Darkness slowly gave way to deep gray that lightened to a pale and muted red, which split to reveal blinding electric blue and almost endless black as Angel Dust slowly opened his eyes.
“Wha…?” he murmured, cringing from that brightness as his brain desperately tried to catch up to where his body currently was. He didn’t feel anything, but it was a fuzzy and numb sort of nothing, like every part of his body had been wrapped in cotton batting. Angel tried to move, and immediately, sensation returned to him like he had just been bull-rushed by the very concept of pain itself. He couldn’t scream, despite his best efforts; his breath escaped him in a long and hoarse exhale that made barely any sound at all. His side and abdomen were undoubtedly the worst of it, an unimaginable agony filling him every time he so much as breathed.
Calm the f*ck down.
His little self-admonition helped, but not by much. Angel gritted his teeth, glancing around himself to determine his surroundings. Immediately, his breath caught, dread flooding him. He knew what those strips of bright blue light meant, and even worse, he could smell the lingering traces of the last person he wanted to see ever again.
He was back at VoxTek.
It looked like one of the filming studios, judging by the size of it, but the entire thing was empty. He was suspended in midair, maybe eight or so feet from the concrete floor, which was splattered with blood; he was face down, bound by his hands (one set over his head and one set behind his back) and his feet, which left him unable to straighten out from the forward arch that was making every inhalation absolutely unbearable. His face hurt, too, and he could tell just from the feeling that something had cut him and blood had dried on his skin and in his fur.
“f*ck,” he hissed, gritting his teeth and trying to find a way to move. But it didn’t just hurt because of his face, or whatever was wrong with his side, or his limbs. He was freezing, just warm enough that he wasn’t fully numb but so cold that the simple act of flexing his fingers made him ache. Fighting through the agony, he tried twisting his wrists, but the material binding him weren’t ropes. They weren’t even zip ties. They felt like cables, the sorts of cables Vox had winding throughout the entire building, and every time he tried to pull his hands free he heard a soft and threatening buzz of electricity.
Angel drew breath, fighting through the pain, and managed (after three false starts) to shout into what felt like the unending void that surrounded him in the empty studio. “Hey! sh*theads!! I’m f*ckin’ awake now!!”
His voice echoed back into his ears, and as the sound slowly died into silence, and Angel hung his head, clenching his jaw against the desire to cry or scream or anything from the pain. But he simply hung in suspended silence for what felt like half an hour before he heard the door open on the other side of the studio. He didn’t look up, because it was too hard, and the pain was too great. But he didn’t need to.
“Hola, amorcito.”
Angel gritted his teeth. “Val.”
Valentino took his time crossing the room. He stopped in front of Angel and then reached up to take his chin in hand and wrench his face upwards to look at him. Angel whimpered, pain radiating down his spine at the sudden movement; because of the height he was suspended at, he still had to look up at Valentino, just a little. “You don’t seem very happy to see me,” the overlord complained, his sarcasm blatant.
“Would you be happy to see you?” Angel asked, his voice raw.
Oddly, Valentino smirked at him. “You’ve gotten yourself an injection of courage, haven’t you? Wonder where that came from.”
“What d’you want, Val?” Angel asked in a faint voice, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he could ever remember. He tried to let his head hang once more, but Valentino kept hold of his face, forcing it to remain raised.
Valentino sighed. “Angel, baby… you’re out of time. You know that, don’t you?”
“…yes.”
It wasn’t my fault.
“Then you know what I want,” Valentino said.
Angel saw movement to the moth overlord’s side, and he looked down, his eyes widening. When the f*ck did Vox come in?
“We did warn you,” Vox said, his voice almost unbearably smug. “And now you’ve forced our hand. But don’t worry, Angel Dust, I doubt this will take very long.”
Angel bared his teeth, an ineffectual move at best, particularly with how he was currently being held. “The f*ck’d you do?”
Vox’s smile grew, his right eye narrowing. “Oh, we simply issued a challenge to my old friend. You and I both know Alastor will ignore many things, but a blow to his reputation? Oh, he can’t abide that. His ego is far too inflated.”
Angel narrowed his own eyes, but he couldn’t argue. One of Alastor’s greatest weaknesses was his desperate need to control how other people saw him; the idea that someone, somewhere, might have formed an opinion about him counter to that would drive the Radio Demon up the wall. And Vox was, after all, a propagandist who had no small part in convincing the entirety of the Pride Ring to stop waiting for their absent ruling family’s return and to start fully relying on the overlords. If he could turn public opinion on Charlie, of all people, he could turn it on Alastor, if he was really determined to.
And as long as he doesn’t lose his sh*t like last time, I guess.
Angel couldn’t help smirking. “So, what, you’re baiting him to come here?” he asked. “Alastor’d f*ck all three of you up.”
Vox’s smile turned significantly nastier. “Oh, you stupid little whor*,” he said, pouring all the condescension he could muster into those words. “Don’t you think that, if Alastor could add us to the radio chorus, we’d already be there?”
Angel narrowed his eyes. But it was something he’d wondered before. Alastor took out other overlords. It was his thing. There weren’t a lot of logical reasons for the Vees to still be operating, but… Alastor left them alone.
Why does Vox call him a coward?
Valentino tightened his grip on Angel’s face, forcing his eyes up. “Alastor won’t be dealing with us anyway, baby. We’re going to leave him to you.”
Angel snorted. “You really think that’s happenin’? I ain’t f*ckin’ stronger than the Radio Demon, and even if I was, why would I do that sh*t for you?”
“You don’t have a choice,” Valentino said with a level of certainty that made Angel… nervous. “Don’t forget. In the studio… I own you,” he whispered. “You said so yourself, araña. And you can check your contract if you’d like, but in the studio, you have to do anything that I tell you to do.”
Angel’s eyes widened as he thought back to everything he had done over the course of his career. So many detestable, disgusting things, things he hadn’t wanted to do, things that had made him actually vomit, things that he couldn’t say no to because the contract wouldn’t permit him to. In the studio, he was Valentino’s plaything. “…I’m not stronger than Alastor,” he repeated, his voice weak.
“I don’t think you’ll need to be.” Valentino stroked his fingertips across Angel’s cheek, catching torn skin and making the spider hiss in pain. “I told you. This bond is getting broken, whether you like it or not. And we’ll arm you appropriately, when the time comes.”
Vox was simply watching in silence. Angel glanced down at him, and Vox… he smiled. Angel looked away. “…”
“Good boy,” Valentino purred, finally releasing him. “You can just stay here.”
“What? No, Val, please…!”
“Oh, no no no, amorcito. You won’t be escaping this time,” Valentino said. “Think of this as your punishment. I’ll let you down once you decide to behave.”
Valentino stroked his face once more, then he turned, leaving the studio space. Angel drew a shaken breath when he heard the door shut, the slam echoing through the studio again.
“You know something?”
Angel started and looked up; he hadn’t realized that Vox was still there. But still there, he was, standing with his arms folded in thought as he considered Angel as though he was a mildly interesting art installment. “…what?” Angel asked, once he realized Vox wasn’t going to continue until he got acknowledgment.
“This was Valentino’s idea,” Vox said. “Honestly, at first, I was a little trepidatious. After all, it’s quite the risk. Provoking the Radio Demon is a sure way to cause all kinds of property damage. But… here’s the thing.” Vox placed his hands behind his back, smiling up at him. “Valentino is very taken with you. He has, if you’ll forgive the pun, a blind spot where you’re concerned. He seems to be under the impression that, should you attack him, Alastor won’t fight back.”
Angel twitched a little. He didn’t speak.
“But I don’t think that’s true,” Vox continued. “I think that, once he sees you’re being compelled by your contract, Alastor won’t hesitate to absolutely destroy you.” His smile sharpened. “You know you won’t have a chance against him. He’s going to kill you. How does that feel?”
“f*ck you,” Angel whispered.
Vox shook his head. “Oh, Angel Dust. Crass until the end. Don’t worry,” he said, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “I’ve heard that being made a member of his chorus is one of the most painful and horrific things a soul can endure. And you’re a masoch*st, right?” He laughed, carrying that sound to the door as he let himself out of the studio and left Angel alone.
Angel let his head hang again, shivering from cold and pain. This should never have happened. He couldn’t help feeling that this was his fault. He pushed Alastor for time together, he was the one who kept testing his boundaries… hell, if he hadn’t insisted on being in the kitchen with him that night, this never would have happened in the first place.
Vox was right about one thing, at least: there was absolutely no way Alastor would let Angel kill him, angelic weaponry or not.
But there was something about which Vox was very, very wrong.
Alastor won’t come after me.
Why would he? He’ll know it’s a trap. He’s smarter than that.
He won’t come.
Please, Alastor. Please. Just leave me here.
•••
The hotel lobby was dead silent. Most everyone was staring at Alastor, waiting for a reaction, while Alastor was staring at Blitzø like he had just spontaneously sprouted a second head.
Blitzø, for his part, didn’t really seem to care all that much if the overlord was mad or not. Millie could hear Moxxie hyperventilating beside her, though, because of course Moxxie cared just… so much. She shushed him gently while trying not to draw too much attention, taking his hand in her own.
“…who the f*ck are you?” Alastor asked. Blitzø lowered his hand, studying the sinner in front of him, and Millie did the same, getting past her awe at being this close to the Radio Demon to actually take in just how pissed he looked. Larger antlers than usual. Black sclera. Blood coming from the corner of his lips. Voice coming through a mouth that wasn’t opening.
Damn, you’d think that’d even shut Blitzø up, but of course not.
“Blitzø. The O is silent,” Blitzø said, and predictably, the other hotel people exchanged the looks that clearly communicated ‘blitz doesn’t have an O in it, what the f*ck’. “I kidnapped your boyfriend.”
Moxxie’s gasp was so visceral Millie could feel it through her arm, and she tightened her grip on his hand, hissing at Blitzø, “The f*ck’re you doin’?”
Alastor tilted his head so quickly that his neck cracked, ignoring the rest of them. “Is. That. So?”
“Yeah. Chill the f*ck out,” Blitzø said, holding up one hand. Alastor narrowed his eyes, and Millie could hear radio static that somehow managed to sound puzzled.
Moxxie stepped forward, but didn’t let go of Millie’s hand. “Sir you can’t talk to an overlord like that!”
“Weird, pretty sure I just did—!” Blitzø made a noise that was somewhere between a not-a-word vocalization, a curse, and a gag as Alastor vanished into the floor only to reappear in front of their boss the next second, holding him off the ground by the front of his coat. “Ah, f*ck, you didn’t like that didja buddy,” Blitzø managed. “Moxxie don’t throw out my—!!”
Alastor and Blitzø disappeared into the floor, leaving behind the heavy weight of the overlord’s fear aura. Silence descended over the room, before one of the sinners (Millie thought her name was Niffty) asked, “Don’t throw out his what?”
Moxxie groaned and put his face in his hands. “Probably his horse smut,” Loona said from where she still stood, leaning against the wall next to the door. “He’s got it organized.”
“I— I’m sorry,” Princess Charlotte said, taking a couple of steps forward. “Who, exactly, are you? And what do you know about Angel?”
Millie huffed out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her eye. “…dammit, Blitzø,” she muttered under her breath. This was going to be a very long, very awkward conversation.
•
Blitzø was suddenly expelled from a vacuum of sound and darkness and into… more darkness, but of the less oppressive and cloying variety. His shoulder slammed against a cold stone floor, and he tucked himself into a ball, rolling what felt like twenty feet before he smacked against a wall and came to an abrupt stop.
“Motherf*cker,” he cursed as he unfolded himself, placing his hands on the floor to shove his weight back onto his feet. Blitzø’s breath came hard and sharp as he looked around slowly, but even with his dark vision it was difficult to see anything. It looked like a basem*nt of some kind. Maybe a dungeon? “Kinky,” he muttered under his breath.
Blitzø slowly walked forward, taking stock of his new situation. It was definitely a dungeon, with the smell of filth and blood and death surrounding him, but he couldn’t find any other bodies.
Well, they do say he’s a cannibal.
“Okay, look, I know you’re pissed off,” Blitzø said into the darkness, trying to put off the lingering dread that his insides were about to be on his outsides and hopeful that Alastor could hear him.
“Oh, no,” a voice that sounded like Alastor’s but much too artificial—radio filter?—answered him from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “You have no idea how angry I am. You are merely very, very fortunate that I did not have to track you down. The fact that you sought me out is enough to stay my hand long enough to ask what, precisely, it is that you think you’re doing here.”
Blitzø nodded, trying and failing to pinpoint the source of the voice. It sounded like it was moving around him. “I’m here to tell you exactly what I know on the condition that you don’t immediately tear me and my employees into tiny pieces.”
“That will greatly depend on what you tell me, little one. If you want to survive this, you had better hope it’s worth my time.”
f*cking fantastic.
“Right. Okay. Fine,” Blitzø said, holding his hands up. “We’re I.M.P. We were hired by Velvette for a job with the Vees, and they offered to pay enough that I didn’t really care it wasn’t an assassination. Initially, Vox wanted us to follow you and Angel Dust around whenever you left the hotel and get pictures of the two of you together.”
Alastor laughed. It was high and mildly deranged, but it also seemed genuinely amused. “And I never noticed you. I’m almost impressed.”
Blitzø bit his tongue to keep a sarcastic response from pouring out of him immediately. “We got the pictures. I’m assuming you’ve seen them. I took them to Vox, and he informed me that he was extending our contract and didn’t give us much of a choice. He wanted us to drug Angel Dust and take him to VoxTek if the two of you… didn’t break your bond.”
There was something oddly contemplative in the silence, but Alastor didn’t answer.
“…so we did. Which I guess you already know. As soon as the contract was complete, we left, and Vox tried to have us killed, which you also saw.”
“And why, exactly, did you come here?”
“I dunno, because I feel like sh*t about all of this and I planned to come here ever since my employees threw a bitch fit over the contract because they’re a gross married couple and freaked the f*ck out over the idea of breaking up a couple? Because I’m not a f*cking kidnapper and it pisses me off that the overlord of forced obsolescence threatened my people with functional slavery if we didn’t do it? Because I don’t think Angel Dust deserves to be tortured because he was stupid and fell in love with someone?”
If the last silence was contemplative, this one was heavy. Shocked, maybe? But why would Alastor be— oh.
Blitzø raised an eyebrow at no one, looking around again. “Oh, come on, bro. Even I could tell.”
The ground suddenly dropped out from under him, and Blitzø barely had time to gasp out a ‘f*ck’ of protest before it suddenly got a whole lot brighter and he landed on something very soft. Wincing, he raised his arm and shielded his face, slowly opening his eyes to attempt to give them the chance to adjust to the abrupt change. It was very red, was his first determination, and it only took a moment for him to register he was in some kind of… bedroom? Was it a bedroom? There was a broken desk a short distance from him, a bed further away, and…
“That’s a whole ass bayou,” Blitzø muttered.
“That it is.”
Blitzø refocused directly in front of him, and he saw Alastor, sitting in a high-backed armchair a short distance away. It was only then that he realized he was also sitting in a chair that appeared to match, and they were in front of a fireplace that was emitting green light with no fire. Blitzø looked at the chair, patted the arm a couple of times, and then looked back to Alastor. “Neat trick.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes, his smile sharpening. He had, at least, returned to what appeared to be a more calm state (for him), since he no longer looked ready to unhinge his jaw and— Blitzø wasn’t gonna continue that thought. The Radio Demon slowly tilted his head. “Explain.”
“…uh. You mean—?”
“You said you planned to come here ever since an altercation with your employees. Explain.”
Blitzø sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “…look, my line of work is getting paid to blow up asshole humans for sinners who can’t get revenge themselves. I have less than zero interest in whatever interpersonal bullsh*t you overlords have, and yeah, it pissed me off when I fully realized that the Vees were using us because they have some kind of petty quarrel with the two of you and literally nothing else. Besides, I kinda f*cking hate all three of them at this point.”
Alastor sat back. “Anyone who wishes to backstab Vox deserves to be heard, I think. But if you know that I already know where Angel is, why did you come here?”
Blitzø frowned. “…two things. One is a warning, and one is an offer.” Alastor didn’t interrupt, so he continued, “Vox gave us six syringes full of a liquid that looked a lot like the smoke from Valentino’s cigarettes. He was very adamant that we use all six, and that we had to inject them where his arms met his back. I don’t know what was in them, but it prevented him from using his arms before he was knocked out. And… after Vox gave me those and dismissed me, I kind of… hung around a little?”
Alastor raised an eyebrow. “You spied on the Vees?” By the tone of his voice, Blitzø figured Alastor had decided that he would have liked the imp if it wasn’t for the whole kidnapping thing.
Blitzø shrugged. “…the Vees were kind of non-specific, but from what I got, I think they’re going to use Angel Dust’s contract to compel him to try and kill you.”
Alastor looked away, thinking. “I imagine Vox is hopeful that I will kill Angel instead,” he said.
“He didn’t say as much, but that sounds right.”
“Hm.” Alastor was silent for a long moment. “You said you had an offer,” he said finally. “What, precisely, would that be?”
This was where it was getting complicated… as well as not being anything close to a guarantee. “As long as Angel Dust is under contract, he doesn’t have a choice in obeying Valentino, right?” Blitzø asked. Alastor nodded, the skin at the corners of his eyes tightening. Blitzø recognized that look. “Thought so. …if you can find a way to get me a copy of his contract, I have someone I want to show it to.”
Alastor raised an eyebrow at him. “…oh? Who, and why, exactly?”
Blitzø resisted the urge to close his eyes, unable to believe he was about to suggest this. “Prince Stolas of the Goetia,” he said. “He’s an expert with soul legality and contracts. If anyone could find a way to get your boyfriend out of a contract? It would be him.”
•••
“So… let me see if I have this right. The four of you are from I.M.P. You were hired by the Vees to stalk Alastor and Angel, and then were told to kidnap Angel and take him to VoxTek.”
“Right.”
“And then… they tried to kill you, and now you’re here… why, exactly?”
“We dunno, Blitzø was the one doin’ the drivin’. We were mostly concerned with th’ sinners that jumped onta the van when we tried to run.”
Vaggie frowned, folding her arms and staring at the imps across from her. They had introduced themselves as Millie and Moxxie—the hellhound was apparently Loona, not that she was saying a whole lot—before giving them the basic rundown of their situation. And, since there was no telling how long Alastor would be gone with their boss (hopefully not killing him but who really knew at this point), Charlie had insisted that everyone sit down in the lobby and talk, which was what they were doing.
Well, most of them, anyway. Niffty had moved the incapacitated sinner out of the lobby through the front door, and was currently scrubbing at the bloodstains in the carpet with an alarming amount of enthusiasm. And even though Charlie had declared they should sit, she had spent most of the time pacing and just listening.
Vaggie tore her eyes from her girlfriend to look at the imps again. “Well, it looks like your boss isn’t very bright if he thought his best plan was to break in and just tell Alastor he kidnapped Angel.”
Moxxie frowned at her. “Just because you don’t get it doesn’t mean it’s a bad plan.”
“Oh, I get it,” Vaggie said. “…look, why don’t the three of you just hang out for a bit? Alastor has to come out eventually, either with your boss or not.” She got to her feet as the two imps started muttering together, but she ignored them, instead crossing to Charlie. “Hey… what’s wrong?”
Charlie bit her lip, glancing away.
The moment Vaggie saw that look, she took Charlie by the hand. “Okay. Come here.” She pulled the other woman to the other side of the room, where she could still keep her eye on their ‘guests’ but not risk being overheard too easily. “Come on. Talk to me.”
Charlie wrapped her arms around herself. “…I f*cked up again.”
Vaggie frowned. “What?”
“I f*cked up again,” Charlie repeated, her smile achingly sad. “I— dammit, I should have talked to you first, but I…” She drew a deep breath. “…I talked to Vox about Alastor and Angel. I asked him for lenience where Angel was concerned. And I… I think it’s my fault that this happened.”
“Whoa,” Vaggie said quickly. “Whoa, hold on, no. No, it’s not your fault— what could you possibly have said to make this your fault?”
“I told Vox that they didn’t want to break their bond.” Charlie winced when Vaggie slowly raised one hand to her temple. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have done that, but I thought— I thought it was all Valentino! Vox always seemed so… so reasonable! I mean, yeah, Al hated him, but Al hates everybody.”
Vaggie could sense her face expressing all of the sympathy she was currently feeling for Charlie. On the one hand… Vox was an overlord, and trusting overlords was universally a bad idea. But, on the other, one of the reasons she loved Charlie was her willingness to give others the benefit of the doubt. Besides, Vaggie understood what it was like to fall for the charisma of a blatantly terrible person.
After all, she had once willingly followed Adam.
“Okay… babe, first off, this isn’t your fault,” Vaggie said, taking hold of Charlie’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. “Yes. It was dumb. But whatever Vox and the other Vees did after you talked to him is their fault, not yours.”
Charlie nodded slowly. “…I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Even— even if it’s not my fault, I still feel responsible, y’know?”
“I know.” Vaggie rubbed Charlie’s upper arms. “We’ll come up with something.”
She was just about to suggest that they head back and Charlie try to talk to the others when Vaggie sensed something… off. She barely had time to grab Charlie and dive towards the middle of the room before the same wall that had been blown up and repaired at least six times (counting the old hotel) blew up again, sending a rain of debris and rock across the lobby carpet.
“My carpet!” Niffty yelled over Moxxie’s scream and the sounds of both him and Millie scrambling for cover.
Vaggie coughed, waving her hand in front of her face to dispel the dust. This was getting absolutely ridiculous, and she was about to say so, when she heard footsteps crunching loudly through the debris.
“Where the f*ck is he?!”
Oh, sh*t. Cherri.
Vaggie got to her feet and pulled Charlie up as Cherri Bomb stomped into the lobby through the hole she made, looking like she was mere seconds away from blowing up herself. Charlie spoke the moment she could without inhaling dust. “Angel? He’s at—!”
“No,” Cherri snapped. “Alastor. Where the f*ck is Alastor?!”
“He didn’t do it.”
Cherri turned with a soft growl as Husk approached, stopping a good ten feet away from her; smart, Vaggie thought, even if it probably wouldn’t help in the long run. Cherri glared at him, clenching her hands into fists slowly.
Husk didn’t move, and his face was set into its usual tired sort of apathy. “Alastor didn’t hurt Angel,” he said. “You know that.”
“Do you think I give a sh*t that he wasn’t the one who ripped him up personally? Like with his own hands?” Cherri asked, one hand on her hip as she leaned forward at Husk. “This is his f*ckin’ fault, and I want to know where the bitch is.”
Husk released a long sigh, reaching up to adjust his hat. He then walked past Cherri, heading for the bar.
She turned to him, raising her eyebrow. “…are you daydrinking?”
“Not at the moment. You’re daydrinking.” She didn’t move, and he reached down beneath the bar, withdrawing something and throwing it at her. “He’ll be out soon and you can scream at him then, he’s bound to have heard you. Will you just sit down?”
Cherri caught the object—a whole lime, apparently—and tossed it up and down like she was contemplating flinging it back at him like a grenade. Finally, she gritted her teeth, stomping over to the bar and hopping onto a bar stool. She didn’t say anything when Husk slid her a drink, busy peeling the lime and biting into the fruit like she wished she was doing it to Alastor’s still-beating heart.
Vaggie looked at Charlie. “You good?”
Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Vaggie helped Niffty clean up the debris—both Millie and Moxxie helped as well, probably because they were clearly still feeling guilty and for want of anything else to do—but Husk was right in his prediction. Alastor returned less than ten minutes later, treating everyone to the unusual sight of him actually walking into a room. And, not only did he look much calmer, Blitzø was walking with him and, somehow, appeared to be in one piece.
“So very sorry for that interruption,” Alastor said, waving his hand in that careless way that signaled he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. “This delightful fellow and I merely had a few details to iron out.”
Vaggie squinted at him. “Delightful— we thought you were going to kill him.”
“I was!” Alastor said. “But I didn’t, and for that, you are quite welcome,” he added, directing the words not to Blitzø, but to the rest of I.M.P.
Cherri downed her drink and slammed it onto the bar. “Oi, strawberry pimp,” she called across the room. Alastor made that weird static noise, turning his head to squint at her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow those pearly yellows out of that f*ckin’ mouth of yours.”
Alastor laughed. “Why, my dear, I would think your inevitable demise would be incentive enough.”
“Oh, bitch, you are asking for it.”
Charlie ran between them and held her hands out. “Please not in the hotel!!”
Alastor shrugged. “As Miss Charlie says. To the matter at hand, Blitzø and I have come to an agreement.”
Charlie blinked. “You have?”
“Sir, what did you do??”
“Benzos, Moxx, for f*ck’s sake,” Blitzø said, waving the other imp down. “I have something of a plan, but we need someone with infiltration skills. Not the three of you,” he said immediately, pointing at his employees, “because the three of you are as stealthy as panicked ferrets on an ice rink. And not any of you,” he added to Vaggie and the other hotel members, “because I’ve been watching you and… I really shouldn’t have to say more than that.”
Vaggie glared at him. “Why?”
Blitzø sighed, placing his hands palm together and looking at her like she was slow. “We need someone to break into VoxTek, and it can’t be anybody they’re anticipating. They’ll be looking for all of you, and they’re going to know we’re not dead soon enough.”
After a brief silence, Cherri spoke up. “…I might know someone. What d’you need an infiltrator for?”
“A copy of Angel Dust’s contract,” Blitzø said. “The only ones in existence should be with Valentino’s sh*t, and I need it.”
Millie and Moxxie exchanged looks. “…okay,” Millie said. “But… why?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Blitzø looked at Cherri. “Can you hook me up?”
“Gimme a second,” Cherri muttered, pulling out her phone and calling someone. Other people turned to each other, but Vaggie focused on Cherri, watching her as she slumped onto the bar.
Vaggie couldn’t help noticing that Husk was watching her, too, as he poured a glass of water for her.
“…it’s Cherri. Hey. …Yeah, you heard? …No. He’s here. …Uh-huh. No, I know that. Why the f*ck d’you think I’m calling you? …Not exactly. We’re looking for someone to break into VoxTek and steal something. …Yeah. It is. …His contract. …I thought you would. …No, bitch, I won’t tell him. But— what?” Cherri snorted, then laughed a little. “Yeah. Okay. …This evening? Sure, I doubt he’ll complain if he knows what’s good for his old-timey ass. …I know where it is, yeah. I’ll tell him. …Thanks.”
Cherri hung up and then slid off the bar stool, walking up to Alastor and Blitzø. Blitzø raised his eyebrow at her. “So?”
“Oh, I have someone who’s willing enough,” Cherri said with a shrug, staring right at Alastor. “He just has one condition.”
Alastor squinted. “…and that would be?” The next moment, he leaned backwards and went cross-eyed as Cherri thrust her finger into his face.
When he didn’t retaliate, her smirk widened. “He wants you to ask him.”
