Golconda - Chapter 15 - Shadow_Logic (2024)

Chapter Text

Alastor woke to the coldness of marble on his cheek.

Long-cultivated hunter’s instincts reminded him to be still and quiet, even before he remembered the hotel, the ascension, Charlie’s waning strength. His arms were Charlie free - in fact, they were at his back, wrists held fast by something lithe yet immovable, in all likelihood something of the angelic persuasion.

Alastor moved his head to the side and opened his eyes. A great white floor stretched before him, interrupted by the form of Charlie, face against the marble.

Eternity itself seemed to pause as the Radio Demon waited for the moment when he would rise upon the wings of his wrath, then kill everyone in the immediate vicinity with his bare hands, his teeth. But then Charlie’s chest rose, lowered, then rose again. Alive. Her face was turned away from him, but he could see her own small hands bound in shining silver rope.

Still moving as little as possible, Alastor tried to take in his surroundings. It wasn’t much, as he was facing Charlie, then a pink-white wall, but the visible floor was thick with chalk markings. Confusion was great at the start, for he was at the center of a summoning circle…

…no. It had the basic structure of a summoning circle, but it mixed Latin freely with angelic script, sometimes in the same phrase, sigils so different from anything Alastor might have studied before, it may as well have come from another planet.

Or another dimension, which is what Heaven was, essentially.

“We can see you’re awake, Radio Demon,” came an unfamiliar voice outside his field of vision, clear through the magnificent acoustics of the room at his back.

Alastor quickly weighed the pros and cons of feigning unconsciousness.

“Rise, Radio Demon, and face your judgment,” intoned a different one, female, reedy and equally unknown.

He was figuring out the best way to rise without his arms and not appear weak when a very familiar voice rang out. “You can’t avoid your fate forever, Alastor.” She spoke with the vague irritation of an adult scolding a child - or rather, a gardener talking down to a worm about to meet its end.

He half-rolled, half leaped to his knees. “You.” And then he rose, hard as it was without his hands, for this enemy was not one to be faced like some supplicant.

He was at the back of a magnificent courtroom, unlike anything he had ever seen, before or after the Void. His mind registered everything (him and Charlie lying in the gallery, bereft of chairs, the long room sans boxes and balconies, located no doubt at the top of some tower of Heaven’s Citadel, the lanterns burning with golden fire from the ceiling, the religious emblem-strewn tapestries on the wall, the rich purple carpet tossed aside for the summoning circle, the empty jury) as a furious afterthought, focused instead on the judge’s bench, seating not one but four robed figure. He ignored them in favor of the one in the witness's box.

There, like a bad dream, sat Sera, gazing down at them in arrogant disdain. The expression was at odds with her simple appearance, elegant dress now an unadorned, sleeveless white shift, many-tiered halo crown now a plain ring above her head. “Me.” Her wings had been cut off.

The pieces fell into place for him: the angelic spy papers, the targeted attacks. Valentino’s madness. “My my, Seraphiel. Who would’ve thought you’d hatch such a scheme and still fail? Though you should have known better than to push poor Valentino’s mind that far.” He tutted. “Always so careless with your toys.” He widened his smile as far as it could go, half spite, half sincere amusem*nt at a mystery unveiled. “Am I right in supposing you delegated some hapless schmuck to handle your little tea party back home?” He nodded towards the floor, just for emphasis. “Leave all that messy business of derailing salvation to others so you can continue to feign sanctity.” Sera’s ruthless practicality could give many sinners a run for their money, but all of it paled before the mental gymnastics she performed to persuade herself of her own purity. In that category, Sera reigned alone.

Sera’s eyes flew wide open with rage. “You dare - “

“Quiet.”

Sera shot to her feet, eyes lowered in a shame that seemed genuine. Alastor stole a glance at Charlie, both in concern and for effect, before he looked towards the judge’s bench. “And who might you be?”

This elaborate courtroom featured a large semicircular table instead of the shorter judge’s bench. Seven high-backed chairs stood behind it, filled by the four shapes Alastor had dismissed earlier. Behind them, in contrast with the rest of the luxurious embroidered emblems, was a single white sheet with the Eye of God painted on it in red.

“You are before the highest Council of Heaven, demon.” The thunderous declaration came from a male seraph, the only one of the four on his feet. His white head was bald, his eyes glowed like newly polished silver, almost equal in brightness to the magnificent golden robe he wore. It covered him to the wrists and (presumably) feet, but his uncovered neck sported a vicious scar, thick and knotted, that ran right along where a human’s jugular would be. It glowed silver-gold, as if a fatal spurt of angelic blood were only just contained beneath the surface. He glared at Alastor, then looked to his side.

“All rise for the honorable Justices: Sachiel,” at the sound of her name, a female seraph of admirable beauty rose, golden hair so long, it flowed past Alastor’s line of sight, even when she stood. Her silver eyes were blank and inexpressive but for the faintest tremor of nerves on her left eyebrow.

“Matriel,” a dark-haired seraph on the bald angel’s right rose. Alastor could not have guessed their gender; their long hair was a shade of black impossible to find on Earth (it put him, uncomfortably, in mind of the Void). The face of this seraphim was blank as well, though the clenched fist upon the table betrayed rage, disgust or a potent mixture of both.

“Metatron,” far to the left, was a seraph that Alastor could say, with confidence, was not wearing their true face. This seraph came under the guise of an elderly human woman, pale skin, white hair pulled back into a braided bun, guileless blue eyes shining over sunken cheeks. Had it not been for the air of too perfect innocence, she would have appeared out of place sitting shoulder to shoulder with his enemies.

“Ramiel, Verchiel and Zachariel,” finished the bald angel. Nobody else made an appearance. Alastor began to feel even more alarmed than before. “And I, Jehoel.” They all sat. After a moment Jehoel nodded to Sera. “You may sit.”

She tucked her chin into her chest by way of a bow. “Thank you, honorable Council.”

“As we are assembled, we now move to communicate our verdict upon the matter of Alastor De la Croix and Charlie Morningstar, who attempted to overthrow the order of Heaven, Earth and Hell under the guise of aiding redemption -”

“Are you, now?” Alastor interrupted, projecting his voice. The Council of Heaven (also called the Council of Elders or the Elders of Heaven), he knew, were the rulers of the realm in the Lamb's absence. While they dispensed justice individually, the united Council was the highest heavenly authority, above any single judge.

(Having the same people be both minor and major judges posed its own challenges to Heaven's odd system of justice, but that wasn't Alastor’s business).

Jehoel eyed him with displeasure. “We will not hear any more testimonies, or consult any more jurors -”

Alastor gestured around the deserted courtroom with his arms. “From the sheer number of both that have been heard already, no doubt.”

A hint of anger kindled in Jehoel’s stolid eyes. “We will proceed then with the verdict -”

Alastor cleared his throat. Matriel’s eyes narrowed. Metatron’s smile became a little less beatific.

Jehoel tilted his chin upwards, haughty. “You will be silent.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort.” Alastor straightened, stepping forward with defiance. He could not shield Charlie's undefended form from all of them, but he did his best to obstruct their line of sight. “I believed this,” he said, flicking his chin towards the floor in contempt, “was a summons before the great and powerful Council of Heaven. But by my count, there are only four of you, when there should be seven.” He made a show of looking around the empty courtroom. “Three council members missing, no jury, no witnesses, no chance for defense. Not even a clerk to record what is said.” Alastor bared his teeth in a thing that was a smile only in that his mouth was turned upwards. “This kangaroo court has as much a right to pass judgment on us as I do over you.”

Matriel banged on the table top. “May the accused be reminded that he is threatening the highest of the angelic courts!”

“I’ll remember that when I am before the highest of angelic courts, not fifty-seven percent of one.” He didn't know for sure (what demon was ever privy to angelic law?), but his own logic felt sound enough - supported by the frown creasing Sera's face. Hmmmm. “Speaking of which, where are the other honorable justices?”

“While we do not answer to you, nor any demon,” stated Sachiel with an even, dispassionate tone, “members of the Council can be absent when excused, and the Council can convene when a majority of us are present.”

“Really now.” There were not even guards present. “Do they even know they've missed a session? Does anyone at all know we're here?” Alastor watched each face, expectant. They were good, but were they better than a demon?

Sachiel’s twitching eyebrow froze. Alastor smiled.

“While I'm sure you'd never stoop to such illegality, I'm an incorrigible reprobate. I might, to coin a phrase, decide to raise Hell, at any moment. It's my nature, you see. You can take the demon out of Damnation, but you can't take Damnation out of the demon, I'm afraid.”

Jehoel bared his teeth in the most unsympathetic smile Alastor had ever had the dubious honor of witnessing. “You're welcome to try.”

He knew he'd miscalculated as soon as he'd seen that grin, of course, but in the interest of verification, Alastor tried. His magic surged about him, but like body heat on a cold day, it stayed close to him, as immobile as his hands.

“We didn't bring you all the way here,” hissed Matriel, “just so you'd give us trouble.”

“Blessed rope,” quipped Metatron, cheerful as any granny at tea time.

They'd not used this witchery before, but then Alastor had been surrounded by armed guards every second of his previous sojourn. On top of that, he'd been in the presence of at least one seraphim at all times; if Adam had been a challenge, a seraph…he doubted even magic would whisk him away from such a fight fast enough. To say nothing of four.

Jehoel’s smile transformed into a smirk. “The Council, having no need for further proof or testimony, moves to declare the accused guilty of -”

Alastor had a second's forewarning when the orange bundle he'd kept at the edge of his eyesight moved. He turned to look at her on instinct - just in time to give a colorful bolt a wide berth.

“WE'RE INNOCENT!”

The bolt exploded into fireworks as the assembled judges ducked and dodged, surprised. The fireworks didn't recede but multiplied instead, burying the entire bench in a continuous shower of sparks.

Charlie ran up to him. “Are you OK?”

“Are you?” He couldn't take her in his arms at present, but he did close the gap between them, his chest against her shoulder. “I confess I feared the worst for a moment, dearest.”

She smiled, radiant. “I'm sorry I scared you. I feel better now.” She leaned forward, her head resting on his shoulder for a moment before she ran around to his back. “OK. I think if I do this…” a brief vibration later, Alastor felt his hands fall free.

“How did you get loose?”

“Did you know Husk loves magic tricks?”

“Yes. Ordinary sleight of hand being one of his favorites.”

“And escapism! He says my wrists are so thin, I might have had a career in Vegas.”

He'd have to pester the old wind bag about that someday. “He has my gratitude.” Alastor gazed at the light show in front of him. “Our…hosts will be unhappy once your charming fireworks are done.”

Charlie winced. “I know. They're seraphim. All we can do is keep them distracted while Emily finds us.”

This was news to him. Incredible, quite positive news. “However did you contact her?”

“I messaged her. My phone came along.” She patted her pocket. “That's why I kept my face to the ground. I was being sneaky, not dead-y.”

Alastor hadn't noticed a thing, distracted as he was by their warders. “I thought you'd told me electronics do not survive the journey to Heaven.”

“They don't. There's something really, really wrong about this ascension.” Charlie's fingers twiddled away like nervous little spiders. “They're supposed to be different, feel different - and they're not determined by anyone in Heaven. Even seraphim don't get advanced notice - to Heaven, we just pop out of the ground in a light spire at random.”

Alastor glanced at the nearest sigil of the summoning circle. “It's possible our friends over there managed to counterfeit an ascension.” If this was no ascension but rather a very unusual summoning, the forced, unnatural quality of it no doubt explained why it had been so different.

Charlie's eyes went wide with horror. “Then - “

“BEGONE.” Both turned to see Matriel dispel the shower of fireworks by unleashing a miniature windstorm. Truly, holy powers were something else: the mighty winds filled the chamber in a second, no warm-up, no build-up, and ceased at once with a mere gesture from their angelic mistress-or-master.

Alastor had not survived as long as he had in Hell by overestimating his powers. If he was to help buy for Emily to find them, he would have to be careful about it, for direct confrontation with four seraphim would end catastrophically for them.

Jehoel unfurled his wings. Sera placed her hands on the edge of the witness’s box, preparing to vault over it.

He and Charlie began backing away, one step back for every step forward their jailors took in the worst use of the Charleston he'd ever been a part of. “I suppose using God's name here doesn't cause any blackouts…?” It didn't, naturally.

“Can you get us out of here?”

“Trans-dimensional shadow transportation is a tall order, my love, and the only other places I know in Heaven are one other courtroom, a dungeon and the…Edge of the Map Hall.” At the end of which stood a simple, cobwebbed wooden door with a brass handle. On its other side was the Void. “But a courtroom free of seraphim does sound like an improvement on our present situation.”

He reached for her hand just as she reached for him, meeting in the middle with jumbled fingers. Her own magic followed suit, and Alastor fixed the image of the place where his awareness of self had returned to him months ago in his mind. They dissolved in a flash…

…and materialized across the room, both crashing against the wall.

“Where are they?!”

“The Radio Demon can teleport,” Sera exclaimed, “they could be anywhere!”

“I believe they're right over there.” Through the stars twinkling about his eyes, Alastor saw Metatron point in their direction. “Every wall in the Heavenly city is warded to its core, Radio Demon. There was never any escape,” she continued, a glee bordering on manic in her tone.

What happened next was half happenstance, half instinct. Faced with a stressful situation, Alastor fell back on the things that came the fastest to his fingers, most of them the earliest, most basic forms of magic.

Basic magic was neither angelic nor demonic: it simply was, demanding so little of the nature of its user that even humans with little occult talent could perform it without much issue. Making small objects float, casting illusions over very small areas, and of course, influencing the basic elements. Alastor could put out a candle across a room at the age of thirteen, freeze the water in a glass from ten paces away at fourteen.

Mind half-focused on those early days, Alastor called to the tiny flames in the lanterns lighting the room and pinched two fingers to coax out the small amount of air that kept them alive. Perhaps it was their linked hands, or perhaps Charlie had somehow read his mind, because his soft entreaty was backed by the merry torrent that was her magic; holy fire might be skeptical of a demon, but it bowed its head to unmistakable echo of Heaven that Lucifer had bequeathed his daughter.

The chamber went dark.

They had mere seconds, perhaps an extra five if their pursuers mistook the dark for some profoundly demonic conjuring. Alastor felt Charlie pull him towards the door, locked if Jehoel and company had any sense, but worth a try.

“Locked,” Charlie whispered.

And then there was light.

A hand attached itself to Alastor’s windpipe, tossing him to the floor. Not taking any more chances, I see. He'd been holding Charlie’s hand so firmly, he knew without a doubt that his claws had cut her, even before he registered the wetness on his fingers.

Jehoel’s face appeared above him, blank with rage. “I should kill you.” His eyes glowed. A heavy, sandaled foot landed on his chest. “Like swatting a gnat, after binding the great Leviathan.”

Alastor fought the urge to lash out.

“Al!” Metatron and Sachiel were on Charlie before she could move.

“Easy, easy, don't be rash now,” cajoled Sachiel, a tremor of fear in her tone. “We need them alive to justify our proceedings.”

“We could frame them.” Matriel sounded almost hopeful.

Sera made a noise of assent. “We might have to, they've seen and heard too much.”

“Reign in your tempers, ALL of you,” hissed Metatron, true rage accentuated by the emergence of a second voice just below the register of hers. “Killing the demon is pointless. The girl too, even if you managed to make her body vanish somehow.”

A knot of rage appeared in Alastor’s throat. A drop of Charlie's blood was worth whatever torrents of gold blood lived in their unknowable insides and they dared talk like that…!

“Supposing you managed both of those things with any finesse,” she continued, voice softer, and all the more dangerous for it, “you should then bar the Gates and call the Host to war. All of Hell will know by now that she was assumpted. What do you think the Morning Star will do once his daughter is nowhere to be found? What do you think her ascended will do, when they seek her out and fail to find her? This was about curtailing mindless legal reform, not invoking Armageddon!”

“Nobody knows they're here though.” Matriel interjected. “We could spread word that ascending obliterates hellborn, and that her lover committed suicide-”

Three heavy knocks fell upon the door. Everyone froze in place like a Renaissance painting: Matriel and Sera hovering behind Jehoel’s shoulder, half turned around with comical expressions of horror on their face, Jehoel over Alastor, his face tightening with irritation; Charlie hanging between Sachiel and Metatron with dawning hope in her eyes. Metatron, serene and straight-faced, clashed with the horrified Sachiel, who seemed unable to look away from Charlie's hand, trapped in both of hers. It bled gold.

Alastor, flat on his back, spared a thought for the lovely scene they'd created before turning to stare at his right hand, stained in unmistakably golden blood. His mind was too full to do much more than bombard him with images of Charlie well over a year ago, in full Princess of Hell regalia, her dress and white limbs stained red.

Three more knocks, heavier and more menacing.

“Nobody knew…?” Sachiel, still hypnotized by the profane miracle between her fingers, sounded like a little girl lost in a busy commercial street. Whether she meant the hellborn bleeding gold rather than red into her hand, or the presence outside the door that should not be, nobody could be sure.

The third series of knocks threatened to blow the door off its hinges. The four (point five) seraphim stilled into veritable statues.

Alastor chuckled. “Oh my, it seems we forgot to tell you all. Emeleth knows.”

Jehoel made a sound like a ferocious bellow had stopped halfway out of his mouth and died.

“Halloooooo in there! Open for the Justice of the Council of Heaven, the honorable Ramiel, first sergeant of the Heavenly Host, Guide of the Faithful on the path to Heaven, Weaver of divine visions.”

“Really, Rehan, do you have to say all of them every time?” Alastor never thought he'd be so glad to hear the voice of the judge who’d so humiliated him again in his afterlife.

Sachiel, breathing hard, threw down Charlie's hand and ran away from the door. She hadn't made it far when the door was blown off its hinges in a shower of multicolored sparks.

Jehoel, Metatron and Matriel all stood together; Sera hung back, once more calculating where she must go to minimize the damage, both physical and political, of betraying Heaven. Alastor didn’t spare them more than a passing thought, however: he rolled onto his front and leaped like an animal, seizing Charlie’s ankles. She caught on and dropped to the ground beside him.

“What now, darling?”

“How about we try and stay alive until Emily finds us?”

“About as good an idea as any.”

Charlie army-crawled further into the chamber amidst the din of clashing spells, with the occasional ring of steel; Alastor followed her. In between holding still and dodging all manner of bolts and spells flying above their heads, he gazed at the little golden whorls, like watercolor clouds on the white marble, that Charlie left behind in her wake.

Somewhere in between the rogue seraphim conjuring us here and our arrival, a miracle has happened. A lancing, miserable pain slashed at his heart.

They made it to the opposite wall. “The Judge’s bench would have offered better cover, but it was too close to the party.” Charlie used the wall to haul herself up, then offered a hand to Alastor. “Maybe we can edge around them this way?”

Her gold-stained hand. Alastor stared at it for a moment before taking it, gazing into Charlie’s eyes.

She looked away, eyes closing in apparent pain. “I know. I mean, I don’t. I mean -”

An explosion shook the chamber, sending each into the other’s arms for comfort rather than protection. Alastor looked towards the front: all fighting had stopped, and a two-winged angel soldier lay on the ground. A pool of gold stretched around him; none of his limbs moved.

“You dare,” Ramiel yelled, his outstanding, clear voice now hard as steel, “spill the blood of your own brothers and sisters for your folly, Sachiel?” With the rain of spells on pause, Alastor noticed that Ramiel was in the plain white robes he’d worn at his trial - quite a contrast to the rich gold ones the rogue Elders were attired in.

He also wore an expression of sincere outrage. Well, that was unexpected. Alastor had been a prisoner for most of his stay, but from what little he’d seen of this place under Sera, killing had been another Tuesday in Heaven, even if the masses were unaware: killing demon kind, killing rebellious exorcists, killing angels who might be an obstacle to this or that political if necessary. The Lamb’s Second Coming had made some sort of reform, it seemed.

“I didn’t, I didn’t want -” Sachiel took a step back.

“We approach you with non-lethal force, and this is how you respond to our mercy?” Ramiel pointed to the body on the ground. Angels were hardy, but the blood on the floor was copious, and its owner far too still.

“We don’t want mercy,” spat Jehoel, “we want justice! We want moderation! The reforms, the changes, they must stop! They -”

A small shape pushed her way to the front of the throng crowding at the door: Emily. She ignored the arguing seraphim to really look at the chamber; trust her to catch sight of them far across the room, forgotten in the tangle between these warring factions. “Charlie! Mr. Radio Demon!” But then she looked to the side, eyes turning stormy. “Sera.”

Sera took a tentative step towards her. “Emily.” True emotion finally revealed itself. “Emily, I never-”

But the younger angel’s face contorted with a most un-Emily like rage. “You can stop now, Sera.”

Sera looked down. “It was for the greater good.”

“What about this looks to you like the greater good!?” She hurried to the angel on the floor, dropping to her knees to put a hand on his flank. With it there, Alastor finally noticed breathing. Perhaps the day would end with no loss of life after all. “The Christ Jesus literally came down and told you that you were all wrong! In so many words! I’m sorry to say it like this, but did he f*cking stutter? And can someone please come over here and take this man to the hospital?” At her words, four angelic guards detached themselves from the veritable wall of shields now gathered at the door.

“Emily, Our Lord might have given us guidelines, but it’s up to us to interpret them.” The condescending patience in Sera’s voice was infuriating.

“He can’t have meant to let Hell decide who enters Heaven, and especially not the Morning Star’s daughter,” interjected Jehoel, currently held at spear point by four angels. “That’s a perversion of the natural order.”

“It’s the natural order that’s deciding what’s happening! Charlie doesn’t control the ascensions, nobody does!” Emily stepped back as the wounded angel was carried away by his compatriots. “Whatever’s been happening is the will of God!”

“And, by that same logic, forcing an ascension for your own purposes is…not His will,” Ramiel added in a frosty tone, looking on at the remnants of the summoning circle in the gallery - now smudged by himself and Charlie crawling through.

“We’re believers in the true faith!” Matriel exclaimed. “We’ve always had God’s Will at the forefront of our minds!”

“We know what Our Lord said, we are his loyal servants,” Metatron added in a more moderate volume, voice now back to its grandmotherly tone, “but the way the rest of the Council has been handling things is too drastic. Is it the will of the people when the people barely understand what they want?”

“How, exactly, is following our own rules drastic? All we’ve done is refer back to the Holy Book itself, removing prior Council rulings that contradict its spirit. By your standards, Metatron, the new Council has become downright reactionary. And you,” Ramiel whispered, “the dangerous reformers.”

Jehoel scoffed. “We can argue semantics until the Second Coming -”

“How is simple logic mere semantics?”

“Emily, I know all this importance might have gone to your head -”

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’ve never even tried to be on the Council! They agree with me because for once, I’m right!”

“Ramiel, just because you think you’re being noble doesn’t mean that you have -”

“You all sicken me,” Sachiel exclaimed, even though all the arguments around her continued undaunted. “We’re fighting amongst ourselves like all these arguments matter, when the real problem is the sinful walking amongst us!”

Emily reared back Sachiel at that, a fox about to pounce “We’re all sinners! We’ve all made mistakes! Even if we weren’t born of Adam and Eve, we’ve all committed sins, and we all deserve both punishment and forgiveness!”

That made everyone shut up. The rogue seraphim exchanged glances – save for Sachiel, who was staring at Emily as if hypnotized. Sachiel raised a hand in the sign of the horns, trembling, gold-stained fingers pointed towards Emily. “Heretic,” she whispered. It sounded like a yell in the quiet room. “Witch.”

For a long, drawn out second, Emily just stared at Sachiel. Then she exploded into light.

“ENOUGH!”

Through the glare, Alastor thought he saw a hundred staring eyes shining all over Emily, and a veritable hurricane enveloped the room. Charlie reeled him in closer. He, in turn, held onto her like he meant to push her through his own chest, and through the heart she owned. He looked to the Eye of God banner, which tore off the wall right before his eyes, revealing a simple ichthys beneath.

The wind roared, faint screaming only just audible underneath….

Charlie woke up with a start. She was on a strange bed in a stranger room, and she was alone. Someone hand bandaged her hand and changed her bloodied clothes for a sleeveless version of Emily’s dress. She launched sideways off the bed and started banging on the door! “Alastor! Al! Emily, where are you! Where am I!?”

The door was cracked open. “Hey, um, Miss Princess Morningstar, Ma’am? Could you settle down? We’re supposed to make sure you’re OK and stuff.” An angelic guard was on the other side. He was leaning back, body still facing to the front as he held the door open. He leaned closer to the door. “And the door’s not locked,” he whispered.

Even through her shame, Charlie felt the questions pouring out of her like a flood. “I need to know what happened! Where's Alastor? Where am I? And what happened to my clothes?”

“Gimme a minute.” He leaned over to someone on the opposite side of the door. “Is Alastor the creepy red guy?” After some hushed words, he returned. “Your boyfriend's fine. He, like yourself, two seraphim and like a quarter of the Heavenly Host guards in the chamber with you got Emeleth’s wrath head on and got knocked out, but nobody got hurt. Not from her anyway.” He looked off to one corner, remembering. “Oh, right. She said to tell you she was sorry when you woke up, and that she changed you into a pretty dress herself for your court appearance.”

“Another court appearance?”

“As a witness! 100% not the accused. This one is toooootally legit, we promise,” he replied, a hand to his heart as if in oath. “Between you and me, the Council would love to just toss the four insurrectionists in a dungeon and call it a day, but they have to uphold the law and due process now more than ever. But you’ll be OK,” he nodded for emphasis. “The Arches got involved and everything.”

“The what now?”

“The Archangels. The high ones. Like…Michael and Raphael and Gabriel.” A look of reverence passed over his face at the names. “They won't be at your hearing or anything, so don't sweat it, but the part of the Council that isn't about to get blasted is answering to them directly.” She must have made a face because he waved both hands in dismissal. “Not literally blasted! But they technically staged a coup, amongst other things, and that Sera chick's on her second strike, so they've gotta be leashed better for sure.”

Charlie was vaguely aware that, in the convoluted hierarchy of Heaven, “archangel” referred both to a low army rank, just one step above plain old “angel”, and to the first Angels, deputized by the Almighty's own hand to bring about Creation. The architects of the World…

…and her father's brothers. Not by blood but in the way that mattered - or had, long ago. They weren't involved with ruling Heaven, warriors and warlords rather than politicians, but their sheer might meant that all of angeldom always chose to listen when they decided to speak their mind.

They'd been there at Eve's Reckoning. She'd seen them, many-winged and magnificent, even though they never came too close and always communicated with Hell through their lieutenants. Dad had gotten weird and quiet every time someone said “the Archangel Gabriel says” or “the Archangel Raphael thinks that”.

A wave of emotion shook her for an instant before Charlie let it pass. “OK. So do I, ah, go sit…?”

Her guard turned to look out into the hallway. “Actually, I see we're getting the go-ahead to escort you over, so grab your stuff and we'll get you to your boyfriend.”

“OK!” Charlie ran back inside and looked around. Now that her head was on right, she could see it was a fancy room, with an understated blue color scheme no doubt meant to calm. The bed wasn’t a four-poster, but it had a lovely carved frame, a desk in some dark wood; the spacious room even had a four-seat dining table. She spared a moment for the luxurious bathroom she wasn’t going to get a glimpse of (which was OK, she could always remodel the one back home if she got bored), caught sight of her phone on the night table, snatched it up and hurried back to the door. “Ready!” She didn't know who was spreading this thing about Alastor being her boyfriend, but if a formal title got him to her faster, then good.

(She wasn't mad about it. Not at all. It was just that they hadn't had a f*cking moment's peace to talk things out!)

Charlie spent most of that day alternating between sitting in the witness’s box of a totally different courtroom and sitting on a couch in a waiting room that looked like Heaven’s embassy if it hadn’t spent ten thousand years in disrepair. Six angelic guards were always around her, but only the nice guard who’d come to the door when she started knocking was always at her side.

“I’m your designated babysitter.” His name was Keshav, he’d been a human, and he’d been part of the team trying to break in and save them from Jehoel and company; he also had it on good authority that Rehan, the angel Sachiel had hurt, would make a full recovery.

“Hi Keshav, pleased to meet you.” She gave him her best handshake. “So…how long is thing going to last?”

He hissed in commiseration before he even answered. “A while. Jehoel, Matriel, Sachiel, Metatron and even Sera are going to get their due process, complete with a chance to defend themselves, to set a precedent in Heaven forever.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, the law, democracy, everything’s in danger, they have to be careful.” Keshav clapped. “So let’s pass the time! Know any games of chance?”

Charlie offered him a sad smile. “Liar’s dice…?”

“Um. I have no dice, and I’m not a good liar.” He produced a deck of cards. “How about Go Fish?”

The waiting made Charlie a little antsy, but Keshav was a sweetheart, fetching her snacks and finally lunch from his favorite Indian place. He also endured her constant requests to see Alastor with saint-like patience.

“You’re both witnesses. You’ve got to avoid listening to each other’s testimonies or talking to each other until this part’s over.”

“But won’t this take days?”

“The trial, sure. Me and the guys are going to have flat butts after all this sitting round’s over.” He cringed. “But you guys will be…wherever it is you want to be before midnight, I promise.” He pulled out his phone. “We all want you gone, we figure that’ll make the mobs settle down.”

“Mobs?”

Keshav smiled and pointed at the screen. On it was a picture of an ocean of halo-bearing heads wielding signs and posters, taken from a window. Thousands and thousands of them.

“Holy sh*t!” Charlie glanced up at Keshav. “Oops.”

“’Least you made the sh*t holy.”

“And they’re all out there for us?”

“You and the Council, but yep. All thanks to you.”

There were some anti signs (Demons go Home, a few emblazoned with 1 Samuel 3:12–14) but it warmed Charlie’s heart to see many more signs in favor of justice, and, surprisingly, forgiveness.

There were videos too, which reached Keshav through Heaven’s various messaging services. He was glad to let her watch them all, and didn’t jump too high when the sight of familiar faces made Charlie whoop.

“It’s Cherri and Pentious!” Charlie jabbed at the screen with her fingers as a shaky video, taken by a fellow protester no doubt, played. They were each holding the corners of a large white sheet that read REDEMPTION OR BUST in orange, though the edges were full of scribbles that must have been early attempts by Pentious to create a powerful statement. They were marching at the head of a crowd (or slithering, in Pentious’s case), looking serious and important. On the hand not holding her sign, Cherri held a sparkler that didn’t stop producing red sparks for as long as the video lasted.

Over lunch, Keshav showed her a news clip (not 666 News, but the angel lady had an air of Katie Killjoy that Charlie disliked) of ‘vandals defacing the Palace of Justice’. Which actually meant graffiti artists had gathered in an alley right alongside said Palace to create elaborate pro-ascended, pro-her and Alastor murals. Charlie was confused at how well they knew hers and Alastor’s faces (the murals were that awesome) when the reporter asked the spray-painters to come up and give them a statement.

A lump appeared in Charlie’s throat. One of the artists was Jeison.

He raised a thumb at the camera, devil-may-care smile still so familiar; in his sleeveless, paint-strewn wife beater, Charlie could see the ascension had erased all the old cuts and needle marks on his arms. No new ones had taken their places. She’d known he was recovered, she’d just known, but seeing him, glowing with health, sober and aware, that halo over his head -

She burst into tears.

Keshav put the phone down and fumbled about until he produced a handkerchief. “What’s wrong? I thought these were all happy things.”

“He - he just makes me so proud!” She mopped up the tears as fast as she could, but the torrent didn’t stop for a while.

Keshav nodded and patted her on the shoulder stiffly, not a hint of understanding on his poor face.

At long last, Charlie’s personal escort peeked into the waiting room and gave Keshav some sign. “Well, that’s it Miss.” Keshav smiled. “Last testimony before we wrap up for today. We still have like a ton of stuff to do, but you and your boyfriend can leave after that.”

“He’s done, so he’s gonna be there,” added the guard outside. He and the other five had been determinedly resisting Charlie’s attempts to make friends while they walked her up and down halls, but she was far too good at snooping.

“Thank you, Jamal.”

Jamal’s scary security dude demeanor broke like an egg. “How’d - who told you? Kesh, you fiend!”

Keshav raised his hands in a silent declaration of innocence. “Hey, she said she wanted to know. It’s polite to call people by their names, right?” He coughed. “Anyway, let’s get her to her court appointment.”

A magnificent red dusk was visible through the large windows of the courtroom when Charlie entered for the last time. Justice Ramiel, whom she’d met during her appeal for Alastor’s freedom, a dark-skinned, very curly-haired female seraphim, and a white haired, stern-looking seraphim - Verchiel and Zachariel respectively - were at the bench, and a sea of unfamiliar faces filled the jury and the gallery. Well, unfamiliar save for Emily, who got to her feet and waved as Charlie passed. She mouthed her a ‘sorry’, but Charlie only smiled and held up two thumbs.

Jehoel, Matriel, a pale, wild-eyed Sachiel and Metatron avoided all sight of Charlie at the defense’s table. Charlie ignored them back.

“We continue with the case of Heaven v the Rouge Four,” announced a clerk. Sera, who Charlie learned had had her status stripped by the Lamb Himself, who already had black marks aplenty in her record over the exterminations, her handling of Eve’s Reckoning and the aftermath, had been found guilty of everything before lunch.

The story Charlie managed to piece went like this: the current (or soon to be ex) Council members, elected after the Lamb’s Coming, had become very skeptical of the reforms, for various reasons. Going against the ideas that had gotten them into the Council in the first place would have lost them their seats though, and power was real nice. Enter Sera, with a score to settle against Charlie, and her brilliant plan to destroy the Hazbin Hotel: discredit it, find Charlie guilty of using it as a front to conspire against Heaven, then destroy it stone for stone, which Sera hoped would stop the ascensions. Once that was done, rampant suspicion would fall on the ascended, who’d be told to go back to Hell nice and quiet, or else; once all that was done, the Council would be free to call all the previous reforms hogwash. They’d get to keep their power, and Heaven would be back to Sera’s preferred flavor of oppression in record time, even if she never became High Seraphim again.

It’s funny how they think being created before humanity makes them so superior, and they still make all these very human mistakes. Charlie wasn’t an expert on human History, but she didn’t need to be in order to know that fear of change, fear of foreigners, with a helping of Hannah Arendt’s ideas on the banality of evil, were deeply embedded in humanity right along with the potential for good.

Charlie’s account of her summoning got them charged with Blasphemy for “trying to take the place of Our Lord’s Will”. The attempted trial, and the way they attacked Ramiel and his escort also looked like it was going to get them a heap of trouble – but none of it prompted new charges in her presence. She answered questions. She tried to be clear and dispassionate. The defense, representing themselves, never made the smallest request of her, not even when she described the way Sachiel had blown a hole in Rehan the angel guard’s side (Sachiel did pale almost to the color of morning mist though; Charlie almost felt bad for her).

Charlie had only just wrapped up her story, with the most careful retelling of Emily losing her temper she could manage (“she’d just been evil-eyed, your honors, after everything she’s done against evil!”) when a little door at the back of the room opened on silent hinges. A small detachment of angel guard poured in, then fanned out, as a familiar figure was escorted in.

It was Alastor!

He was in his own coat, of course, since his usual level of fancy was more than acceptable for a court appearance, even though he didn’t have his cane. Charlie felt the edge of the witness’s box at her waist before she realized she'd gotten to her feet. She ignored it.

Across the room, Alastor had stopped, gazing back at her in unsubtle adoration. When his escorts pointed and whispered, suggesting no doubt that he go to his seat, Alastor nodded without breaking eye contact with her. He put a hand to his chest in the now familiar “you wound me” gesture, though seeing it almost made her giggle aloud. He'd known it would amuse and reassure her, because his smile loosened a little. Satisfied at a message delivered, Alastor sauntered to his seat, unbothered by the rising din of murmurs. Someone went “awww!”

Well, one of the nice things of this being Heaven was the distinct lack of wolf-whistles and obscene gestures. She tried hard not to tap her feet in impatience. It felt like forever passed before Ramiel finally said court would reconvene in three days’ time.

Alastor was there at the steps of the witness box as soon as Charlie got down. She forgot all her firm convictions about keeping him at arm's length for his own good when she reached him, running into his arms like they were toddlers at the playground.

“You're OK,” she told his chest, relieved.

He chuckled and pulled away, one hand at her waist, the other moving to brush fingers through her bangs. “And you are beautiful.”

Now, Charlie was as allosexual as they came (she'd looked it up; she’d looked it all up, for days, everything she could about asexuality and allosexuality, which was a real funny word to apply to herself, and greysexuality and sex repulsion and non-repulsion, right alongside studying their contract like the biggest test of her life was coming) and would have accepted a more…amorous compliment from someone who loved her just as happily. But it was kind of nice to know that Alastor was calling her beautiful because he really thought she looked beautiful, not as a code word for “I am horny, you could be wearing a dirty potato sack and I’d still want to f*ck you”.

“Oh. Thank you. You look handsome as always.” She really should reign it in. But how could she when he looked so surprised, and so pleased, to hear it?

“Ahem.” They turned to see Verchiel and Zachariel, descended from the bench, standing right behind them. “Miss Morningstar? Mister De la Croix? A word, if you’d be so kind?” Zachariel had a soft voice, a calm masking a storm. With his white hair in a high bun and his narrow eyes, he looked like an emperor from a bygone Asian dynasty.

Charlie felt Alastor bristle at the use of his name. “Whatever would you high and mighty magistrates want with a worthless demon? Unless this is about sending myself and the lady back where we belong, that is.”

Emily cleared the little wooden fence separating the gallery and the stands in a flutter of wings. “What’s going on? There’s no charges against them, what’s wrong?”

“Everything’s alright,” replied Verchiel. With her judgely face put away, she exuded warmth and matronly authority. Charlie wanted to believe her right away. Her perfectly rounded afro’s curls had strands of bronze up close, as did her kind eyes. “We’d just like a word with them before we send them to their rightful place.”

“I hope that’s not code for ‘sending us to the dungeon’ or to the Void.” Charlie regretted the word when Alastor bristled again. She reached for his hand and squeezed, reassuring.

“Absolutely not.” In her defense, Verchiel looked affronted at the very idea.

But it had been a long day. “I’m sorry.” Charlie gathered Alastor’s hands in hers for moral support. “I’d love to trust you, but we’ve had one jump scare too many this week. This month. Maybe this entire year.”

“Understandable.” Zachariel turned to Emily. “Would you like to come too? You are blessed amongst the seraphim and a force to be reckoned with.”

Verchiel hummed and nodded. “Good idea. Should we try to hurt your friends, merely invoke your wrath upon us.”

“I think that’s OK.” Emily blushed bright red all the same, taken aback at the compliment.

“Excellent,” Verchiel gestured them together like a friendly tour guide - even her fellow judge. “We’ll require no guard,” she called to the corner where Keshav, Jamal, and all the other escorting guards bowed, “and we’ll be at the meeting room by the archway if anyone needs us. Or might want reinforcements against any foul play on our part.”

Alastor made an elaborate bow. “If Emeleth is with us, who is against us?”

Charlie was worried the comment would land like an anvil, but Verchiel laughed, Emily covered her face, and even Zachariel cracked a smile. “Our Lord Jesus,” he said, catching Charlie’s gaze, “has an exceptional sense of humor. If he does not take these witticisms in ill will, neither should we,” He turned and walked away, with Verchiel falling into step beside him.

Alastor held Charlie close, arm in hers, his hand on hers, as they walked. “An admirable gesture of good faith, leaving the rear open.”

Her gut was giving her the all clear. “I think they’re trustworthy.”

He sighed. “You think that of so many, dearest.”

“Yep, you included,” Charlie quipped back. She’d meant it as a gentle poke, a reminder of all they’d gone through, but the shocked silence that ensued from Alastor made Charlie realize how much she meant it.

After twisting and turning through faintly lit hallways, Verchiel turned towards a door in a hall of identical doors and pushed her way in without breaking stride. They followed her.

The room looked a little like a medieval church, bare stone walls and wooden pews, with an unadorned wooden cross at the front of the room. A pile of wooden stools occupied one corner. Verchiel gestured towards the pews and, once they were seated (Alastor and Charlie together, Emily on the pew behind them; she released Alastor’s hand with reluctance once they sat), dragged two of the stool in front of them before sitting in one. Zachariel took one look at the remaining stool and snapped his fingers, transforming it into a cushioned settee. Verchiel glared at him, but he ignored her.

Turning away from her companion with a sigh, she smiled again. “Welcome to the latest meeting of the Second Heaven society,” Verchiel announced. “We’re…a political party perhaps?”

“Nonsense, Verchiel, there’s too few of us to have political parties in Heaven - and we don’t exist officially.” Zachariel rubbed his chin. “We are more like your French Resistance, I think.”

“That was political as hell, Zach,” Verchiel didn’t flinch, even as Emily gasped.

“But it was never official.”

Verchiel huffed. “In any case…we’re a group, even though there’s only two of us here right now. Men, women and every other gender identity in Heaven, united to support the true spirit of the Bible. Which means, amongst other things, upholding the true laws of Our Lord Jesus. Especially now that he came and personally repeated them to us.”

“Is Ramiel one of you?”

“No, he’s a lone wolf and a rebel,” Verchiel replied with a smile, like she was quoting an oft-repeated line. “His and our principles are compatible, but he doesn’t believe in these kinds of organizations.” She folded her hands in her lap. “The purpose of this meeting is as follows: we’d like to thank you, to apologize, to explain some things to you, and grant you a boon. Once that’s done, we mean to send you off on your way.”

Charlie felt her mouth drop wide open. “Thank us?”

“Apologize?” Alastor spoke almost on top of her own words.

“A boon?” Emily leaned so far over the back of their pew, she was hanging by the waist.

Zachariel nodded. “We’ve been following your work at the Hazbin Hotel, and we’ve been in contact with the souls you’ve reformed. It’s an admirable project in the midst of less than ideal circ*mstances, and it has been one of our guiding lights in the process of upholding the Lamb’s Reforms.”

Charlie felt her face heat up.

“And having souls who’ve known Hell around has truly begun to transform Heaven as a society. We’d become so divorced from empathy,” Verchiel shook her head in disgust, “So deep in the fog. It was this moral lethargy that prepared the land for the rise of people like Sera.”

“We’re honored, of course. A pleasure to have served you, such a pleasure,” Alastor replied, making Charlie’s palms sweat. Oh, she knew that old chestnut - Alastor wasn’t amused. “But why do you of all the angels owe us an apology? It would seem the other way around.”

“For doing so little to aid you against the plot of Jehoel and company, which we knew of.”

“What?” Emily overbalanced and fell face first over the pew. Only her wings saved her from kissing the floor.

“What!?” Charlie grabbed the edge of the seat, unsure if she wanted something to hold on to or to push herself out in rage.

“Hmph.” Alastor narrowed his eyes at them both.

Verchiel held up a hand, placating. “If you’ll let us explain?” She lowered the hand and stared straight at Charlie, earnest. “If you’re done with us, we can go straight to the boon, which we absolutely insist on, because you’ve earned it. But we can dispense with the explanations if they're not what you want.”

Charlie stared back. “Go on.”

Alastor came as close as he could to a balk. “Are you sure, dearest?”

She nodded. “I’m sure.” There was a missing part to the story that she suspected Verchiel and her partner were eager to explain.

“Thank you, Princess.” She bowed her head. “Now. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, things have been a little different in Heaven lately. Our election was a fluke, a stroke of good fortune, one that upset career politicians like Jehoel and Matriel. As such we are…aware of their contempt, and of their desire to return Heaven’s politics to their prior state. When we got word that they were consorting with Sera of all people, we were concerned.”

“I’ve been emphatic in insisting we don’t exist,” Zachariel spoke up. “It is because this small, unimportant fact has protected us in the past. Without an established organization, a list, a group of visible members, we are hidden in plain sight. So, when Sera began to employ her considerable charm to recruit a spy, a go-between that might help her deal with Hell, she approached a member of Second Heaven unknowingly.”

“Ah, how convenient.”

“He was well known as a spy when he was a human. He managed to persuade his enemies that he had an entire intelligence network for years, and lived to tell the tale.” Disturbingly, Zachariel chuckled, glancing at Charlie. “And he has been amongst you, all this time, fooling even your Radio Demon.”

Alastor went rigid with indignation at her side.

“We shall let him talk to you.” Verchiel got to her feet and knocked on the door. “Are you out there?”

Three soft knocks returned.

“He’s here. Come in, come in, friend.” She unlocked the door and stood by it, relishing the theatrics a little. Like the reveal alone wasn’t the biggest bomb Charlie had dealt with since Cherri ascended. Charlie, for her part, only noticed she’d bent double and almost boosted out of her seat, trying to see around Verchiel, when her chin almost touched Alastor’s knee.

The door creaked open: behind it stood Arnie the will’ o wisp demon. “Uh. Hi.”

“Arnie!?”

“Hey there, Miss Morningstar.” He raised a hand. “Mister Radio Demon.”

“...hello,” Alastor managed.

Arnie held up a finger. The flames enveloping Arnie’s skull face went out. He reached for his skull face – and removed it. Behind it shone a wide-eyed face, with a long, aquiline nose and a square jaw. His thin cheeks wrinkled when he smiled. “I’m your other snitch. Or maybe the baby snitch. Bill liked to delegate a lot you see, then suck up to the moth man like it was him doing all the work.”

“Do you, by any chance, have no toes?” Charlie almost hurt her neck in her rush to stare at Alastor. “What?”

“That wasn't very nice Al.”

But the fake demon in front of them was taking the rude question beyond well. “Very clever.” Arnie leaned down and shook off his shoe. “Short feet. I’m 5’7, but Arnie’s taller, especially with his flames. I packed newspapers in the toes of my shoes to make Arnie proportional.”

“Of course.” Alastor looked at Charlie’s confused face. “Later, dearest. Some minutiae about the search for our snitch.”

Charlie let it go, turning to ‘Arnie’ instead. “Why did you pretend to be a klepto?”

“It was the perfect excuse to always be getting into everything.” He chuckled. “It even saved my life. Got me in trouble a few times too though. I thought your friend over there was up to no good at the beginning.”

“The supply closet incident,” Alastor recalled.

“Yep.” As if the pain of Niffty’s needle stabbing had returned, Arnie lifted a hand, rubbing the back of it. “Anyway, like these two were saying, I was Sera's guy on the inside. My job was to help her sway that rancid pimp to her cause.” He walked up to the two seraphim and gave them jovial slaps on the shoulders. “He was on board, but he didn’t want me being sneaky on my own. I ended up the errand boy to the pimp's own spy, but that was fine.”

“That's great, I guess.” Charlie rubbed at her face, wondering just how many things she’d been in the dark about. “Why didn't you tell us? We could have dealt with this together.”

Emily nodded. “I would have totally helped too.”

Alastor drummed his fingers on the pew. “Perhaps you meant to use the chance to gather the proof you needed to put Sera in the lovely dungeon she's been coveting. Which meant you had to let her plot go on unchecked as far as it could go.”

Charlie kept her grimace in check.

But instead of looking grim and unrepentant, all three angels began to exchange glances. In the end, Arnie sighed. “We meant to tell you. Except…I got caught.”

Alastor scoffed.

Arnie raised an eyebrow at that. “Don't you make train noises at me, it was your fault. Mine too, of course, I shouldn't have underestimated you like that, but you certainly didn't help.”

“What, I didn’t…” Alastor stopped. “Ah.”

Arnie turned to Charlie, satisfied. “You were all very subtle. I had no idea you’d caught on to the threat until I went to bug your room.” He smiled at her shock. “Bill let me do my own thing, because having someone underneath him in the totem pole had him, uffff,” Arnie spun a finger around his ear. “But how could I serve you to Sera on a silver platter? The day we planted the spy papers, I offered to place the one in your room. It was the one with the highest risk, so Bill kindly agreed to plant the rest himself, if I took on the biggest challenge.”

Alastor nodded. “And, later, you attempted to remove it as well.”

“Yes. And, because I didn’t know that you knew, your small friend with the needle got me again.” He made a funny self-deprecating face. “Everyone saw me escaping her as a bandaged demon, Bill included. Of course, he asked what I was doing on your floor after we’d finished. When he reported me to Valentino, only the story of the kleptomania kept him from putting a bullet through my mask.” He tapped his forehead with a single finger. “Lucky for me, he thought I that I thought the papers were made of gold.”

That didn’t sit well with Charlie. Even in character, Arnie had never struck him as an idiot. But it had saved him, so she could only be glad Valentino had taken the bait. “And, since you weren’t any good anymore, Sera fired you.”

“And abandoned me in Hell.”

Charlie couldn't help her outrage. “What?!” Unless they were lucky, angels abandoned in Hell had very short life spans.

Arnie shrugged. “No loose ends.”

“A most Sera-like approach,” Alastor mused. Charlie glanced at Emily, who was frowning at the floor like she could open a hole in it. “Though I assume you had a means of escape, Sera or no Sera, you stayed at the hotel after that.”

“Yes.” Arnie nodded. “We thought it was best to have an eye on the situation anyway. I was rather useless for a while, of course, until your forced ascension.” At Charlie’s look of surprise, he looked puzzled. “Why do you think Ramiel got to you before Emeleth did? I sounded the alarm!” He put a fist to his chest.

“I hope,” Verchiel began, throwing a pointed look in Alastor’s direction, “that our explanation has persuaded you. In trying to follow a better path than the ones we’ve walked before, we try to make more ethical decisions.”

“There there, I stand corrected.” Alastor raised both hands like Verchiel was holding him at gunpoint. “Though you could have helped us some more.”

Zachariel huffed. “The pimp’s deficient bullets were our doing. Mr. Pujol might have lost his standing with both his employers, but he is still an outstanding saboteur.”

Alastor put a hand against his stomach. “Ah.”

Charlie let go of the last bit of apprehension: she was amongst friends. “Thank you. I can tell it was hard, but you really did come through for us. For salvation.”

But all three of her new friends shook their heads. “No, no,” Arnie exclaimed, “we should be thanking you.”

“Thank you…um, what’s your real name?”

“Oh you can go ahead and call me Arnie forever, I’ve been so many people in my life, I’ll answer to that name just as well. A Greek seaman, a German widow, a Venezuelan student.” He listed them off on his fingers. “Though if you want the name my mother gave me, it is Juan Pujol.” He pronounced his own name in perfect Peninsular Spanish. “And we mean it. You’re awesome, Charlie.”

“But we don’t get many ascensions per month.”

“That doesn’t make it any less awesome. And almost all your friends are ascended, that’s pretty awesome work.”

Charlie blinked. “What?”

“Your friends. Husk, Anthony, Niffty.” Arnie hmmed. “I suppose even Vaggie counts, though she doesn’t need an ascension proper. She could just travel back here and choose to stay.”

Charlie’s brain stopped working for a moment. Alastor must have sensed her shock because he scooted closer, leaning his shoulder against her. “But - what - I mean. What?” Her brain hurt. She put a hand to her forehead, and didn’t notice her head was leaning sideways until she hit Alastor’s shoulder. “But…they’re still in Hell.”

“They refused to ascend.”

Emily gasped noisily. “They can do that?”

Zachariel nodded. “We had no idea of it ourselves until we acquired proof.”

“And I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes.” Arnie pointed at his eyes as he said it.

“That’s – whoa, groundbreaking!” Emily got up, as if the excitement couldn’t fit in her body. “Ascensions are presents! Freely given, and even freely accepted! Oh boy, wait until everyone hears about this!”

Verchiel, who’d been focused on Charlie’s face rather than Emily’s celebration, smiled. “Why don’t we show you? We only really recorded one, but just this one is enough to support our findings, we guarantee it.”

Verchiel made a throwing motion, at the end of which a bright sphere appeared in front of them; Charlie remembered them from when they’d spied on Angel Dust, right before the cancelled extermination. The white sphere grew and an image resolved itself: it was, funnily enough, Angel Dust. He was sitting beside the second floor vending machine, phone in one hand, unopened popsicle in another. This was his post-mission ritual, Charlie knew, so he must have just come in from outreach work; the deserted hallway meant it was late at night. Suddenly, a celestial light burst on him from above. Angel looked up at it in horror.

“Whoooooa, we’ve been through this.” He grabbed at the vending machine with all of his free arms, hugging it tight. “I’ve been praying about this and sh*t. I’m fine here! I want to stay! I’m happy. I’m helping people, people in a real bad place. I can’t just f*ck off on them.” He looked up into the celestial glare, a hand over his eyes. “Molly…?”

Charlie’s heart broke and put itself back together in an instant. Molly, Angel’s sister.

“Mols, honey, I love you with, like, all my heart,” he said, tears shining in his eyes. “But this is where I’m supposed to be, y’know? Hell’s hellish, yeah…but past those double doors?” He nodded in the general direction of the Hazbin Hotel’s main entrance. “There’s…home. It’s not just the nice room. It’s Charlie and Vaggie and, f*ck, even Creepy Voice. I’m home. We’re home. Husk and Niff aren’t going either.” Angel brushed the tears away. “I’m sorry I’m choosing a life away from you again. Sorry I’m ditching like when we were alive. But this time, it ain’t for drugs honey. It’s…a calling, I guess.”

Charlie felt tears prickle in her own eyes as the one-sided conversation played out. Whatever filled the silence made Angel smile. “Love you too. You drop me a line sometime, OK? Miss you so much babe.” But he hugged the vending machine harder.

The little sphere went blank, though Charlie figured her tears would have erased it soon enough. She turned, and the little drops sank into Alastor’s shoulder. “Whoops.” She raised her face a little; Alastor was staring down at her with tenderness. “You’re not holding out that kind of secret on me, are you?”

He shook his head. “Heaven was never my thing, dearest.” His tone was soft and consoling.

“It could be.” Charlie and Alastor whipped around to stare at Verchiel. “We mentioned a boon, right? We were wondering, now that the Princess has somehow turned angelic,” she pointed to her own hand, and Charlie remembered the golden blood with apprehension. “You two might want to stay here in Heave-”

“No.” Charlie didn’t need to give it even a moment’s thought. “Hell is my home. And the work I’m doing there is my calling too! If I’m doing it so well that all kinds of angels and demons want to kill me, then it’s never been more important that I stay. It’s for the good of everyone. And honestly, it’s been awesome for me too,” She caught herself and smiled. “Thank you though, that was a generous offer.”

“And without her,” Alastor interjected, “I doubt you’d want me loose in your little clubhouse. I’m afraid Hell too is my home. As would any place the lady might choose.”

Emily’s head popped around Alastor, wide-eyed and looking from him to her. Charlie felt herself blush.

Verchiel and Zachariel exchanged glances. Arnie sauntered up behind them, tapped them on the shoulders, and extended both his palms. “I told you.” With good natured muttering, both seraphim produced a shiny coin each, and deposited it in Arnie’s palms. He put them away. “We’ve got a plan B.”

“This other thing will take a while. I’d actually like to make it a surprise. But we’ll send you some paperwork later. Nobody will be relocated, changed or removed. We’d just like to give your hotel a special endorsem*nt – which you can refuse without repercussions, of course.”

“What about my um, condition?” Charlie held up her bandaged hand.

“It should be healed now.”

“I meant that I’m bleeding like angels do.”

Verchiel glanced to Zachariel, who shrugged. “This – which is to say a hellborn being summoned to Heaven in a simulated ascension - has never happened before. But it shouldn’t impede your return. Angels can inhabit hell,” he pointed to Arnie, “indefinitely. And that is supposing the effects of this unnatural ascension don’t wear off with time, which they might.”

Warm, sweeping relief! Charlie half turned and put a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “We’re going hoooome!”

“Naturally. Did you think, for even an instant, that I’d go anywhere without you?”

“Not really, but Heaven’s a nice place, don’t you think?” At his skeptical face, she giggled. “I’m joking. We have a lot to do.”

“And we must still figure out who wins our little wager.”

Arnie coughed. When Alastor ignored him, he took things up a notch, until he was in the middle of a full out coughing fit.

Alastor relented. “Yes?”

“What are you going on about, Radio Demon?” He pointed to Charlie. “She won.”

Alastor froze. Charlie’s own eyes widened so far, the faint breeze threatened to dry them right up.

Arnie went to the back and dragged another stool up, placing it by Zachariel. He dropped himself into it and sat back, like a storyteller preparing to weave a tale. “You’ve got steady ascension rate, far beyond what anyone could have predicted a year and change ago, you’ve got ascended sinners who are so fulfilled with their lives that they don’t need to live in Heaven: they’re in Heaven spiritually already! Has someone told Swedenborg?”

Verchiel and Zachariel, and even Emily stared at him oddly.

Arnie cleared his throat. “Sorry. Anyway: you’ve got sinners ascending, sinners choosing not to ascend because of the bonds they’ve created – both incredible examples of how sinners can change. And of course, you’ve got yourself.” He pointed at Alastor. “I guess I could say that being in love with Miss Morningstar changed you, but the way I see it, you were already kind of living in the spirit with your whole ‘only when they deserve it’ thing. What did happen though was that you realized pointing all your scheming into a common goal was better for yourself and the person you loved.” He spread his arms, as if the truth were a large fish he was displaying for them all. “Love is the greater good, and here you’ve been, hard at work for it.”

Dr. Sankara had always warned Charlie that, the closer she was to an issue, the harder it might be to see it in its entirety. He’d made her hold up one hand at a distance, then hold it close to her face, noting how she couldn’t see all the fingers even though she could sort of tell they were there. She’d never doubted him, but holy sh*t…!

Alastor, for his part, began tapping at the pew again. “While my feelings for Charlie are sincere, everything you’ve mentioned has been done because it benefitted me indirectly.”

He hadn’t said that love was fleeting and fragile! He hadn’t said that he’d go back to his ways once he was over her! Her heart was dancing.

Arnie began to look smug. “Wasn’t that her point exactly? Working for the greater good means your good too. Which is what those lovely words that just came out of your mouth mean.”

Alastor raised a hand, opened his mouth. And closed it.

Because he’d lost. His one choice was to deny everything – unthinkable – or go about in circles. Which would make him look like a weak debater.

He had lost.

He had lost!

Charlie could help it: she leaped to her feet. “Hell yeah! Oops, ah, Heaven yeah?” She sat back down. “Sorry.”

Zachariel made dismissive gestures. “No need to apologize.”

She put a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “Sorry to you too.”

He turned to look at her. “I hope, precious, that you won’t lord this over me for too long?”

“Only sometimes.” She grinned. “Arnie didn’t mention it, but I know you’ve noticed the overlords who banded together are doing way better than the ones who went their own way.”

“Ah, yes. That.”

“Cheer up. That still means I have to free…” Charlie glanced at the seraphim, “…you?”

Zachariel had become contemplative. “Perhaps this too can be our boon?”

“Ohhhh, good idea.” Verchiel began searching through her robes, and withdrew a phone. “Do you think Ramiel is still in the building? I’ll try him.” She hunched over it like a schoolgirl, tongue out, and began typing away.

“Why Ramiel?”

“He is part of the Council, and the judge who ordered the Radio Demon’s conditional release. If you intend to break the contract, having him here will give your choice unquestionable backing from Heaven.”

Charlie’s head whipped in Alastor’s direction. His immobile face masked a torrent of emotion, visible only in the way a tremor hand started in his hands. She sat back down and grabbed them. “You’re going to go free!”

“Never did I think,” he said after a moment’s silence, “that losing would be such a celebratory occasion.”

“You’re going to be your own man again, does it matter how?”

He raised an eyebrow. “End justifies the means again, my love?”

“Never.”

Emily appeared between them “You guys are in love? Oh my, you are!” She was smiling with awe. “Ohhhh this is amazing! I sort of suspected, because he’s being so sweet! And now that your contract’s ending, there’s no more power imbalance and you can date without baggage!”

Charlie felt a hand on her chin. Alastor turned her, gazing into her eyes. “Ah. The roadblock?”

She nodded, offering a tiny smile. Alastor looked all over her face, looking for something, but hadn’t found it by the time the door opened again.

“Hello, everyone.” Ramiel strode to the middle of the room, followed by a short angel in glasses. “I hope the secret club meeting’s over?” He glanced at Alastor. “Fancy meeting you again.”

Verchiel smiled. “Of course. This is all politically neutral business.”

Ramiel nodded. “Perfect. Let’s do this fast, we have another day of dragging the truth out of seditious seraphim tomorrow.”

Verchiel groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Ramiel cleared his throat. “So, it being the eleventh day of the eighth month, contract holder Charlotte Morningstar has made a request to the court. She begs that we allow her to break the contract binding Alastor De la Croix. The judge who oversaw the proceedings, which is me,” he added in a stage whisper, “hereby grants them his approval. Do we have this in writing?”

The little clerk nodded. Charlie wondered if she’d ever heard more beautiful words. It took her a few tries to make the chain manifest, since she’d never cared to see it even once since the contract began. The golden chain around Alastor’s neck glowed. “Let’s do this.”

“My thoughts exactly, darling.” Alastor curled fingers around it, a handspan below the clamp around his neck, then let it go.

“OK. Now: will the contract holder step forward, please?”

“Here.”

“Do you affirm that you are Charlotte Morningstar, Princess of Hell, contract-holder and guarantor of the demon Alastor?”

“I am.”

“Excellent. Now, Miss Morningstar: do agree to give up all rights over the soul of the demon Alastor?”

“I do.”

“Now, will the object of the contract step forward?”

Alastor sauntered to stand opposite Charlie. “Present.”

“Do you affirm that you are the demon Alastor, once the human Alastor De la Croix, and soul under contract to Charlotte Morningstar?”

“I am.”

“Do you agree to the termination of all the rights of Miss Morningstar over your soul?”

“I do.”

“Then let it be known that, in light of the proof provided on the case of the Radio Demon, the Heavenly Courts sanction the termination of this contract, on the grounds that it has proven beyond any reasonable doubt that the accused is no longer a threat to Creation on account of the new bond formed between himself and Miss Charlotte Morningstar, his erstwhile contract-holder, the contents of which will be determined between the two parties without further involvement from Heaven.” Ramiel smiled.

Charlie seized the chain, just as Alastor seized his end again. They pulled, each in their own direction. The chain shattered into a shower of twinkling sparks that rose like a wave and then rained on all the assembled like confetti at a party.

“I now pronounce your contract terminated.”

The clerk looked at Ramiel in confusion. “Um, was that necessary?”

“Nah, I just felt like it.”

Emily pirouetted forward. “You may kiss the bride!” Everyone stared. “Whoops. Sorry, I got carried away. It’s just so nice to see two souls in love! A demon and a sort of angel! It’s like a romance novel, but only one of you talks like you’re in one!”

Charlie laughed - until she caught sight of Alastor. His eyes were wide, curious and hopeful.

“What, she hasn’t confessed?” Arnie humphed. “Could have sworn she did, a hundred times. It’s been decades though, I may be losing my edge.”

That’s right. Everything’s finally finished except that I haven’t told Al I love him back. “Al, I-”

He held up a hand. “If I may, Emeleth’s suggestion was not a bad idea.” Alastor’s eyes and all of his attention were on Charlie as he spoke. “Not a bad idea at all.” He’d crossed the room in two steps. “Though a gentleman would never do such a thing with an audience.”

Alastor’s shadows poured out of thin air like ink, coalescing into a wall between them and the angels. Alastor bowed and offered her a hand, as if asking her for a dance.

Charlie took it. “I don’t think this is the time for the Charleston.”

“I agree most vehemently, as I’d rather you not step away from me right now.” He put her hand on his shoulder, lay his own at the middle of her back.

“Who’re we giving a grand finale to this time?”

“Just us. As it should have been.” Having his entire attention like this was intoxicating. “Is it true? You love me back?”

She nodded, shy. “I didn’t want to tell you with the contract between us. I was worried it might be part of the reason you were feeling things, or that you’d feel forced or like you had to in order to be free, or -”

Alastor huffed like an annoyed horse. “Rubbish. You went out of your way every day to ensure I felt like your equal.”

“That still meant the contract existed.”

“And that I was deprived of your affection for weeks on end.”

She gasped. “What?! Deprived of - I was so, so bad at hiding it, I’m surprised you’re surprised! Angel wouldn’t stop poking fun at me!”

Alastor shook his head. “The trouble, or rather the danger, of kind people, is that they are always kind. When one is always as good and selfless as you, how are the rest of us supposed to know when there’s a special tenor to that kindness?” And then he smiled, the joy of it reaching his eyes like she’d never seen before. “And now, dearest, I've been led to believe you might have a kiss for me.”

“If you want it.”

“Yes,” he whispered, like she'd offered him gold, or the Throne of Hell.

Speaking of which. “I don't want to be Queen of Hell.”

“Hmmm?” Alastor didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

“I don't think I'll ever change my mind on that.” With effort, Charlie pushed him an inch away. “Ruling Hell is an awesome platform to get word out on ascensions, but helping sinners is what makes me happy, you know? Ruling means a whole lot of other things that I just don’t care for. I'd rather be Charlie the hotel owner than Queen Charlotte Morningstar, even if Dad abdicates.”

“You abdicate then,” his eyes were focused below her nose. “Name Razzle your successor. Or Angel, or Husk.”

“You don't care.”

“No.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then he kissed her.

Kissing him like was releasing a breath after holding it for too long, like dropping a heavy weight and basking in the lightness. Alastor’s lips were curious, pressing then nipping, and Charlie felt giddy. Bit then there was a sudden shift, and Alastor had dropped her hand and thrown both his arms around her, almost toppling them to the floor in his excitement.

“Whoa.” Charlie pushed back, breathless. “Easy.”

“Forgive me, my dear. I may have gotten a little…involved.”

“That’s OK.”

“I trust that wasn’t the worst kiss you’ve ever had.”

“Oh no! Of course not!” Though it might be the most awaited one. “Besides, we can...practice as often as you want…?”

Alastor chuckled in a way that made her spine tingle. “Well now. I’ll be looking forward to that.” He sighed. “I also must abandon my plan to attempt a hex on Angel Dust for interrupting me the night we came back from Mimzy’s. It might have been worth it, to have the first one happen this way.”

Charlie laughed. In response, Alastor laid his forehead against hers.

“What’s on your mind?”

“That it’s an unexpected thrill to know that you laugh because of me, and because you love me. It might be going to my head as we speak.”

“You were always a little prideful Al, I’m sure I can handle a little bit more.”

“Of course. Because you love me.” He said it with a hint of vanity now, as if he were showing off an expensive watch – or like he’d performed the greatest of heroic feats. “Now, let me put the privacy curtain back down. I, for one, am ready to go home.” He chuckled again. “And we must not make our hosts believe I am having my wicked way with you right under their noses.”

“Al!” She gave him a playful slap, which somehow moved their faces closer, and they shared one more kiss before the black, bubbling wall came back down to an expectant Emily, two bewildered seraphim and a satisfied Arnie.

A few minutes before midnight, as promised, Charlie and Alastor stepped through a portal straight into the Hazbin Hotel’s foyer. Charlie felt a surge of relief, a burst of homecoming joy, as her borrowed ballet flats dug into the red carpet.

“It might be a little late to say hi to everyone, so maybe a mass text before bed. Thank goodness I’m back online.” Heaven and Hell’s phone networks were, of course, two whole different things. She couldn’t have called anyone if she’d tried.

“Are you sure, my love?” Alastor grabbed her shoulders, turned her to a side, and popped her phone out of her hands. She was facing the bar, where every one of the Hazbin Hotel’s managerial corps was staring at her in varying stages of shock.

Angel was the first to unfreeze. He tossed his Shirley Temple aside and bolted towards her. “Charlie!” He caught her around the waist and spun her in the air. “Babe, we thought we’d never see you again! You or Tall, Dark and Creepy!”

“I was worried too!” She hugged Angel as soon as she was on the ground again. Vaggie approached from the side and threw her arms over both of them.

Husk got as close as he dared and cleared his throat. “Glad to see you again, princess.”

“Oh f*ck the whole distant bartender act.” Angel produced another arm and hauled Husk into the pile. “We all missed her. Now cuddle.” He shoved Husk into the middle of the pile and hugged, which pressed him into Charlie. He accepted his fate with a sigh, though Charlie could swear he’d smiled.

“WE DIIIIIIID.” Charlie felt Niffty attach herself to her leg.

Once she felt full to the brim with affection, Charlie located Angel’s arm and slapped it lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d refused an ascension?”

Angel pulled back, expression guilty. “Uh oh. I…I…well, I wanted to stay and sh*t. I…I didn't want you to think you’d failed just because I didn’t want to go to Heaven.” He rubbed at the back of his neck like a boy about to be scolded.

“I’d never think that. I’m glad you like the hotel enough to want to stay. And your job.” She looked around. “That goes for all of you. I’m glad you’ve all come so far. I’m so, so proud of you. And I’m glad whatever mystical force controls ascensions also saw the worth in you.” Charlie had known that there might come a time when they might all leave. She’d made her peace with it as best she could - and now, she didn’t have to. Her selfish heart had gotten what it wanted, with no need to indulge in the selfishness. “But I’m also glad you’ve decided to stay. Heaven might want you, but I think Hell needs you. And, if you ever, you know, change your minds…”

Vaggie snorted. “Nope.”

“Yeah, same.” Angel nodded. “No druggies to help up there. And I need my audience.”

Husk shrugged.

“I like it here.” Niffty hugged her leg again. “I like all of you. This is where us weirdos belong.”

Alastor maneuvered his way around the close-knit crowd to Charlie’s side. “Contrary to popular belief, angels are incredible weirdos.” He captured Charlie’s hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it, there in front of G…oops, in front of everyone.

“So. Guys. There’s also this situation…” How did she say this?

Niffty gazed up at her. “Is Alastor your boyfriend now?”

Before Charlie could answer, Angel raised all of his arms. “f*cking finally.” He dropped his shoulders as if he’d just gotten a load off of them. “It was fun as hell to needle him, but I was worried he just wanted to f*ck you and not make an honest woman out of you.”

“Rest assured, Anthony, that I’d do nothing of the sort.” A hint of green glowed around Alastor.

But Angel Dust didn’t back down. “Hey, I’m just protective OK? You’re dating our best girl here.”

“And I intend to protect her as well.”

“Easy Al.” Charlie looked around, bewildered. Even Vaggie looked unsurprised. “Vaggie?”

Her erstwhile girlfriend, and current valued and beloved friend, looked to the ground for a moment. “I always told you I’d be all for you finding someone new eventually, right? Bit surprising that it’s him,” she jerked a thumb in Alastor’s direction, “but you make him act…weird.” She turned to stare directly at Alastor. “I don’t need to tell you everyone’s going to want to kill you if you hurt her, right? If Lucifer doesn’t just erase you, there’ll be a line.”

“I will no sooner hurt her than cut off one of my hands,” he replied with somewhat disturbing conviction. “Though I realize you all consider me a miscreant, do remember that I’m a possessive miscreant, and that I valued Charlie as an ally long before feelings put in an appearance.” He smiled, then created a veve, and sent it flying into Angel’s face. It dissolved into sparks, but it got him in the chin “An unbound, uncontracted miscreant.” He smiled at them.

Angel took a step back. “Oh.”

“Blech,” Husk shivered. “Congrats or whatever.”

Vaggie looked alarmed. “What about Heaven?”

“They agreed Alastor should go free.”

Vaggie frowned. “Oh. Goody.”

“It’s OK guys. We’ve reached an understanding. Also Alastor lost the bet.”

“What?”

“He did?!”

The foyer erupted into cheers and jeers, as Alastor frowned. “I’m glad my…defeat is such cause for amusem*nt.”

Angel whistled. “You bet it does. What does altruistic mercy taste like?

Vaggie blew air at her bangs. “Is that even a thing, Angel?”

“Well it could be.”

As happy as she was to see them, there were two people missing from the meeting. “Has anyone heard from Mom and Dad? It’s…weird that they aren’t here right now.” It was weird that Lucifer hadn’t tried to attack Heaven hours ago, but hey, silver lining!

Looks were exchanged. At last, Vaggie produced her phone. “See for yourself.” She handed the device, already open at a chat window with “Lucifer” at the top. The first message was from early in the morning, in response to a succinct Charlie disappeared into a portal, we think to Heaven, from Vaggie.

A torrent of ‘what’s. A hundred missed Wi-Fi calls. Walls and walls of text. If she had to estimate, Charlie guessed that her Dad had messaged Vaggie well over 1000 times. “Oh, boy.”

“Yeah,” Angel hissed. “He was losing his proverbial sh*t when we told him you’d been absorbed by Heaven or whatever, but he went to ‘make calls’ and we haven’t seen him in person since - but he’s here alright. Alive and interested. I’ve got 190 texts.”

“Fifty-two,” muttered Husk.

“Mr. Bad Boy Hell King sent me a few, but I think he didn’t like my stickers, because he never answered after I sent him my favorite Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife one.” Niffty’s mouth turned down at the corners.

“Yikes. Well, did you tell him I’m here? I mean I’ll text him right now but – “

“I did!” Angel raised a hand. “He texted six”, his phone vibrated “seven times already asking if you were OK and saying he’s been roped into a surprise meeting about the fabric of the universe or some sh*t that he can’t leave or else, that it involves angels, or he’d be here like yesterday.”

Charlie wondered if whatever they were up to had something to do with Verchiel’s hints about a boon. “Oh, OK.” If he was held up by angelic business, so was Mom as Queen of Hell.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be here the moment they let him.”

Vaggie’s phone chimed. “He’s asking for photographic evidence that you’re OK.”

“I’m texting, I’m texting.” Her phone was about to die. It was a miracle (haha) that it had held up for so long while they were in Heaven.

Angel’s vibrated again. “Same here. Smile!” The flash went off before Charlie could react. “Not sure he’ll like your new get-up,” he said, pointing at the white and blue dress Charlie was still wearing. “But he can see you’ve still got both arms and legs.”

Before Charlie could send him reassurances, messages began to flood in.

CHARLIE BABY I’M SO GLAD AND I’LL BE THERE FIRST THING IN THE MORNING

[a sticker of him hugging baby Charlie]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I love you honey

Your mom says she loves you more, we’re gonna fight it out later

Charlie smiled, fond and exasperated

Love you. Phone’s about to turn off.

Her screen went blank.

“So, what are we standing around for? Let’s par-tay!”

“It’s like midnight,” Husk groused.

“So? Our fearless leader’s back, nobody wants to go to Heaven, we’ll be BFFs forever, and Creepy Voice has a heart! I say we ransack the vending machine on the second floor and take all the lemon cordial in the bar.”

“YES!” Niffty raised both her arms. “I HAVE NICKELS!”

They ended up sitting on the floor around the vending machine like children around a campfire. All of them, even Alastor, who took his place beside her on the rug proprietarily and leaned his shoulder against her. He was taking everything with unusual good humor – even more when he got to help her recount the story of what had gone on in Heaven.

There was general outrage at the Council’s involvement, but a lot of cheering and toasting to Emily – with cordial in paper cups and a few soda cans from the machine.

Husk muttered in annoyance at Sera having a finger in the pie again. “Any chance they’ll put down that bitch now?”

Angel jostled him. “Husky!”

Vaggie huffed. “They wouldn’t kill her. But she’s never seeing the light of day now.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t tell me, darling, that you feel bad for her.”

“Yeah, but not like ‘appeal her sentence’ bad.” Charlie sighed. “Just ‘sucks to have given up everything in the universe for petty revenge’ kind of bad.”

The party devolved into in-jokes and old stories. Alastor lapsed into silence, as he usually did, but Charlie could sense he was there, present – and that half of his attention was always on her.

By the small hours, Angel and Niffty were locked in a tie for Most Adventurous Junk Food Tester.

“OK, so what should we try next? How about something spicy?”

“M’full,” Husk whimpered and propped his head on Angel’s leg.

“I told ya emptying the chocolate bar rack was a stupid idea,” Angel admonished, rubbing Husk’s forehead.

Vaggie picked through the empty wrappers. “Any soda left in that thing?”

“Just some sh*t called Screamonade.”

“Give me it.” Vaggie gestured.

“OK. One weird can of whatever the f*ck, coming right up.”

Niffty hummed a tune as she gathered the wrappers. “We should stock,” she took a deep breath “CANNIBAL TOWN FOOD NEXT!” At the odd looks, she became confused. “What? Haven’t you heard of non-can food?”

Charlie wondered if her heart had felt so full. She leaned on Alastor, who leaned into her as well. “This is nice.”

“I think I agree.” His hand found hers on the rug. “Though my original plans included an early night in preparation for a jaunt to Mimzy’s tomorrow.”

“You wanted to take me dancing at Mimzy’s?”

“Until that little celestial mishap, yes. But we can go there another day.” He brushed her bangs. Charlie was beginning to think he liked her hair. “We can go as many times as you want.”

“Then we should go tomorrow like you planned.”

“Absolutely.” He gazed off into the distance. “You’ve asked many questions lately, but there’s one I’m rather surprised you’ve omitted.”

“Which one?”

“I expected you to be concerned that you’ve secured my good behavior conditionally.”

“Do you mean you think that I think you’ll only behave for as long as you’re in love with me?” At his affirmative silence, Charlie laughed. “Al, Arnie said it: you were always going to end up on our side. You like attention; that means you need other people around. You like hurting people who deserve it, that means anyone who doesn’t deserve it is safe. You’re practical, and reasonable. And, if we’re going by Hannah Arendt, now that you’re consciously aware that cooperative behavior helps you too, you’ll do it.”

Alastor made vague noises of assent. “Alright. I’d just like to add one more thing: I always meant to be your ally. I’m here on a conscious decision.”

“I know.”

“Then let me affirm it anyway.” Eyes still on their friends, Alastor released her hand to snake it around her shoulders and draw her closer. “I always thought you were a promising, bright demoness, full of potential. I always meant to be on your side, the winning side. And, once I got to know you, you came to be on a very, very short list of people who make life, or rather the afterlife, more interesting.” He turned to her. “I’m your guy, your day to day, your chum, your steadfast hotelier. Forever, if you’ll allow it.”

“I think I will, then.” She nudged him. “You didn’t fix any clogs today.”

“No. I never did, in fact, I just meant I’d supervised Niffty as she did.”

Charlie laughed.

Now this feels like a happy ending. There’d always be hurdles. Heaven wouldn’t always look upon them kindly. And not everyone who came to her would want salvation. She’d cry, she’d have her heart broken, she’d be lied to and hurt and frustrated.

But she’d have her friends, her parents, and her trusty Radio Demon. If Lucifer, if the whole Hazbin Hotel, if Alastor are all with me, she thought, making herself shake with silent giggles, who is against me?

Alastor caught her eye and grinned back.

There is a letter propped on Charlie’s door this morning. It was sent on its way by seraphic hands, no spies or enemies afoot.

She is fast asleep beyond it. So is the Radio Demon, who was persuaded to stay with her last night. It’ll be a while before he can sleep without phobia of the Void disturbing his sleep, but Charlie is happy to be his counter curse for as long as he needs it.

The letter waiting for her is made of good, thick paper and sealed with wax. A twin of it is in Lucifer’s hand at present. He is en route to the hotel right now, eager to see his daughter first, eager to share some interesting news second. Lilith is with him, of course.

The news, and the contents of the letter, will be cause for celebration once all the sleepers are awake – perhaps celebration enough to console Lucifer at the news of his new apparent son-in-law.

The contents are safe behind the seal, but if you held it just right, you’d be able to read the large, bold letters at the top of the paper.

BY WHICH HEAVEN RECOGNIZES THE “HAZBIN HOTEL” AS A BRANCH OF THE REALM OF PURGATORY

When I looked up from my drink of sorrow
the archangel Gabriel, gentle Gabriel
Gabriel, Lord of Mercy Appeared to me
The archangel Gabriel said unto me
“Son of Adam, Son of Eve,
Behold, the mercy of the Father is greater
Than you can ever know
For even now there a path opened
A road of Mercy
and you shall call this road Golconda
And tell your children of it,

For by that road may they come
once again to dwell in the Light.”

- The Book of Nod, Vampire: The Masquerade