The smell of sulfur still lingered faintly beneath the stronger scents of roasted coffee and fresh pastries. Sivvy moved toward the front, peeking between the shelves.  

A few demons passed by, ducking under the awning to avoid the residual drizzle. One glanced in, eyes sweeping the shop before moving on.  

Sivvy tilted her head, ears twitching for any sound. Nothing but the soft buzz of the radio.  

“Hm.” She hummed, half to herself.  

She turned back toward the rear of the shop, brushing her hands on her apron again—  

And collided with a chest that hadn’t been there a second ago.  

She yelped, staggering back. Her feet scraped the wood.  

“Oh, Satan!”  

Alastor took a step forward, catching her wrist before she could fall over a box of books. His touch was surprisingly gentle.   

He let go of her once she was steady.   

She gasped, hand on her chest. “Shit, you scared me!”  

“Forgive me, dear,” he said, smiling. “Old habits.”  

“Phew,” she said, letting out a breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”  

“There are some who still appreciate a good book. Just like some appreciate a good radio,” he said with a sidelong glance toward her.  

She smirked, laughing a little. She turned toward the new radio on the shelf behind her. “It looks nice there, don’t you think?”  

“Lovely spot, my dear. Sounds wonderful.”  

Sivvy smiled. “I thought a nice smooth jazz station would suit the shop well,” she said, adjusting the volume.  

“Indeed,” he said, turning a little as he surveyed the shop.  

“So, what brings you in?” Sivvy asked. “Need a good book? I have plenty to recommend. Or maybe a coffee?”  

Alastor smiled, that foxlike grin never quite reaching his eyes.  

“Oh, I do enjoy a good story,” he said, strolling toward one of the shelves. “Though I find the ones worth reading rarely sit between two covers.”  

“Is that so?”  

“Hm, I prefer a good nonfiction, myself,” he continued. “Real life characters, scenarios.”  

Sivvy tilted her head, watching him as he trailed a finger along a row of hardcovers. He was needling but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.  

“Well, you’re in luck,” she said evenly. “I’ve got plenty of nonfiction. History, philosophy... a few memoirs from demons who think they’re important enough to be remembered.”  

He chuckled under his breath. “Now that’s a genre I should write for.”  

She walked around the counter, sliding a slim volume off a nearby shelf. “Here’s one you might like,” she said, holding it out. “‘ The Masks We Wear .’ Author was a compulsive liar who got rich convincing others he told only the truth.”  

Alastor laughed, taking the book. “I had heard your recommendations were spot on,” he said.  

“Glad to hear I have a reputation building, though I hope it’s all good things,” she replied.  

“Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t have taken an interest otherwise.” He paused. “Forgive me for being bold, but you said this morning that you were paying a debt. Not in trouble, are we?”  

“Hm, no. Just finalizing some paperwork. I’ve been working to buy the place outright. Now it’s officially mine.”  

“Interesting,” he said. “ And who was generous enough to help a fresh-faced sinner get a foothold here? ”  

“Now, that is too bold,” she said, her tone firm. “ Let’s just say I had a friend who believed in the idea. ”  

“Ah, but belief is such a rare currency in Hell. Usually traded with teeth. ”  

Sivvy gave a half-smile, not quite amused. “You’d be surprised what people will do when they’re treated like people. Isn’t that what your hotel is all about?”  

Alastor tilted his head slightly, watching her more closely now. “The princess is probably the only bleeding heart I know. The rest of the riffraff down here will tear you apart like sharks scenting blood.”  

There was a small pause as the music shifted to a slower, richer tune. Alastor’s gaze drifted to the shelves again, though it was clear he was still thinking. Sivvy studied him for a moment. Her deerlike tail twitched behind her, uneasily.  

“You’ve built something nice here,” he said at last. “Clean. Quiet. Comfortable.”  

“That was the goal,” she replied.  

He nodded. “Not easy to keep it that way, I imagine. Especially in a place like Hell.”  

She looked at him, sensing a threat. “I manage.”  

“Well, should you ever need protection,” he began. “I’m sure you know my business--”  

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” she said quickly, meeting his eyes. “Do tell me what your ‘business’ is.”  

“Protection, my dear,” Alastor continued without skipping a beat, smiling wide. “I offer it in exchange for favors, information, occasionally souls.”  

“Hmph, thought so,” she said, quietly. “Well, I’m sorry but my soul is already owned.”  

“Oh? Well, I can help you get out of a soul deal, for a price,” he said. The air turned sinister.  

Sivvy looked at him like she couldn’t feel it. “No, you misunderstand. I own my soul.”  

For the first time since entering the shop, Alastor didn’t respond immediately.  

He blinked once, slowly, then let out a short laugh, not mocking, but genuinely surprised.  

“Well,” he murmured, “now you’re just showing off.”  

Sivvy laughed at that, turning slightly to straighten a small stack of business cards on the counter, as if the conversation hadn’t just taken a turn.  

He tilted his head, studying her with renewed curiosity. “And how did you manage that, if I may ask?”  

“You may not,” she said, matter-of-fact. “But I appreciate your interest.”  

Alastor let out a low whistle. “You are full of surprises.”  

She glanced at him. “I do try.”  

“Well, no matter, my dear. My offer still stands,” he continued.  

She turned to face him, letting his offer sit between them for one awkward moment. “So, it does. I’ll let you know if I need your ‘protection’.”  

Alastor wasn’t used to being dismissed in such a way. He wasn’t used to being refused so utterly either. It unnerved him. And he did not like it.  

“I do so adore a well-turned refusal!” he played it off. “Most down here either leap at the first offer of protection or sneer their way to an early double death. But you...” he glanced around the shop once more, eyes lingering on the radio. “You’ve made something stubborn. Rooted.”  

His voice grew softer, but also filled with a menace that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “I respect that.”  

“Well, my dear, I suppose I’ll be off. If you do change your mind, give me a call.” A business card appeared in his hand with a flourish. He handed it to her. She took it with a smile.  

“Giving me your number? You haven’t even asked my name, sir!” she said with mock astonishment as she took the card.  

Alastor felt a heat rise in his cheeks, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. A fact that enraged him. He played it off with a laugh.  

“Ha! How presumptuous of me!” he laughed.   

“It’s Sivvy,” she said, enjoying how flustered he was. “And you are...?”  

“Alastor,” he said, realizing he’d never actually introduced himself. Rosie would be floored. “Pleasure to be meeting you properly, quite a pleasure.”  

“Nice to meet you, Alastor,” she said with a smile. “Would you like a coffee with your book before you go?”  

He looked down at the book she had offered him, still tucked under his arm. “Hm, that does sound fabulous. I prefer black coffee, with chicory, if you have it.”  

“Of course,” Sivvy said, turning to pour him a cup of coffee. She pushed the mug across the counter. “You’re welcome to take a seat if you like.”  

He was about to speak when the bell on the door jingled, and another customer walked in.  

“Excuse me,” Sivvy said politely. Alastor simply nodded and took his coffee, sliding a few bills across the counter.  

He contemplated leaving for a moment, then decided otherwise. He took a seat at one of the tables by the large bay windows. The sinner at the counter eyed him warily but Sivvy continued about her business as if he weren’t there.  

“Cinnamon bun and latte like usual, Damien?” she asked, already serving the sinner.  

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, please, Miss Sivvy.”  

Sivvy took a pair of tongs and picked up a fresh cinnamon bun for the sinner. She turned back to the counter to make his latte. His hand shook as he took the cup from her. She gave Damien a concerned look as he took the cup.  

Another patron entered the café, then lit up when her eyes landed on Alastor.  

“Alastor, sugar! Well, I’ll be—ain’t you a long way from Rosie’s parlor?” the cannibette called brightly, her voice laced with familiarity.  

The air shifted—but not with tension. With curiosity. Damien glanced up at the two from his latte and took a seat as far away from Alastor as he could.  

Alastor smiled, tipping his head. “Darla, darling! You’re looking just as decadent as ever.”  

She giggled behind her claws, clearly delighted. “Rosie’s girls will be beside themselves when they hear where you’ve been hiding.”  

Sivvy didn’t flinch. “Take a seat, Darla,” she said over her shoulder, calm and practiced. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”  

Darla winked at Alastor and sauntered to her usual corner next to pulp romances, radiating smug satisfaction. Alastor sipped his coffee, amusement curling at the edges of his grin.  

Sivvy served Darla without comment, setting the cup down neatly in front of her. Then she returned to the counter and began wiping it down, more out of habit than need.  

The door opened, the bell jingling familiarly. Sivvy frowned, her deerlike ears laying back as two suited demons came in. Both were tall, muscular, shark demons wearing VoxTek ties and badges.  

“If you’re here for coffee or a book, welcome in. Anything else, and you can walk right back out that door.”  

Alastor perked at her tone, sitting up straighter in his chair.  

The first one gave a grin too wide for his face, rows of jagged teeth on full display. “Come on, Siv,--” he began.  

“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted.  

The demon raised his brows at her tone but didn’t push the nickname again. His partner chuckled humorlessly, taking slow steps toward the counter.  

“No need to get defensive,” the second one said. “We just wanted to stop by and offer our congratulations. Not every day someone becomes independent without Vox’s blessing.”  

“Perhaps I could interest you in a map? Because the last time I checked, I wasn’t in Vee Town,” Sivvy retorted.  

The first goon smirked. “Lines get blurry when you’re this close to the border.”  

“Then maybe your boss should stick to places that actually want his logo plastered on everything,” she shot back. “Because this shop? It’s taken.”  

The first one shrugged. “That’s disappointing. Real shame if something happened to all these nice little books.”  

Sivvy rolled her eyes. The customers had gone still. Damien sat frozen with his half-finished latte. Darla was trying not to breathe too loudly.  

Alastor sipped his coffee, watching with twisted glee.  

Sivvy folded her arms, planting herself behind the counter. “I said no. I don’t want any of your protection racket. I won’t tell you again.”  

The second demon opened his mouth to respond—only to stop when Alastor’s voice cut cleanly through the silence.  

“My, my,” he said brightly, “it’s gotten dreadfully rude in here.”  

The Vee demons stiffened, turning toward the source of the voice.  

Alastor stood up slowly, smoothing his coat with deliberate calm. “I do hope I’m not interrupting, gentlemen. But I couldn’t help overhearing.” His smile was all teeth, sharp and gleaming.  

“Radio Demon,” one muttered under his breath.  

“Now, now,” Alastor said pleasantly, stepping closer. “This charming little shop has just the right ambiance. The scent of coffee, the whisper of pages, and—up until a moment ago—perfectly pleasant conversation.” He tilted his head. “Surely you wouldn’t ruin that over something as tacky as a shakedown?”  

The demons looked at each other, tension growing in the air like static. Sivvy said nothing, watching the shift in power with a mixture of confusion and wariness.  

After a beat, the first one cleared his throat. “We’ll be going.”  

“You do that,” Alastor said with a lilt. “And be sure to tell your boss I’m just smitten with this place.”  

They left without another word.  

The bell jingled and silence returned.  

Alastor sat back down, sipping his coffee like nothing had happened.  

Sivvy blinked, looking down. She pulled out a rag to clean an already sparkling counter. “…Thank you,” she said at last.  

He waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. Can I assume they were friends of yours?”  

“Pfft. Vees’ sharks. They’ve been hounding me for ‘unpaid debt’, but I’ve never taken any money from them nor received any service of theirs. Protection racket is what it is. Just nonsense.” She rolled her eyes, folding her arms.  

“They’ve been getting bolder,” he muttered, half to himself. “Digging their wires into every corner they can find. And they think they’ve found a quiet place with no patrons but cannibals and romance readers. Tsk.”  

He turned back to her, his expression composed again.  

“You were right to turn them away,” he said quietly. “But they won’t stop. Not with a simple ‘no’. Not if they think you’re vulnerable.”  

He tilted his head, crimson eyes meeting hers directly.  

“You’re sure you want to keep refusing help?” he asked. “Because whether you like it or not, Sivvy... you’re on their radar now.”  

Sivvy hesitated. She knew what Alastor was. She knew the danger that came with getting mixed up with an Overlord. Especially him.  

“I appreciate the offer but I’m doing just fine.”  

Alastor watched her in the silence that followed; the kind that stretches uncomfortably. Then he nodded.  

“Very well,” he said, chipper as ever. “Then I shall remain a mere customer.”  

But his voice, for all its politeness, had an edge beneath it. Not in threat but something more primal. Protective, perhaps. Possessive, even.  

He picked up his empty cup and brought it to the counter, setting it down with a soft clink.  

“Thank you for the coffee, Miss Sivvy. It was exquisite.” His grin flickered back, bright as ever. “And thank you for the conversation. Not often I find someone willing to tell me ‘no’ without trembling.”  

He turned, walking toward the door. He left with a final glance at her, his smirk curling ever so wider.  

Chapter Text

Alastor’s intervention stayed with Sivvy for days. Why had he stepped in? Why hadn’t he wanted anything in return? Was this the favor or the bait? Her mind spun with questions, but it all came back to the same one. Why was he interested? 

Why were any of these Overlords interested in her little bookshop? The Vees were one thing. She figured they were out to get her shop because they were capitalistic vultures. But she could handle their goons.  

Alastor on the other hand, was dangerous. She had heard the stories about what he was. She knew to be wary of him at the very least. 

She looked up as the door opened and Hal walked in. 

“Good morning, Hal,” she said. 

“Did you know there’s a VoxTek drone hoverin’ outside your shop?” 

“What? No. Ugh,” she shook her head. “One moment.” 

She walked outside and looked up. Sure enough, there was a VoxTek Voyeurscope peering down at her shop and her. She gave it a wave. Then promptly threw her shoe at the buzzing nuisance. The little drone crashed to the ground, breaking into tiny pieces. Sivvy picked up her shoe, putting it back on with a firm nod at the broken drone. 

She walked back inside the shop. Hal was still laughing. 

“There ya go, girl!” he said, slapping his knee. “Don’t let them get to ya!” 

Sivvy smiled and walked around the counter to get Hal his morning coffee. “Sorry about all that,” she said. “They’re getting bolder every day.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, you ain’t the first to be pestered by that old picture box.” 

She smiled at his use of the term ‘picture box’ as she put a lid on his cup. 

“Well, I certainly won’t be the last, but we can only hope they’ll lose interest soon.” She handed him his cup. He picked up the paper she kept at the counter to read and settled down at one of the tables, sipping his coffee. 

A low, raspy hoot sounded from the upper rafters. Noctus, her shadewing owl, blinked slowly from his perch above the front window. He had just come in from hunting, yawning sleepily. He looked down at her, feathers ruffling with subtle disapproval. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Sivvy muttered, brushing her jacket off. “It was just a drone.” 

The shadewing owl let out another low sound, eyes glowing faintly violet in the café’s warm light. 

“Back from hunting already?” she asked. “I hope you didn’t bring anything bloody this time. I just mopped.” 

The owl flew down from the rafters and landed on his perch beside the new books. Sivvy walked over to him and scratched his chin. He clicked his beak at her happily, closing his starry eyes and trilling low. 

Hal glanced up from his coffee. “Ah, old Noctus keepin’ ya company?” 

“As always,” Sivvy said. 

After giving Noctus a good scratch, Sivvy went outside to clean up the bits of VoxTek garbage from her sidewalk. She glanced up and noticed a strange car parked on the opposite side of the street. It was sleek, black, new. Most of the cars that drove around this side of town were reminisce of Model As and Ts, shoddy and rickety. She swept up the rest of the drone and dumped it in the garbage can. 

She wiped her hands on her apron and walked back inside with one last glance at the car. It turned on and drove away as she opened the door to the shop. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, her ears twitching nervously. She closed the door and walked back behind the counter, leaning onto it as the car slid out of view. 

Noctus gave a single hoot, puffing out his feathers. Sivvy nodded at him, her expression hardened. Noctus had a way of reading Sivvy’s feelings like no one else. As she glanced at him, she noticed one of the eyes on his feathers open while he began to snooze. That gave her an uneasy feeling. He knew something was up. 

More customers wandered in, a few new to the store, others regulars. She happily served them all.  

A cannibette greeted her, sliding a book across the counter. “I heard about your shop from Minnie at the Emporium. She loves this place, won’t stop talkin’ about it.” 

“Aw, well, I’ll have to give her a coffee on the house for the referral,” Sivvy said, ringing up the book. 

The woman leaned in with a conspiratorial tone. “You know, you’ve caught Rosie’s eye,” she said. 

Sivvy’s fingers paused just briefly over the register. “Oh, have I?” Sivvy said, trying to mask her wariness that curled in her gut. 

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie,” the cannibette said with a wave of her hand. “If you were on her bad side, you wouldn’t be here. Ha!” 

Sivvy smiled awkwardly, huffing a laugh. “Can I get you a coffee or tea with your book? Maybe a pastry?” 

She packaged up a muffin and coffee for the cannibette, her mind racing. What was it about this shop that drew in the worst kinds of powerful? First Vox, then Alastor, now Rosie. One more Overlord and she’d need to install a velvet rope. 

Just then, a delivery demon walked into the shop. His leathery wings twitched behind him as he walked to the counter. 

“Sivvy?”  

“Yes." 

He pushed a package across the counter like it was radioactive. “It’s for you.” 

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting anything. Who sent it?” she asked, eyeing the package warily. 

The demon leaned across the counter and whispered, “The Radio Demon.” 

Sivvy blinked. “Of course it is.” She exhaled. “Coffee? You look like you need one.” 

“Actually, yeah, that'd be great. You-you're not in trouble with him , are you?” 

“No, he’s an... acquaintance,” she said, pouring him a coffee. 

The demon paid, still watching her with wide eyes. “Don’t fuck with him.” 

“Ha! No, thank you,” Sivvy said with a wry smile. “Have a good day.” 

When he left, she picked up the package—wrapped in stained butcher paper and tied with coarse twine—and brought it into the stockroom. Her pulse picked up. 

Carefully, she untied the twine. The paper peeled back with a wet crinkle. Was that blood? Please let that not be blood. 

Inside was a book. 

She stared at the cover, then barked a short laugh. 

How to Win Friends and Influence Demons.  

“Well played,” she muttered. 

The shop bell jingled, drawing her attention away. She set the book down and returned to the front. 

A demon had entered and was eyeing the tables. He looked a little lost. 

“Can I get you anything?” she called. 

He stiffened and turned toward her. He was an eel demon—slick navy hair, gray-tinged skin, and two unsettlingly red eyes. His long tail twitched at the end as he approached the counter. 

“Oh, can I, uh, get an—uh, a coffee?” 

“Sure, hun,” she said, pouring a cup. 

He flinched slightly as she handed it to him. 

Sivvy softened her voice. “You okay?” 

The demon nodded too quickly and mumbled something unintelligible before retreating to a corner table, cradling his cup like it might bite him. 

Sivvy shrugged and picked up a box of new arrivals. She slipped Alastor’s gift in amongst them, then thought better of it and set it aside again. 

“Ring the bell if you all need anything,” she called to her customers at the tables. A few nodded, politely. 

She went to the ‘New’ shelf and began organizing the books, making room for the newest delivery. This was a calming routine for her. She allowed herself to get a little lost in it, admiring each new arrival, tagging it, and placing it gently on the shelf. 

Something gnawed at the edge of her thoughts. She glanced back toward the front of the shop, just to check on everyone. The twitchy demon hadn’t touched his drink. He was still seated in the corner, his red eyes trailing her like a slow-moving laser. 

She tried to brush it off and went back to shelving the new arrivals. A few minutes passed in uneasy quiet. As she moved around the shop, she got the prickly feeling of being watched. She looked up at Noctus but he was fast asleep on his perch on the counter. 

Then: crash . 

Books spilled onto the floor from the next aisle over. 

Sivvy rounded the corner to see the eel demon stiff over a pile of fallen paperbacks. He looked like a child caught doing something wrong. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll get them,” she said, walking over. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, flinching. 

“Oh, geez, don’t worry. It’s fine.” Sivvy knelt down, stacking the books back into place. “Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and slipping away. 

Sivvy frowned and watched him retreat. She lingered a moment longer, her eyes narrowing. Something about the way the books had fallen didn’t look like an accident. 

She sighed and returned to her shelving. 

When she emerged from the aisle a few minutes later, the demon was standing near the register, glancing at the chalkboard menu. 

“Do you always work alone?” he asked suddenly. 

She blinked. “Sorry?” 

“Just wondering,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “You know. You’re busy. A lot of traffic for just one person.” 

She didn’t answer. Just smiled with closed lips. “Did you need anything else?” 

He shook his head. “No. Coffee’s… good.” He hadn't drunk any. “Place is nice. Cozy. Not a lot of cameras, huh?” 

Sivvy’s hand stopped mid-wipe across the counter. “No,” she said evenly. “I like privacy.” 

“Mm.” He turned toward the door. 

Before he reached it, Noctus gave a loud, sharp hoot from his perch. His feathers bristled, and his violet eyes locked onto the demon with a hunter’s focus. 

The twitchy demon startled visibly, clutching the strap of his messenger bag tighter. He glanced up at the owl, then back at Sivvy. “Your bird’s intense.” 

“He’s very intuitive,” Sivvy said calmly. “Doesn’t like strangers.” 

“I noticed,” the demon muttered, and walked out without another word. The bell jingled behind him. 

Sivvy let out a breath. The oven dinged in the kitchen. She stepped inside and took out some fresh muffins. She set them out to cool and walked back into the cafe. She picked up a tub and went out to bus tables and refill coffee. 

The eel demon had left behind his untouched coffee. She picked it up and set it carefully in her bin, then reached for the napkin. She was about to walk away when she saw it. 

Something sat near the edge of the table. She lifted it carefully. A small, black VoxTek chip, no larger than a fingernail, gleamed faintly in the light. She stared at it, her face unreadable. Behind her, Noctus gave a low, rattling trill. 

“I know, boy,” she said to him. 

She turned the chip over between her fingers. It was matte black with a shimmer beneath its surface, like an oil slick. No logo. No markings. Just sleek, manufactured silence. 

Noctus clicked his beak, hopping down from his perch to land on the countertop. His violet eyes never left the chip. 

Sivvy knew in her gut what it was but her mind swam with ways to disprove herself. Maybe it fell off one of his devices? It looked like there was a laptop in his bag. Maybe he didn’t even leave it and it was already there? 

She knew she was being too optimistic. This was a bug. She weighed her options. Destroying it was tempting, but too obvious. If they were watching her now, they'd notice it missing. If they weren’t, the destruction might just tip them off that she knew and then what? 

She walked back to the counter and reached for a small tin on the shelf behind her, popped it open, and nestled the chip inside among old brass buttons and paper clips. Then she slid the tin under the counter, behind a stack of receipt rolls. 

“Let them think I didn’t notice,” she muttered. “I want to know how long they plan to play this game.” But she wasn’t confident in her decision. 

Noctus hooted once in approval, feathers puffing. 

She glanced toward the front windows, suddenly aware of every shadow beyond the glass. 

The café had never felt so quiet. 

Chapter Text

Sivvy slid the tray of muffins into the oven, then closed the door with a soft clink. The warm scent of cinnamon and cloves was already beginning to fill the shop. She stifled a yawn and took a sip of her breakfast tea—light, floral, not nearly strong enough for the kind of day she suspected was coming.  

Still, it was her ritual. First tea. Then coffee.  

She flipped the sign on the door to ‘OPEN’ and went back to prepping. Before she could get the first grounds into the coffee pot, the door opened. She turned to see Alastor looming behind her.  

“Good morning,” she said.  

“Good morning, my dear,” he replied, stepping up to the counter.  

“I just put coffee in; it’ll be piping hot for you,” she said. “Can I interest you in a muffin or pastry while you wait?”  

“Thank you, but I’m not a fan of sweets,” he said. “Just the coffee for me.”  

“Of course not,” she said, giving him a knowing look. “I could’ve guessed that about you.”  

His brow lifted in amusement. “Oh?”  

“You strike me as more of a bitter man,” she said, lips curling into a crooked smile. “In taste, at least.”  

His smirk widened, teeth just slightly too sharp. “You wound me, Miss Sivvy. And here I thought I was the picture of charm.”  

She laughed softly, already pouring his coffee. “You are charming,” she said, sliding the mug across the counter. “In that 'radio voice and razor blades' kind of way.”  

“Why, thank you,” he replied, tone far too pleased.  

He took the cup with a graceful nod and wandered toward the red armchair near the corner window— his chair by now, whether she liked it or not. With a dramatic flair, he lowered himself into it, crossed one leg over the other, and picked up the morning paper like a monarch checking in on his kingdom.  

The shop fell quiet again, save for the crackling radio and the soft burble of the coffee pot.  

The door opened again with a soft jingle, and a small demon girl stepped inside. No older than eight, she was clearly a fox-type—orange fur matted with soot and grime, white-tipped tail twitching behind her. Her hoodie was too big, sleeves dragging slightly, and her boots didn’t match.  

“Sivvy?” she called out, voice small but familiar.  

“Right here, Kit,” Sivvy answered, already reaching for the cocoa tin. “I’ve got your breakfast.”  

Kit made her way to a table near the counter, glancing warily at Alastor as she passed. He didn’t say anything—just peered at her over the edge of the paper, brow raised in quiet curiosity.  

Sivvy emerged from behind the counter with practiced ease, carrying a large muffin on a napkin and a chipped ceramic mug brimming with steaming cocoa. She set them down in front of Kit like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

“There you go, honey,” she said gently. “Muffin’s still warm.”  

Kit’s eyes lit up as she picked it up with both hands, tearing into the top immediately. “Thanks, Sivvy,” she mumbled around a bite.  

Sivvy went back about her work. Her regulars began arriving. She served each of them in turn. Kit finished her breakfast and brought her cup and napkin to Sivvy.  

“Leaving so soon, honey? You know you can stay as long as you want. There’s plenty of cocoa,” she said.  

Kit shuffled, sheepishly. “I hafta go take care of the others. Make sure they eat, you know?”  

Sivvy looked at her sympathetically. “Alright. Well take them these. They’re still good.”  

She handed Kit a bag of day-old muffins. Kit took it like it might have gold inside.  

“Thank you, Miss Sivvy,” Kit said. She tucked the bag into her hoodie pocket and ran out the door.  

Sivvy sighed, watching her go. She turned to see Alastor approaching the counter. “Need a refill?” she asked.  

“That would be lovely, my dear,” he said, passing her his mug. “That little one a regular?” he asked.  

“Somewhat,” Sivvy replied. “She pops in every few days for breakfast. She’s a stray. One of the kids left behind after the Extermination.”  

She hesitated, wiping the edge of the counter with slow, deliberate strokes. “I’ve tried to get her to stay. Offered her a cot upstairs more than once. But she never does.”  

Her voice dropped just slightly. “Too used to running, I think.”  

Alastor nodded, sipping his coffee. “You’re quite the bleeding heart, Miss Sivvy. Admirable… if a bit impractical. But I suppose someone must care, even if it won’t change her fate.”  

Sivvy stared at him for a moment, lips parted like she wanted to say something—but thought better of it. Instead, she let out a quiet breath and turned back toward the counter.  

“Right,” she said after a pause, reaching for a dish rag. “Oh—by the way, I got your ‘present’ in the mail the other day.”  

“Wonderful,” he said, his smile widening. “What did you think of my recommendation?”  

Sivvy giggled. “Spot on. Keep it up and I might just hire you.”  

He laughed. Noctus flew in from the porthole window at the back of the shop. He swooped down onto his perch and yawned.  

“My, my,” Alastor said, tilting his head to better observe him. “What a beautiful bird. A shadewing, is it?”  

At once, the eyes dotting Noctus’ feathers blinked open in unison. He watched Alastor with all of them, tracking his every move.  

“Yes, he’s a big showoff,” Sivvy said with mock exasperation, giving the bird a fond look. She reached out and stroked his ruff. “He’s kind of the shop’s mascot. Likes to sit and judge people from up high.”  

“A noble occupation,” Alastor said with a grin. Noctus let out a low trill that sounded like a growl.  

“Play nice,” Sivvy warned the bird.  

Alastor laughed. “Don’t worry, my dear. I have that effect on all manner of demons and beasts.” He retired back to his chair, reading his paper.  

A few demons trickled in, tipped their hats, a few others watched warily. The morning wore on until the light outside was red and sulfur stained. Sivvy cleaned off the counter. She walked out into the cafe, refilling a few coffees as she went and greeting her customers.  

The bell jingled again.   

Noctus hissed from his perch. Sivvy was about to scold him when she saw two demons in suits with briefcases had walked in. She noted the VoxTek ties.  

“Can I help you?” she asked, steeling herself.  

“Good morning, miss, my name is Desmond, this is Clay,” one demon said, gesturing to the other.  

“Can I get you a coffee, tea?” she asked, knowing that’s not what they were there for.  

“No, thanks, miss. We’re here on business.”  

“Is that so?”  

“Yes, we’ve come to offer a partnership.”  

“Oh?”  

“VoxTek would like to partner with you to sell reading tablets.”  

“That’s funny,” Sivvy said, folding her arms over the counter with a polite smile. “Last week VoxTek was offering ‘protection.’ Now it’s reading tablets? That’s kind of you, but I—and my customers—prefer paper. Always have.”  

He opened his briefcase with a practiced click. “Of course, VoxTek appreciates tradition. But we believe in progress too.” He pulled out a sleek, black-trimmed device. “This is the VoxTek Spectra. It integrates seamlessly with Hell’s broadband. Auto-curates recommendations, even translates surface languages. Users who subscribe to Voxible Unlimited gain access to over five hundred million books and audiobooks from across the ages.”  

Sivvy raised an eyebrow. “Over five hundred million, huh? Impressive. And yet somehow, none of them smell like old paper or come with handwritten notes in the margins.” She leaned slightly over the counter. “Tell me—can the Spectra recommend something based on a five-minute conversation and a gut feeling? Because I can.”  

She straightened up, smile cool. “Progress is lovely, gentlemen. But I prefer connection. No broadband required.”  

“You don’t even offer Wi-Fi for your customers?” Clay asked.  

“Don’t need to,” Sivvy said. “Most of my customers don’t have phones or tablets they're addicted to. They prefer a good book with their coffee. Those who do have phones seem to enjoy the chance to unplug.”  

Desmond shifted. “We could offer you a full Wi-Fi set up in addition to the tablets. Your signage is a little dated as well. The storefront could use some tech love. You have potential here.”  

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head. “And what’s Vox’s cut?”  

“Seventy-five percent to start. But you’d get exclusive distribution rights for this district.”  

Sivvy gave a breathless laugh. “Wow. Seventy-five percent? I must look like a real sucker.”  

“Not at all,” Desmond said. “It’s standard with new partners. Vox himself is interested in partnering with you. We could lower that to sixty percent if you’re interested in signing today.”  

“I’m not, but thank you anyway,” Sivvy said. “How about that coffee?”  

Desmond didn’t flinch. “Refusal will be noted.”  

“Please, do so,” Sivvy said with a smile. “If it keeps you from darkening my doorstep, even better.”  

Desmond put on his sunglasses with a snap and the two of them left. Sivvy sighed. She glanced at the tin that held the microchip bug she had found a few days ago. Her eyes drifted to Alastor who she could feel watching from the corner. He grinned, meeting her gaze over the top of the paper before going back to reading it.  

Noctus hooted and hopped onto her shoulder. He held out his talons, asking for a treat.  

“What, you think you deserve something for hissing at them?” she asked.  

He opened and closed his talons impatiently, blinking at her.  

“Fine, you’re a good boy,” she said. She took the jar of owl treats from under the counter and gave him one. She took him back to his perch. He stepped onto it and continued munching on his well-earned treat.  

She glanced out the window and saw the same sleek, black car from a few days ago drive out of view. She sighed again. Maybe this was just a part of owning a business in Hell. She didn’t have a ton of experience running a business, but she couldn’t say she was doing a bad job. Her cafe was full. Book sales were on target.  

She shook the thought away and went to clear a few tables. The hum of conversation around her had returned, though it sounded slightly more hushed than before. Customers cast glances at the door. At the windows. At Alastor.  

One of her regulars—a hunched, horned demon who always read the obituaries—picked up his coffee and left without a word.  

Sivvy stacked empty cups and wiped crumbs into her hand. She made her way back behind the counter, forcing herself to breathe. This was fine. This was all fine.  

The tin with the bug in it still sat beneath the counter. She opened it again, just to look. The chip gleamed faintly, like an eye that never blinked.  

She crushed it in her hand and tossed it in the trash with the crumbs and discarded coffee cups.  

“Pest problems?” Alastor asked, suddenly at the counter.  

“Shush, no! Don’t say that out loud. I’m trying to run a business here,” she scolded.  

Alastor just laughed.  

“The only pests I have here wear VoxTek ties,” she said, wiping down the counter. “Need a refill?”  

“Gladly,” he said, setting his mug on the counter. She refilled his coffee.  

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to offer a partnership,” she said.  

“Not at all, though that does give me a good idea,” Alastor said, resting his elbows on the counter.  

“Oh?” Sivvy asked warily, topping off his coffee.  

He took the mug and sipped, sighing contentedly before glancing up at her with a gleam in his eye.  

“Perhaps I’ll give your little establishment a glowing review on my next broadcast. I’ve always been fond of supporting independent businesses.”  

Sivvy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure your fanbase and mine have much overlap.”  

"Oh, but they do!” he said sweetly. “And they do tend to become... very loyal.” His smile widened just enough to make her stomach twist.  

She grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counter. “That sounds a little too much like marketing through fear.”  

“Marketing through influence , dear. I’m told it’s quite in vogue these days.” He leaned in a bit, voice lowering. “And besides... if Vox wants you so badly, perhaps it’s time I made it clear you’re already spoken for.”  

She paused. “Spoken for?”  

“Figuratively,” he said innocently. “Unless, of course, you’re open to negotiations.”  

“Negotiations? If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were flirting with me, sir,” she said, a hand on her chest.  

Alastor went red in the face, choking on his coffee. “No--I didn’t mean--”  

Sivvy grinned as Alastor sputtered, patting his chest with his napkin like he’d just been mortally wounded.  

“No need to panic,” she said sweetly, “I’m sure you meant something thoroughly professional.”  

Alastor cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Naturally,” he said, voice just a touch higher than usual. “Though I must admit, you do have a talent for twisting words, Miss Sivvy.”  

“Part of the job,” she said. “Owning a bookstore in Hell means navigating a lot of creative language.”  

He chuckled, recovering. “Touché. Still, I do think a mutual arrangement could be beneficial. Not a soul contract, per se but something... cooperative.”  

“Such as?” she asked, casting him a wary glance.  

“Perhaps a standing... presence,” he said carefully. “If I’m seen frequenting your shop, it may deter further unwanted business propositions.”  

Sivvy raised an eyebrow. “So your idea of protection is loitering with a latte?”  

Alastor gave a dazzling smile. “Brand loyalty, my dear. Works wonders in this city.”  

She leaned on the counter, tapping a finger thoughtfully. “And what do you get out of this, hmm?”  

He leaned in slightly. “Excellent coffee. Good books. And, if I’m lucky, a daily opportunity to make you blush instead.”  

Sivvy laughed. “Still flirting.”  

Alastor’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his gaze sharpened—just slightly. “And here I thought you liked being admired.”  

She opened her mouth, caught off guard. “I—”  

“You carry yourself like someone who’s used to being underestimated,” he continued casually, lifting his mug. “But you’re not easy to overlook. Not to anyone actually paying attention.”  

Sivvy blinked. For once, her tongue caught in her throat. A slow, creeping heat spread across her cheeks.  

He took a long sip of his coffee, not looking at her this time. “Delicious, as always,” he said lightly. “Thanks for the refill.”  

Before she could muster a response, he turned and strolled back to his table, newspaper in hand, as if he hadn’t just turned the tables entirely.  

Noctus blinked at her from his perch, letting out a low coo that sounded suspiciously like amusement.  

“Shut up,” she muttered, still blushing.  

She turned around to make more coffee and dispel the lingering pink from her cheeks. She scolded herself. He’s dangerous. She remembered the delivery demon’s warning from a few days prior. He’s charming because he wants your soul. Don’t fall for this.