Alastor holds out his hand in the little space between us. I take it.

Then, without moving an inch, we're standing in the lobby of the hotel. It is nearly empty; only a few demons are milling around in my peripheral vision or getting a drink at the bar. There are even a few just sitting around, some involved in a conversation with the other beings around them.

"I will see you tomorrow, my love," Alastor says before disappearing again, this time without me. I wonder where he goes when he leaves me alone like this.

Alone, in the middle of the Happy Hotel lobby.

I have to call Charlie. If anyone can help me, it will probably be her. I still don't know what Alastor wants, but I have to find out. I need the whole spectrum. Who better to fill me in on the happenings of this place than the princess of Hell herself? She knows who Alastor is, hopefully even better than I do, so she will probably know what he's after.

I hope she knows what he's after.

Walking with a purpose, I raise my phone as I make my way to the elevators. Charlie's number is already saved in my contacts, thanks to her forward thinking. I call her and wait for an answer, swiftly stepping into the open and empty elevator.

As my foot makes contact with the cold elevator floor, I remember that I left my heels in the forest. I'll have to put my Converse on, unless I want to walk around this place barefoot.

After a few rings, Charlie picks up. "Hey, Dani," she says with a fake mask of happiness. I can hear the underlying sadness, the dripping woe in her tone. I remember everything that happened the last time I saw her, when she passed out on Vaggie's dining room table before throwing up everywhere. I almost gag thinking about it. Puke grosses me out.

"Hi! How are you?" I ask lightheartedly. I desperately want to make her feel better. She's never done anything wrong, nothing to hurt a single soul (nothing that I know of, at least), and I know that she must be heartbroken over Vaggie being stabbed. She must think that it's her fault, since Vaggie took a spear in the stomach to save her from being hurt. Of course, it wasn't her fault. It was the exterminator's fault. Or even somewhat Vaggie's fault.

She sighs loudly. "Tired," she tells me. "Even though I have been sleeping for several hours now. I am less drunk, though. Thanks for asking!"

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah. How are you?"

I hesitate.

"I'm okay, thanks."

"How is the new job treating you? Did you see Angel at all?"

"I did see him, and we had a nice talk. The job is nice, but listen, Charlie, we need to meet up. I have something that I need to talk to you about," I say seriously. The elevator stops and the door creaks open before me. The third floor. Like always, the hallway is empty.

"What do you need to talk about?"

"Something important. Not over the phone."

"You're scaring me."

"You should be scared," I say with a small laugh. "There's... someone with bad intentions. Not your normal, everyday bad intentions. I think, like, for real end-the-world intentions."

"Interesting. Sounds like Ala-"

"Don't. Don't say his name. I don't want him to hear us," I whisper, sliding my key card into the hotel room door. I feel the carpet move under my toes as I walk inside and close the door gently behind me. I sit down on the edge of one of the beds, wrinkling the already messy covers underneath me. She knows that Alastor is a man of bad things, so I'm sure that she can give me useful information. "I feel like he's always watching me."

"He is," she says. "I don't know how. It seems like he knows everything sometimes."

My hands run along the surface of the soft bed in a smooth circle. "Can you meet up with me? Tomorrow morning? To talk about him?"

"Ugh, I was hoping you wouldn't say tonight. Yes, tomorrow works! Ooh, and we can get brunch! I'm still kind of drunk from drinking myself to unconsciousness a few hours ago. And I have a headache. And I can't feel my tongue."

"You should maybe fix that."

She laughs. "Yeah, probably. Why do you want to talk about, uh, him?"

"Let's just say that him and I made a deal."

"Oh no." I wish I could see her right now. Her and Vaggie. I want to sit with them and drink and talk about things that don't matter.

"Are you still at Vaggie's?" I ask, already knowing that she is. Where else would she go? I lay down, feeling my back flatten against the bed.

It takes a moment for her to answer. "Yeah, I'm just resting here. I can barely move. Vaggie just got back, but I haven't talked to her yet. She was out for quite a while, actually."

She must have been coming back from the woods, where she ran into Alastor and I discussing the methods he is going to use for his plan (whatever his plan may be). "Did she tell you where she was? Or, maybe, anything about what she did while she was out?"

"She didn't. I just said, I haven't talked to her yet, I'm still up in her room. Why?"

"Go downstairs and talk to her, right now. She can't go upstairs because of her wheelchair, so I need you to go down to her. Ask her where she was. Ask for details. Tell her I called," I direct. I need sleep, so for now, Vaggie can just tell Charlie all that she knows. "I'll meet you tomorrow at Vaggie's." I add before hanging up quickly.

Hopefully, Vaggie knows that I want her to tell Charlie. If she took my hints from earlier, then she will.

I need their help. If I want to outsmart the man who seems like the most vicious player in Hell, then I'm going to need to understand just what the fuck I think I'm doing. I can't outsmart the smartest.

Before I can think any more about it, my head relaxes into the mattress and I fall asleep, my mind still fuzzy with scrambled thoughts.

ᯬ

I wake up slowly, my mind blurred like a picture of a moving object, or a smeared painting. The sky in my mind is cloudy and dusty. Unfocused and sappy.

I grab my phone from next to me and look at the time. 10:30. The metal is cold in my hand. Not too early, not too late. I should probably meet Charlie soon if I want to get anything done today.

Throwing my phone aside, I stare up at the white painted ceiling to assess my current situation. Sometimes, I have to do that. Assess myself and all, just take a few minutes to think about what's happening in my life and what information I have, or else I get confused and forgetful.

Oh my God. I sit up suddenly, being struck with a realization like a bolt of lightning.

I can't meet up Charlie, and especially not Vaggie. I can't even go to her house. Alastor will know. I have to make him think that I'm not talking to Vaggie or Charlie. Or even Angel Dust. I have to ask Charlie for help without him noticing. Somehow.

I jump off of the bed and scramble around the room, searching for a pen and pad. Hotel rooms normally come with those, right? I find nothing on the nightstand beside the bed, or in the kitchen, but I do find something in the drawers, the ones underneath the TV. In the big television stand. A little paper pad and a pen.

Grabbing the pen, I don't even think about what I'm going to write. I just write.

I start with Dear Charlie, then continue on to ask the paper for details on Alastor and what he might want with me. I tell the blank white paper every last detail about my situation before tearing it off the pad and shoving it between my teeth. I pull the top of my dress up, then take the folded note and shove it under my breast so that it won't fall out.

Ignoring my lack of shoes, I run down to the hotel lobby and towards the bar. Sure enough, Husk is there, standing behind the counter with a clear whiskey glass in one hand and a cloth in the other. Luckily, Angel is nowhere near him. For now.

Surely, Angel will listen to the voice in his head that tells him to go to the bar and drink.

That's when Husk will give Angel the note.

I tell myself to stay on track. I make my way to the bar, and quickly. Mimzy is sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room, doing nothing but sitting, and I can tell that she is here to watch me. Her hollow, black and purple eyes watch me like one of those paintings of people that watch you wherever you go.

I take a seat at an empty barstool in front of Husk. There is a milky, greyish blue skinned man sitting on the stool next to me. The more I look at him, the more that I think I recognize him.

Then it comes to me: he was one of the demons I saw on the day of the extermination. He came into the basement with Niffty. His thin shoulders are slouched over his lean figure, staring down at a pair of thin wired glasses in his hands, which are resting on the counter. He is in the middle of a conversation with Husk.

"Should I say something to her?" I hear him ask as he nervously slides the glasses onto his nose. I watch him carefully.

"Man, do what you want. If you think she'll want to talk to you, then go for it. If not, stay here and have a drink with me," Husk replies before looking over to see me. He is now cleaning the glass cup with the white washcloth. He then sees he, his thick eyebrows once again catching my attention. "Captain Morgan for you?"

"Please, but that's not why I came. I need to ask you something." I look over at the lanky man beside me, who is now searching for me with hungry, curious eyes. "Alone."

"Sure thing. Baxter, get out of here," Husk says, waving his customer away.

The man, apparently named Baxter, stands and takes a few steps toward me. "Hello, female. I am Baxter! It is a royal pleasure to meet you," he says to me oddly formally, pushing an open hand forward. I look at it, then at his eyes again. Deep and blue and searching.

"I'm Danielle. It's nice to meet you, Baxter," I say, shaking his hand uneasily.

Husk groans, setting a glass down hard in front of me, half full of Captain Morgan's peach rum. "Baxter. Go kill a rat or something, please. Danielle here has something that she would like to talk to me about. Do you have any respect for women?"

"O-of course. My deepest apologies, Danielle," he stutters before scurrying away.

Once he's gone, I turn back to Husk and take a long sip of the drink. "Don't tell him to kill a rat, he might kill himself on accident."

Husk laughs at my mean comment, his shoulders shaking with barely recognizable lightness. Then he gives me a moment to drink before asking, "So, what's on your mind? It's not another stupid interview question, is it?"

"No," I confirm, almost giggling. "I wish. This is much more serious than an interview, Husk. Trust me." I speak slowly as I pull the note out of my dress. "Do you know who Alastor is?"

"Oh, that crazy annoying radio man? Yeah, of course I do. I've had a few drinks with him. He's kinda a maniac. Everyone knows him."

"Really?" I ask, but it sounds like a statement. "Well, listen, Husk. I don't know how you view Alastor, and to be honest, I don't care. I just need you to do me a favor. Super easy. But you can't tell Alastor that you're doing."

"Depends on what it is, but just so you know, he will find out, even if I keep quiet. He knows everything," Husk says, hunching over even more. His eyebrows are close together, and he looks focused on something past me.

I take a deep breath. This might be harder than I thought. "Doesn't matter. Just take this note and give it to Angel or Charlie. If you give it to Angel, tell him to give it to Charlie, alright?" I ask, placing the slip of paper on the counter and sliding it across. Husk's eyes find the folded note, but only for a brief second.

"Sure, sure," he mutters, taking the slip of paper and quickly shoving it into his pocket, acting as though there was no interaction happening between us. "Drink. You're going to need it in about three, two, one-"

I follow Husk's gaze to the red man behind me. "Hello, my love," Alastor says. "It's funny seeing you here."

"Yeah," I say distantly, looking away from Alastor's staring eyes to find Husk looking helplessly at me. He needs to go find Angel or Charlie. Now. "Very funny."

"You," Alastor points a finger at Husk. "Get me what she has. And a lot of it."

Without another word, Husk turns around to get Alastor something to drink, his huge red wings swaying with his every move. I pray that I don't make anything too obvious.

Alastor grabs my hand and kisses it lightly. "How is your arm?"

"Better, I guess," I say.

I regret answering his question.

Alastor grabs my arm, takes his thumb and jabs it into my wound, which was starting to heal. Alarmed, I gasp at the pain, looking down at the thin bandage wrapped around the area just above my elbow. The pressure caused the cut to open again, tearing the skin and scab that was healed, making the little blood I have left come rushing out. He pushes his thumb harder into my arm, but he has gloves on, so the bandage doesn't tear, to my relief.

It hurts like a bitch though.

"How about now?" he asks with a grin. Menacing. Happy. Ironic, but all too real.

"Not much better." I say, forcing myself to make eye contact with him again.

He blinks knowingly.