Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Getting ready doesn’t take too long, since Charlie had not requested anything fancy for a dress code. But he does take the time to change into a nicer coat with less wear, adjust his bowtie, and clean his monocle properly to give it a gleaming finish. He has no idea what Charlie has planned, but whatever it is, the Radio Demon won’t be caught looking scruffy.

He finds Charlie at the appointed meeting place at the bar. She’s nursing what he hopes is merely an apple juice as she sits next to her father, who is enthusiastically waving a brightly colored cocktail around as he talks poor old Husker’s ear off.

“—incredible feats and animal shows! I’m glad Mammon hasn’t gotten his claws in them yet, I might sponsor them for future trips, they’ve really got great acrobats. And the animals! And the clowns! And the magicians! Have you ever seen a show like that, Honk?”

“Husk,” Husker growls, “and yeah, I used to work the Vegas line when I was alive as a magician.”

Lucifer’s eyes grow wide with excitement. “Aww!” he says. “Pretend magic, right? The sleight-of-hand stuff? I always thought it was adorable how humans with no magic could still trick themselves into it—”

“It’s real enough now, sir,” Husk says, although he looks more resigned than angry as he wipes down a glass.

“Do you know any card tricks? Those were always my favorite—”

“Husker is poker themed, and you actually have to ask if he knows card tricks?” Alastor says, as he sits himself down on Charlie’s other side. “Really, sir. Your observational skills are as threadbare as ever.”

Light-Maker-nice? Phantom projects to him in confusion, from where it’s pooled neatly at his feet.

Haven’t made a Deal yet, Alastor thinks back to it silently.

Belatedly he remembers that Lucifer seemed able to at least hear Phantom, and he’s not entirely sure of the extent of it yet. Nor does Lucifer’s glare in his general direction help, given he could merely be irritated by the insult.

“Alastor!” Charlie looks over at him with excitement. “You made it! I’m so glad! I was getting worried that maybe you wouldn’t show up or maybe you didn’t feel like doing something for Father’s Day after all and Husk said not to worry but still—”

“Husker is right, my dear,” Alastor says, “and I can’t even begin to fathom why you would worry. A day devoted to me? I wouldn’t miss it for the world! And I am precisely on time, unlike some.”

He gives Lucifer a smug look over Charlie’s shoulder.

“I made it!” Lucifer snaps back.

“Only because I reminded you, or you’d have spent another ten minutes dithering in the hallway.”

Lucifer throws his hand not holding his cocktail up in the air. “You do a nice thing for a guy! Remind me never to again.”

Charlie looks back and forth between them in confusion, with a little hint of concern. “Um, is something wrong? Did you guys get in a fight or something? I thought you’d been getting along better…”

“Did you now?” Alastor will have to remedy that. He may have made an agreement with Lucifer to work on the same team when it came to Charlie, but that hardly meant he liked the man. At best, he tolerated him a hair more for the sake of their inexplicably shared child. They weren’t even friends.

Though that does make the current situation awkward, given Lucifer had genuinely done a kind thing for him, and given him a gift he hadn’t asked for but certainly did appreciate. So he smothers his immediately biting remark, and says instead, “No fight, my dear. Perhaps we can discuss it later this evening.”

Charlie eyes him uncertainly, and turns to look at her father. Lucifer shrugs, and says, “I gave him something this morning before we met up, Char-Char. Just a Father’s Day present. He can tell you about it if he wants.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet of you, Dad!”

Charlie leans sideways to give him a hug, squeezing tightly. Lucifer looks thrilled as he hugs her back. Alastor and Husker exchange glances that say clearly, I wish I wasn’t here right now.

Eventually Charlie releases her father from the hug, and leaps up from her seat. “Okay! I love seeing the two of you being friendly with each other—”

Is that what we’re doing? Alastor can’t help but think, and barely suppresses an eye roll.

“—but we do have to get going so we don’t miss our dinner reservation.”

“Of course, my dear,” Alastor says, neatly getting up from his own seat. He makes to offer Charlie his arm, but pauses when Lucifer also gets up to join them. To his knowledge, this evening had been intended for just the two of them. Lucifer already had his morning and the early afternoon.

Alastor bristles a little, and his lips peel back to show a little more teeth. He immediately fights the urge to show even more defensiveness. He is absolutely not jealous and not protective of his personal time with his not-exactly-a-daughter.

But he is also very aware that he owes Lucifer. And that he’ll have to play nice if he wants to learn the secret to transcribing those memories. So he manages to bite through his teeth, with reasonable politeness if he does say so himself, “Ah—is your father also joining us, Charlie?”

If the answer is yes, he’s going to have to suppress the urge to shriek, or keep his feedback at a minimum. Phantom is already agitating at his feet, showing off more of his ire and defensiveness than he’d like.

But to his relief (no, not relief, he is not relieved), Charlie says, “Oh, no. He’s just helping us get there.”

“Get there?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, and glances down at Phantom’s roiling shadows. “Yeah, yeah, calm down, Other Daddy, I’m not interrupting your Dad Time.”

“I told you not to call me that, sir,” Alastor says, and this time he does allow a bit of snarl to enter his voice.

“Bed Monster, then.”

“Sir,” Alastor snaps. “Out of respect for Charlie, I really would like to not resort to violence today.”

This is a lie. He dearly wants to resort to violence right now.

“Dad, stop teasing him,” Charlie says.

“Alright, alright. Blood, please.” Lucifer holds out a hand expectantly.

Alastor’s ears flatten and he bristles immediately. “Excuse me?”

“For the charm,” Lucifer says, blinking.

“The what?”

“So you can—ugh, I just need one drop, don’t be a baby.”

“I am not in the habit of handing over a blood price to anyone without knowing the terms of the Deal,” Alastor snarls. Phantom swirls around him, rising up over the bar counters along the wall, and Husker hastily backs away from them both.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Charlie is in between Alastor and her father immediately, hands raised. “This wasn’t supposed to be a fight! Dad, I was keeping it a surprise, he doesn’t know about the blessing yet.”

“The what?” Alastor snaps, now well and truly agitated.

“Al, please calm down,” Charlie says, with a placating gesture. She doesn’t try to touch him or hold his hand or anything of that sort, which he greatly appreciates in his riled state. “It’s totally fine. I’m sorry, I should have explained, and Dad maybe could have done a better job at asking. I wanted to keep it a surprise but I didn’t think about how it might upset you.”

“I am not upset,” Alastor says, but he does take a step back as he slowly stops bristling. Phantom remains on the wall, but its own posture adjusts to be watchful, not ready to attack. Husker takes it as a sign to stop ducking behind the counter and gets up to resume cleaning the bartop.

“Suuure you’re not,” Lucifer says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not doing anything weird with your blood, okay. You’ll be taking it back in less than a minute. It’s just for your permission slip.”

“My what?”

“Dad’s giving you a temporary blessing,” Charlie says. “So I can show you the other Rings, even though you’re a Sinner. That was going to be my Father’s Day present. I made reservations at a place in Envy, and then there were a couple other places I wanted to show you…” She wilts. “Um, but if you’re not comfortable giving a drop of blood, that’s okay. We could do something around the Pride Ring, instead. We could go to your favorite restaurant or visit Rosie or—”

“That’s possible?” Alastor interrupts her, bewildered. “To leave the Pride Ring?”

“I’m the King,” Lucifer says. “I do what I want. Of course, it’s just temporary with a blessing, so don’t think you can sneak off and start shit in the other Rings after this. It’ll fade after twenty-four hours. But as long as you’re wearing my blessing, you can go where you like, and the other Sins won’t give you shit for it either.”

In retrospect, Alastor realizes, this makes quite a lot of sense. Lilith isn’t Hellborn, but somehow she’d had access to the other Rings of Hell in a way no other Sinner could have. He’d never really thought about how, before. But if proximity to Lucifer granted access, that did explain some things.

Still, just to be safe, he checks. “Just one drop?”

“Just one,” Lucifer confirms. “And you’ll get it back, I’m not keeping it. I just need to make sure the Rings know you have permission, which means I have to tie it to you, thus the blood.”

“And there will be no additional side effects or damage done with this...blessing?” Alastor asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. Lilith had baked so many rules into his chain, he wouldn’t be surprised if this...permission included a shock collar if he so much as looked at a Hellborn with violent intent, or something that forced subservience.

But Lucifer looks genuinely insulted at this. “I’m not that much of an asshole,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “If you cause a lot of trouble on a Ring, one of the Sins will probably call me and give me shit about it, and then I snap you back here by revoking your permission. That’s it.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it would hurt you, Alastor,” Charlie promises. “And you really, really don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable, I didn’t think about how this might make you uncomfortable and I’m sorry—”

“There is no need to apologize, dear,” Alastor says. “It’s just...a bit of a surprise, is all.”

But if it’s real—and it does seem to be, since both Lucifer and Charlie do seem to genuinely be in earnest—then…

Then this would be something new. He would be the first Sinner in the Lower Rings since the formation of Hell itself. After nearly a century of being stuck in the same place, he could experience something different. It’s a freedom the likes of which he had never truly expected to have ever again in Hell.

New experiences are the greatest form of entertainment Alastor could ever hope for.

“You’re sure?” Charlie asks nervously. “It’s your day, I don’t want to pressure you—”

But Alastor’s only answer is to press one of his claws into his palm. He barely feels the prick as he slices skin, and holds out his hand to Lucifer as a ruby bead wells out of his flesh.

Lucifer catches it easily, grinning. “Great! Glad to see you came around, Bed Monster.”

“If my temporary passport is under that name, sir—”

“Relax,” Lucifer says, rolling his eyes. “I couldn’t do that if I wanted to. It’s assigned to the name stamped on your body, blood and soul.” He points at the bead of blood in his hand.

It’s disturbing that Lucifer can pull so much information from a single drop of blood. But Alastor knows he’s more than he appears. The fact that he sees a star-shaped fruit on the man’s hat when Charlie only sees an apple is proof enough of that.

Lucifer cuts his own palm, allowing golden blood to well up alongside the red. After a few drops are cradled in his palm, he reaches down and plucks at it with his fingers. Despite being liquid, he’s able to pick it up with ease, and suddenly it’s malleable like clay. He maneuvers it around with his fingers, adjusting, shaping, twisting, and it starts glowing as he works. It’s suddenly hard for Alastor to follow what he’s doing, because his vision grows blurred and it’s difficult to focus, and his eyes slide away if he doesn’t actively pay attention to forcing them to stay on track.

But then Lucifer is done. He holds in his now-uncut palm a single, small pin of a slithering snake, golden and shining, with a single ruby eye. Alastor knows it’s made of blood, but when Lucifer tips it into his own palm it looks and feels like metal, and his own drop of blood is now a minuscule gemstone.

“The Blessing of Lucifer Morningstar, First Of The Seven Sins, et cetera et cetera, you really don’t care about all the fanfare,” Lucifer says. “Wear that wherever you go as long as you’re in the other Rings and you’ll be allowed to pass through the barriers. It only works for you, and it can’t be stolen from you if somebody tries to mug you. But if you give it away willingly, you’ll find yourself back here pretty fast. And it only lasts twenty-four hours, so don’t think you can hide it away and use it later. It goes poof by this time tomorrow.” He makes a little exploding gesture with his hands.

Alastor stares down at the little pin, bewildered. It doesn’t feel like a powerful artifact, but any single one of the Overlords would commit murder or worse for the chance to get into the Lower Rings for even an hour. He slowly pins it to his coat lapel, where it always seems to gleam from cast light, no matter which way Alastor turns.

Phantom slithers down from the wall, circling Lucifer. Phantom-too?

Lucifer does a quick-step to avoid being surrounded by shadow, glaring down at it. “Yes, you’re covered, just stick close to the Bed Monster to avoid some unnecessary pulling.”

Phantom writhes on the ground, gleeful. Alastor still can’t tell if Lucifer actually heard his shadow, or if he’s just reacting to being swarmed.

“And I think it goes without saying,” Lucifer adds, turning away from the shadow to give a much sterner look than before to Alastor, “that I’m trusting you to keep Charlie safe while you’re wandering around.”

“Dad!” Charlie protests. “I’m not helpless. And I know the Rings better than he does!”

“I know, Char-Char, but you know some of the Rings are more dangerous than others. Mammon’s literally got a city called Ransom.”

“We probably won’t spend that much time in Greed, I don’t think there’s a lot there that Alastor would like anyway—”

“And with your mother still out there who knows what she might do if you’re outside the protection of the hotel—”

“I’ll be fine—”

“I will keep her safe,” Alastor interrupts their arguing. “I won’t let anything or anyone harm Charlie so long as I’m with her. If they try, I’ll devour them.” He touches the pin. “This...does permit violence on my part, yes?”

“Fuck yeah it does,” Lucifer says. “Far as I’m concerned, if any Hellborn try to go through you to get at Charlie, you’ve got full permission to eat’em, tear’em apart, or whatever other fucked up thing you wanna do.”

Alastor grins. “Excellent.”

But he does give Lucifer a knowing look all the same. And based on Lucifer’s nod, they understand each other perfectly. Their strange...co-parenting pact is in effect, and they are both in agreement that Charlie’s protection comes above everything else. Lucifer is trusting him to keep Charlie safe. Alastor may not like the man, but he has no interest in losing that trust.

Charlie groans. “Okay, but we’ll be avoiding violence unless we absolutely have to,” she says, waving a finger at Alastor. “We’re supposed to be having fun on your day, remember?”

“Violence is fun,” Alastor says, which earns a snort from Husker over by the bar.

“Other kinds of fun! I want to share the other parts of Hell with you, not get you and Dad in trouble because you wanted to go on a rampage in the Greed Ring.”

“Eh, Mam could stand to have his ego taken down a peg or two,” Lucifer says with a shrug.

“Dad!”

Alastor clucks his tongue. “I will not go on a violent rampage unless they start it,” he says, which is the most he’s willing to promise. If people threaten Charlie, he will not hesitate to burn the whole damn Ring, and its sovereign Sin, to the ground.

Charlie groans, running her hands down her face. Alastor can only imagine this means people in the Lower Rings would be perfectly willing to start violent rampages that he’ll have to respond to. Interesting.

But after a moment, Charlie takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, well. How about we get moving, at least? We still need to make those reservations. And I don’t think there’ll be too much violence in Envy or Lust, at least…”

Lucifer snorts. “You’re taking this guy to Ozzie’s Ring?”

Alastor would be insulted at Lucifer’s scoffing in his direction, except the man has actually read him quite well. Anything to do with lust, he’d rather have no part of, thank you very much.

“For Curio’s!” Charlie says excitedly.

Alastor has no idea what this means, but Lucifer’s eyes light up. “Oh, shit, I forgot about that place. It’s still there?” Charlie nods enthusiastically, and Lucifer shrugs. “Alright. Fair enough. He’d probably like that part. But you’ll probably wanna portal in on that street. Fuck knows I had to take you directly there when you were little to spare your innocent little eyes of all the crap in the sex shops, especially when that dildo store opened right next to it—”

“I get it, Dad!” Charlie squeaks, waving her hands around hastily to shut him up. Alastor can’t decide if it’s entertaining (for embarrassing Charlie so skillfully) or irritating (for bringing up the sex tools he’d rather not know about).

Lucifer just laughs, and says, “Speaking of! I know you’ve been practicing your portals, but just in case.” He plucks something from inside his coat, which turns out to be golden crystal of some kind. “I borrowed this from Ozzie for the day. Just so you can skip the Hellevators if you need a break.”

Alastor’s head tilts. “And that is?”

“An Asmodean Crystal!” Charlie says, accepting it from her father. “Thanks, Dad. Al, certain Hellborn can use these to travel to Earth for jobs. But you can use them to move around Hell, too.”

Alastor blinks. “And what sort of jobs to Hellborn perform on Earth, anyway?” In his day there were always talks of voodooists summoning and asking favor from saints and spirits, and supposed devil-worshippers could summon demons if they knew the right sigils and rituals. Given how little Lucifer actually seemed to participate in such things, and given he’s never been summoned to Earth since dying, Alastor had assumed it was all hokum.

Lucifer shrugs. “Most of them are succubi and incubi,” he says. “Kind of Ozzie’s whole schtick, y’know. Lust, and all that. Go up top and tempt humans and cause general chaos.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow. “And this isn’t a problem, meddling with humanity in such a way?”

“Hey, free will is free will,” Lucifer says. “If they wanna literally fuck around and find out, they get a ticket down here. If they resist, Ozzie’s crew moves on, and those Sinners don’t go to Hell...for lustful activity, at least.”

“Hmm.” Alastor is admittedly still curious, although less about the activity of sexual demons, and more about the structure of the Hellborn as a whole. He’s spent his whole afterlife confined to the Pride Ring and surrounded by Sinners and natural demons, but it’s only after starting to associate with Charlie that he’s begun to really wonder how the entirety of Hell works.

At least it isn’t boring.

“I can explain more later if you want, Alastor,” Charlie says. “But for now, we really gotta go if we want to make our reservations.” She pauses. “I do want to see if I can portal us there on my own, though. If that’s okay with you?”

Alastor shrugs. “It hardly matters to me, my dear. You’re the one who’s set the itinerary. And if you send us to the wrong place, I’m sure it’ll make for quite an adventure!”

“Oh, I hope I don’t,” Charlie frets. “I’ve only done small jumps so far—”

“Relax, Char-Char, you’ve been doing fine,” Lucifer cuts in immediately. “I’ll check the first one for you, if you want. And you have the crystal if anything goes wrong.”

“Right! Right. Okay, let me try…”

Charlie closes her eyes and sticks out her tongue as she concentrates. Her hands raise, beginning to glow with power as she summons the necessary energy to do...whatever needs to be done to transfer between Rings and realities. It is a power that Alastor has very little understand of, if he’s being honest. He’s well versed in magic, and he can transport through darkness and shadows with Phantom’s help. But whatever Charlie is doing is more akin to her angelic side, and that’s a sort of power Alastor will never have access to or understand.

Whatever she’s doing, Lucifer watches intently, but makes no effort to intervene, so Alastor assumes she’s doing it right. And eventually when she sketches out a circle in the air, he nods with pride. Alastor can only assume Charlie won’t be accidentally taking them back to the Nothing or some other Ring or the cold depths of space.

Charlie cracks one eye open, then another, looking at the portal she’s made with nervous energy. Unlike her father’s portals, which gleam white and sparkle with stars, hers is more of a pinkish hue and flickers like flame. Alastor guesses this is due to her merged nature of angel and demon. Her hands are still glowing as she holds it open, with the same writhing pinkish-white fire.

“How’s it look?” she asks anxiously.

Lucifer’s answer is to stick his head through it, where it vanishes, before pulling it back out. “Not bad,” he says. “Definitely Envy. Outside Leviathan Tower.”

Charlie looks frustrated. “I was aiming for the restaurant,” she admits. “Shoot. What did I mess up?”

“Hey, hey, it’s not that bad,” Lucifer says reassuringly, circling around the portal to pat her on the shoulder. “You got to the right plane of existence and the right ballpark area. It’s just a couple blocks of walking. Honestly, that’s great for a first long-distance portal! We’ll work on getting precision down in another lesson. For now, you go have fun, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlie nods to Alastor. “You’d better step through first, just in case. I lose concentration sometimes when I go through them…”

“Well, it’d be a terrible Father’s Day present to be cut in half by a portal,” Alastor says cheerfully. “Off I go, then!”

But before he steps through, he does give Lucifer a brief look. “And as for you, sir—we will need to discuss the terms of the Deal you set out later. I absolutely intend to add that spell to my skill-set.”

“Oh yeah? Good to know. I’ll start making you a signet—and you can start practicing not being an asshole to me for a month.”

Alastor has no idea what a signet is, but at least Lucifer didn’t seem to be joking about giving him that memory spell. Phantom seems less thrilled at the reminder of being nice, but it only grumbles, Light-Maker-annoy, before crawling up on Alastor’s shoulders as he steps through the portal.

Lucifer’s sputtering suggests he had, in fact, heard that last part. But Alastor barely has a chance to chuckle to himself before he looks out over his first ever view of another Ring of Hell.

His first thought is that it is blindingly, excessively purple.

For nearly a century, the sky above him has been blood red, with darker clouds of smog, and the ever-present lines of the Pentagram Rune carved into its skyline. At night, it darkens to a red so deep it is nearly black. Weather comes and goes, the skyline has shrunk over the decades as buildings and towers sprouted around the city, but the color has never changed.

This sky is so different, he freezes in place on the spot. It’s purple, but the colors shimmer and vary in waves, from lighter highlights that border on pink to places so dark it’s nearly black. The winged sphere of Heaven is gone, and there’s some kind of sun above, and he doesn’t understand how that even works. He knows there are multiple other Rings stacked above them, logically, but to his feeble little Sinner brain this looks like the only world to exist. But that sun wavers and shimmers strangely, like there’s something between him and it—

Water. It’s like water. Like he’s at the bottom of a lake, looking up at the reflections of the water and the distorted sun in the air high above.

And it’s more than just the sky. The skyline is interrupted with buildings, but they aren’t the tall skyscrapers of Pentagram City, metallic and shining. These are organic, carved from stone. They still stretch tall in many places, but it looks like they grew that way, not that man made them that way. Some are smooth, some are rough, some are strangely textured, but nothing looks carved or angular.

And the colors! Strange rock-like plants grow on half the buildings or on the ground, awash with pinks, reds, yellows, greens, branching like antlers or wrinkled like brains or clustered like cauliflowers or long and fanning like a showgirl’s feathers. Strange gleaming lights glimmer and glow from the surfaces of the odd plants, or the sides of the buildings. Some are subtle and like glitter, others bright enough to see by. The contrast of the dark purple skyline against the brilliant colors and lights is staggering.

And the sounds! The smells! He can nearly taste salt on the air. The crash of waves, high pitched squeals and whistles, dozens of voices, the roar of wind in his ears that brushes at his hair and skin. The brackish sent of decay, minerals and sand, the scent of fish and scales and strange blood.

The radio waves! There’s a whole slew of waves he’s never heard in his life here. His ears quiver and his antlers extend as he tries to catch them all. Waves from phones, but not the same as the ones associated with VoxTek above. Waves from radio stations that are alien to him, playing music and artists that are equally alien. Waves from things he can’t even identify, technology that Sinners simply aren’t privy to.

Even the temperature is different. Pride is always hot and dry. But the breeze here is cool, almost cold, curling around his neck and writhing its way into his clothes.

It’s so much. So much Something, so much newness, all at once. An overwhelming expanse of color and light and dark and scent and taste and sound and waves and things that don’t make sense and—

—is he underwater? It feels like he’s underwater. Can he even breathe? He’s holding his breath, staring up at the sky that is the water over his head as he stands on the ocean floor and drowns in an overwhelming expanse of Something Something Something Something—

“Phew! What do you think?”

Charlie appears in his line of vision. That sends a spike of alarm through him. Is she drowning too? Is she—he has to—but he’s not equipped—what does he do—

“Alastor?” Charlie her proud grin melts into alarm. “Your eyes changed—are you okay? Is something wrong? Did the Blessing not work?”

He tries to answer, but he can’t. The breath is caught in his lungs. He can’t speak underwater. If he does he’ll drown—

“Al?” Charlie reaches out and tentatively takes his hand, the one not holding his staff. “Alastor, are you okay? It’s okay, here. It’s safe, I promise.”

The touch sends a spark through him, and it’s enough to let him move again, at least shakily. He manages to squeeze her fingers. She’s real. This isn’t some kind of hallucination. What is happening?

She squeezes back. “Al, you can breathe,” she says. “Can you take a breath for me, please?”

Charlie can’t lie worth a damn. If she tells him he can breathe, he can. He takes a hesitant breath in, and is shocked to find he can; that air fills his lungs, not water. He takes another breath, deeper, bigger. The taste of salt and the coolness of the air fills him with sensation, with Something. New Something.

“That’s it,” Charlie says, squeezing his hand again. “Just keep breathing. Is everything okay? Did my portal do something to you?”

“No,” Alastor says. His voice is still a little shaken, but thankfully, his radio filter hadn’t dropped and masks the worst of it. He blinks slowly, trying to get the spots from the strange gleaming lights out of his eyes. “My—my apologies, my dear. I didn’t mean to imply you’d done anything wrong.”

“Then what happened?”

He shakes his head, coming back to himself. They’re standing in a street, and now that he looks around, he realizes several Hellborn things are staring. How embarrassing. Now he just feels like an idiot. He remembers laughing at the gawping tourists that came to New Orleans when he was alive, or sneering at the new fallen in Hell, and now he’s one of them. “Ah. Nothing serious, my dear.”

“Alastor,” Charlie says, stern but worried. “I’ll call my Dad and have him revoke your permission if you don’t tell me what happened. It’s been a long time since we’ve had any Sinners outside of Pride, if something went wrong or it hurt you—”

He shakes his head again. “No need, Charlie,” he says, removing his hand from hers and hastily straightening his coat and his bowtie. “It was merely...quite a lot of Something. All at once.”

It’s shameful to admit. He’d handled the transition from the Nothing back to Something quite well. Twice, even. Both times effectively on his own. He’d even managed to get right back to work, the first time, and talk his way through into the Hotel within hours! How embarrassing, to fall apart so easily so long after having recovered. He should be reveling in all this newness, in the opportunity to see all these things that no other Sinner ever had.

He is stronger than this. He shoves the little pricks of anxiety to the back of his head, and stands up straighter.

But Charlie looks devastated at the confession. Because of every other individual in the world, in all the afterlives, she’s the only one who takes the full meaning of what he said.

“Oh!” Charlie stammers. “Oh, shit, Alastor, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of that—I’m so used to all the Rings, I didn’t even think what it’d be like—I’m so sorry!” She wrings her hands. “Did you want to go back to Pride? We can do something else—I don’t want you to feel like that, it was so much when we first came back, we can go to your favorite restaurant instead or something—”

“No,” Alastor says, placing a finger on her lips to silence her. “Absolutely not. If this is what you had planned, I will see it through.”

She pushes his hand away. “But if it’s hurting you—”

“It is not hurt. It is merely...a bit overwhelming all at once. Culture shock is a thing, is it not?” He’s not certain. Most of his life he’d stuck to New Orleans, and in death, the Pentagram. But perhaps that just proves his point. “I will adjust. There are reservations to get to, aren’t there?”

But Charlie shakes her head insistently. “It can wait. I’m the Princess of Hell, they won’t just give my table away right away. Are you sure you don’t want to go back?”

“Positive,” Alastor says.

Phantom slithers across the ground. There’s agitation in its thoughts, and it mutters Solid-stop over and over in Alastor’s head. It doesn’t have the same association with the Nothing that Alastor does, because it had never been; it was always banished. But it can tell when Alastor is struggling, and apparently the first thing it had done was scout for danger and safe spaces in this new environment.

It tugs at Charlie’s pant leg now, pointing at a darker corner on the street, where the strange glowing lights are more shimmering than glaring. It tugs again, and pantomimes sitting and breathing.

“Take a break?” Charlie asks it. It nods, and Charlie nods back, saying, “Good idea. Let’s just sit for a minute, Al.”

“I don’t need to be watched over like a child,” Alastor says snappishly.

“But it will give you a minute to sit and get accustomed, right?” Charlie asks. “Sometimes that helped me, when things were overwhelming. Sometimes it still does. And Phantom thinks you should, too.”

“It’s a terrible snitch,” Alastor grouses, glaring at his shadow. Phantom glares back, unrepentant.

Still, Alastor allows Charlie to link elbows with him and lead him over to the darker area. And he must admit, when he sits down on the stone bench underneath one of the strange, waving, feathery plants, it does feel a little better. Most of the Hellborn on the street have stopped staring, which is a relief. It’s darker over here, so the brilliant lights dig into his eyes less and don’t cast spots before his vision. It’s a little alcove out of the wind, which reduces some of the noise and chill. It gives him a chance to just...look, and think, and adjust.

Charlie sits next to him, still distraught, while Phantom splays defensively over the wall behind them both. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “I should have thought this through—I’m so stupid! It’s so different from Pride, I should have known that would be a lot.”

“It was hardly stupid, Charlie,” Alastor tells her. “You said yourself—I’m something of an experimental case. You couldn’t have predicted it.”

“I know, but I kind of remember the first time Dad took me to some of the other Rings, and I remember it was such a big change,” Charlie frets.

“And had you seen The Beginning then?”

“Well, no. Obviously not. But—”

“But nothing. Hah! Not to be confused with Nothing,” Alastor says, waving her off. He’s starting to feel a little more like his old self, now that he’s not completely overwhelmed. “It’s a very different situation. You couldn’t have known. I don’t blame you in the least.”

“You would tell me, if you did, right?” Charlie says. “Or if you’re uncomfortable? I’d been planning to take you to some of the other Rings too, but I don’t want it all to be too much—”

“And I don’t want to miss it,” Alastor says firmly. “How about a little Deal? We go. We plan for adjustment periods. And if I need time, or to be done, I swear I will tell you. And you will swear you believe me if I say I’m fine.”

Charlie leans against his side for a moment, knocking shoulders. “Okay. Deal.”

They don’t shake. There’s not really a point to it, when she owns his soul; he can’t technically make demands of her. But little Deals like this have been a part of their relationship since The Beginning, and by now it’s understood between them that if they agree, they will hold their end of the bargain.

Alastor could probably get away with lying to her, if he wanted to. He’s still as skilled at it as ever. But it hurts Charlie if he does, and it hurts the trust in their relationship. So he tries to save that for only the most extreme cases. This? This is hardly extreme. If it really is too much, he’ll tell her.

For the moment, he closes his eyes and breathes in deep. Salt, minerals, sand, just like before. He’s starting to get used to it. Like most scents, it’s fading into the background of his awareness now.

“This place is an ocean,” he mutters out loud.

He’s never really been to one. New Orleans was a port town, but it didn’t really have beaches, and travel in his day had been expensive. Some of the scents are familiar all the same, though. It takes him a minute to place where he knows them from: the aquarium Vox had dragged him to once, when they were still friends, so he could stare at the hellsharks. The whole place had smelled salty and fishy and strange, and not entirely unlike this place now.

“Sort of,” Charlie says. “The Envy Ring is the most aquatic of them all. A lot of Hell’s water comes from here. At least half of it is underwater, and most of the native Hellborn are aquatic or amphibian. But there are above-ground places like this, too.”

He vaguely remembers this from their conversations in the Nothing. “You never brought up the language here, when you were giving me options to learn.” He cracks his eyes open a slit. The odd lights are starting to get easier to adjust to. They don’t burn his eyes as much.

“That’s because most people can’t really speak it,” Charlie says. “There’s actually two common dialects for Envy’s languages, but they’re designed to be spoken underwater. The first is with bio-luminescent flashing.”

“Bio-what?”

“Bio-luminescence,” Charlie repeats. “Like those.” She points at the odd lights. “It’s a natural form of lighting or glowing. A lot of Hellborn that are born in this ring have it, too.”

She’s not wrong. Now that he’s starting to look around, he notes that while the aquatic creatures vary greatly in general ocean-creature-appearance, many of them have spots or stripes that gleam in a similar way to the walls.

“They can control that,” Charlie says. “Flashing in certain patterns means different words.”

“Like Morse code,” Alastor says thoughtfully. “Certain combinations of sounds mean specific letters.”

“Sort of,” Charlie says. “But it’s way more complex than that, there’s whole words and phrases too. I can speak it with a light-board or magic, but it’s hard. But the other version is even harder, because it’s with high-pitched sound waves and echolocation. Most other Hellborn can’t even hear them. I can just barely, but I don’t have the right kind of organs to replicate the sounds.”

Alastor blinks. His ears twitch and raise, and his antlers slowly extend again as he reaches out to the sound waves he’d caught earlier. Most of it is recognizable: radio, television, phones. But some of the squeals and clicks he’d assumed where unknown forms of technology actually have do sound like the cadence of speech.

“Alastor? You okay? Your eyes and antlers changed again.”

“Can they speak it above? This verbal language?”

“Um, yeah. I think so. It’s not as clear without water, and it doesn’t go as far. But they can.”

Alastor considers, before saying, “I think I can hear it.”

Charlie’s jaw drops, but then she grins. “Really? Oh, wow, that’s really cool! Most people can’t outside the Envy Ring. The only ones that have any luck with it are the Greedsharks, but they’re semi-aquatic so that makes sense. You could learn if you wanted!”

“Perhaps later. For now, it helps to know what all that squealing is.” And that, if he recalls his extended radio sense, he can ignore it. Thank goodness.

Charlie chatters for a little while longer, explaining some of the finer points of Envy to Alastor as he adjusts to its senses. “These parts up top here are designed to replicate their cities underwater. That’s why there’s all the coral and stuff everywhere. I wish I could visit them, but Dad’s the only one who can since he can transform into a swimming thing or give himself gills. He brings me pictures though.”

“So this—” Alastor gestures out at the street, “—looks like under the ocean?”

“Yeah. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

“That is a word for it.” It certainly explained why it felt like he was drowning.

“There’s some other places too that aren’t quite so...ocean-y,” Charlie adds. “There’s a subspecies of Hellborn that are more amphibian, and they come from a marshy area on the edge of the Ring. I was trying to find you a place kind of like your bayou in your room to visit, which is why I thought about coming here to begin with.”

Alastor’s ears perk up at that. “And did you?”

Charlie shakes her head apologetically. “That marshy area is kind of similar, but it’s also like, super toxic to most Hellborn. If you breathed in the gasses there you’d probably die. Me too, actually. They do have restaurants and things, but it’s kind of limited for that reason.”

“Ah, well.” Disappointing and unfortunate, but he’d rather not risk Charlie’s life. It’s enough to him that she tried. He still has his bayou at home when all this is over.

“But I know you love seafood and you use a bunch of it in your recipes from your home,” Charlie adds. “And Envy has some of the best seafood, ‘cause it all comes from right here and it’s fresh. So that’s what I got us reservations for!”

That makes his heart just a little warm and mushy. Charlie taking the time to notice his interests and preferences and planning a trip around that means something...especially since he knows she’s not trying to butter him up for personal gain. She’s genuinely trying to make him feel appreciated.

He’s not quite at the stage where he’s willing to admit it to her, though. So he only says, “That sounds quite delicious, my dear. I’m looking forward to it. Shall we go?”

Charlie gives him a nervous look. “Are you sure you want to continue?”

“Charlie, I’ve lived in the same place for nearly a century,” he says. “The opportunity to experience something new and entertaining is absolutely worth it.”

“That’s why I thought this could be a fun trip,” Charlie admits. “I talked to Dad to see if we could even get you down here. You get bored so much, I thought something new would be nice. But I mean, are you sure you’re ready to go now? We can still wait.”

“I think so,” Alastor says. “I’ve relegated sound and scent to the background. The sky is still strange, but not alarming. I’ve adjusted to the color.” And the overwhelming sensation of drowning, but he doesn’t tell Charlie that part. His brain seems to have figured out he can breathe, at least, and the instinct to escape water has reduced.

“Alright. I promised I’d believe you, so I will. Just tell me if things get worse.”

Phantom crawls down from the wall to pluck at Charlie’s pant leg and point to itself again, then at Alastor, and then offer a thumbs up. Charlie squints at it, before guessing, “You’ll tell me if he’s not feeling well?” Phantom nods.

“Traitor,” Alastor tells it. “You’re my shadow.”

Protect-Light, Phantom snaps back at him. Protect-from-sad. Solid-hurt-Light-Sad.

“Unbelievable,” Alastor mutters. He still doesn’t know how she did it, but Charlie has Phantom wrapped around her little finger. “It doesn’t matter. There won’t be a need to snitch on me.”

They get up from the safe little alcove and make their way for the street they first appeared on. The wind and the chill pick up almost immediately, but this time Alastor has a chance to prepare for it. More complicated is the brilliant color and lights of the bio-luminescence everywhere. It’s not unlike the neon signs and advertisements of the Pentagram back on Pride, but the bright lights against the darker lighting and buildings make the contrast a little painful.

Alastor hates the deer in the headlights comparison that is sitting there so readily to use. But he must grudgingly admit, it’s accurate in this case.

Fortunately, he can still use magic here. He summons himself a pair of sunglasses and tucks his monocle away in a pocket, and that helps with the sharp contrast and dulls the brilliant colors some, making it manageable. He probably looks a bit silly, wearing dark sunglasses in a darker-lit area that mimics an ocean floor. But he already stands out anyway in his red suit, red hair, and distinctly non-aquatic traits, so he’s going to be stared at anyway. May as well be comfortable.

The glasses help, at any rate. And Charlie doesn’t question their introduction other than asking, “Are you okay without your monocle?”

“Perfectly fine, as long as I don’t need to read,” Alastor says. His right eye had been damaged in the Great War when he was still alive. He’s not sure why that injury carried down when others didn’t, but it’s been a fact of life for decades. Prescriptions in the twenties and thirties weren’t fantastic, and early on, weren’t even affordable, so he’d long gotten used to navigating life with a weaker eye.

That includes fights, of course. They are in Hell, after all. If someone thinks he’d be weaker on his right side because of it, they will have a rather violent surprise and a sudden end ahead of them.

Charlie leads them along the street towards their presumed destination. Lucifer had mentioned it being a few blocks away, which gives him a little more time to try and adjust to this new Ring.

It’s fascinating. A little unsettling, because his human brain can never quite shake the idea that he’s drowning at any given moment. But fascinating, because it’s so fantastically different than the Pride Ring.

Hellborn of all kinds are here, and most are species he’s never seen before in his afterlife. Hellborn rarely venture to the Pride Ring, and in Alastor’s experience, the ones that do seem to be poorer or on the lower end of the social status in Hell. Plenty of imps, some incubi or succubi. The occasional hellhound, which Alastor keeps his distance from on principle, because the only thing worse than a dog is a sentient dog. The Goetia are a rare exception, but they mostly live on estates on the outer edges of the Ring, and never interact with Sinners if they can help it.

But he’s never encountered the other kinds. Charlie said every First Race was created initially by one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Lucifer had designed the Ars Goetia to mimic the choirs of Heaven. Satan made the imps, Asmodeus the incubi and succubi, and Beelzebub the hellhounds. But that still left three First Races unaccounted for, not to mention all the species that spontaneously created themselves over the years from the miasma of evil and chaotic energies that only existed in Hell.

Here, it seems, are the children of Leviathan, Sin of Envy. They’re more varied than Alastor had anticipated. ‘Sea creature’ seems to be the general theme, but that’s about the extent of it for species similarities. There are beings like whales, sharks, fish, eels, octopi and crustaceans, some of which look extremely...delicious. Things with bio-luminescence, like Charlie had pointed out, and things without it. Scales, fins, tentacles, excessive numbers of legs, gills, and serrated teeth are everywhere. Some are more humanoid, and some are more animal. Observing them is fascinating, if a little mouth-watering.

Eat-no, Phantom warns. Light-sad.

I will not go on a joyride for dinner, Alastor tells it. Although he would really like to. But he reminds himself that Charlie is taking them for dinner now, for seafood even, and he’ll have his fill soon enough.

Alastor watches a shark-creature walk past, and can’t help but shake his head in amazement. Vox would sell his soul to make it here for even an hour. Never mind that the place seems uniquely unsuited to electronics. He’d die in Heavenly Hell.

Alastor mentally takes memories for later. Just for a little ammunition to rub in Vox’s face, if he starts crossing the line in the future.

But it isn’t just the people here that are impressive. The buildings are strange, too. Alastor is used to skyscrapers and towers of all kinds in the Pentagram, but other than the occasional Sinner lucky enough to be reborn with flight, those are largely internal affairs.

Not so here. Even above water, the residents seem to view their home as a uniquely three-dimensional space. He watches with fascination as some kind of lobster Hellborn casually crawls its way up the outside of a ten-story stone building, scuttling over the strange brightly-colored growths that Charlie calls coral, to an opening on the outside that they crawl into. Another octopus-like demon exits another similar hole fifteen stories up, calmly crawling down with four legs while the others are occupied with bags and boxes. A demon that looks more humanoid other than fin-like hair and protrusions on her arms and legs leaps into the air and soars up to a bar on a hilltop with sprouting fins that double as wings, plunking herself down at the bar counter to chat with a neighbor. Many appear capable to manipulate water as a natural form of magic, and use it to move about the space with ease.

The place is hardly perfect. It is still Hell. The shark-creature he spotted earlier casually picks up a tiny crustacean demon badly busking on the corner and tears its head off, swallowing it in two bites. Most people cheer, since the music had been terrible. Clearly this is not an easy place to live, so Alastor keeps his guard up, even as he looks around.

But there is a sense of wonder at visiting that he hasn’t felt in a long time, gradually outpacing the sensory overload. It’s all so new. It’s all so different. He hasn’t had anything new or different in nearly a century. He is gleefully having his fill, on entertainment just as much as the coming meal.

Charlie helps, enthusiastically pointing things out and explaining them as she goes. Those ones are Greedsharks, they’re from the Greed Ring. That’s an Infestor Demon, stick clear. This coral smells like cotton candy right after it rains. That anemone will eat you if you get too close, so don’t.

Alastor drinks it all in. It’s all so fascinating.

And he has questions. So many questions. More questions than she can answer, even. “Charlie,” he asks, as they turn the corner of the street, “How is there a sun down here? There’s layers atop us. The Pride Ring is above, correct?”

“You’re right,” Charlie says. “And a bunch of other Rings too. Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, and Lust.” She counts them off on her fingers. “I’m...not sure how there’s a sun, though.”

“It is real? Not simply an illusion?”

“It’s real,” Charlie says. “They all are.”

“All?”

“All the Rings have their own celestial bodies,” Charlie says. “Some of them are weird. Greed has a giant floating coin instead of a moon or a sun. I’m not even sure how that works.”

“But how could there be a sun?” Alastor asks, because he just can’t fathom it. In Pride, at least, they can see the celestial bodies that represent Heaven and Earth, respectively. But that makes sense, at least. They’re at the top of the pit called Hell, and it stands to reason they could see other planes of existence, even if they were very far away.

But down here? It doesn’t make sense. He’d imagined the Rings below Pride like caverns or cellars. Underground basements where other Hellborn could squirrel away, while the Sinners were condemned to the surface. But these other Rings are entire worlds, and still stacked atop each other. How? How could there be a sun, a thing that should be billions of miles away in space, underneath his very own Pride Ring and four others besides? How could transporting between Rings be as simple as a fancy elevator when there is an entire sky and space above them?

“I’m not really sure I understand it,” Charlie admits. “It just...is. Always has been that way. I think the only people you could ask would be the Sins, to explain how it works.”

Alastor hmphs. That is a frustratingly useless answer, given he has very little access to the Seven Deadly Sins. Although...Lucifer is technically a part of that group, even if he is also the King of Hell. And he does seem eager to share information. Perhaps Alastor can figure out a way to get him talking without having to pay for it, just to sate his own curiosity.

He files that away for later. At least it will keep him busy, and that means he won’t be bored.

Even Phantom is thoroughly entertained on their short walk to the restaurant. It gleefully explores the unfamiliar natural shadows of this Ring, slithering in and out of dark spaces and toying with the bio-luminescent lights. It slips into the shadows of the residents too, and practices mimicking shapes it isn’t familiar with. Most of the residents don’t notice their shadows inexplicably coming to life or growing eyes and teeth, but a few do, and shriek or run an unknown something grins back at them from the dark. Phantom laughs in Alastor’s mind and vanishes before anyone becomes the wiser, or connects it to him.

By the time they arrive at the restaurant itself, Alastor is feeling much better about the sensory input here. It’s different, and it had been so alien at first that it had been a shock to his system. But his fascination overrides that shock, and his grin is genuine as he watches the world here go by.

The restaurant itself isgorgeous. It’s designed like a palace, but one built out of stone and coral and gleaming bio-luminescent lights. The sign over the door proclaims The Pearls of Hell, and there is a line out that door with fancily-dressed Hellborn of all sorts. The place is ritzy and stinks of money.

Thankfully, the inside is better lit, reducing the sharp dark-and-light contrasts of the outside. Alastor cautiously removes his sunglasses as Charlie bypasses the line and leads them to the host’s stand, and is relieved to find that his eyes are not immediately beset by blinding spots. The interior is still awash with color, but it’s more tastefully arranged and less a wild explosion of natural growth. It’s manageable. He slips the glasses away inside a pocket and returns his monocle to its former place, clipping the chain neatly to his ear.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Princess Morningstar,” the host at the stand says, with a deep bow. This is one of the humanoid ones with fins around the eyes and ears and in place of hair. Charlie called them sirens. “Your table is still ready for you, Your Highness, if you’ll just come with me.”

“Thank you,” Charlie says politely. “There’s no need for all the formality, though!”

“Of course, Your Highness,” the siren says gravely. “Right this way.”

Charlie sighs, but gestures for Alastor to follow. He does, and they’re led through the building to a private parlor at the back of the establishment. It’s done up in the natural under-water décor of the rest of the building, but also with golden finery and pearl accents. The cutlery have handles of pearl, and the goblets and plates are made from the finest sea glass Alastor has ever seen.

But perhaps more impressive is the full picture window on one side of the parlor, which provides a beautiful view to the outside while protecting from the elements. They are right on the seaside, with a view of the beach. Deep purple waves crash on paler purple sandy shores, and the strange sun above casts nearly pink reflections and highlights off the churning water.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Charlie says, as the host leaves them with the promise that their waiter will be along shortly. She rushes over to the big picture window. “I asked for a view of the ocean. When I was little we’d come here and have lunch, and then go out and play on the beach after.”

Alastor knows this, because he’d seen a few of the pictures and the memories now. Little Charlie showing off her bathing suit, splashing in the water, burying her father in sand, learning to swim in shallower coves of lavender water with a two-headed creature Lucifer’s notes had said was Leviathan. Somehow, the memories and pictures feel even more real now that he has a place to ascribe them to, now that he can not just see and hear the moments but conjure the smell and the taste and the temperature, too.

“It’s beautiful,” Alastor says. “Hardly something I could come by in Pride. I appreciate the chance to see it.”

“We can go walk around after, if you want,” Charlie says. “Up to you! It’s your day.”

“It could be interesting,” Alastor agrees. “But for now, a meal. I’m starving, and several of those Hellborn looked quite delicious.”

Charlie grimaces at that. “Please don’t eat anyone,” she says. “Eat as much as you want here. It’s all on me!”

The waitress arrives in short order and introduces herself as Jenny. She’s a little less stilted than the host had been as she runs through the wine and specials for the evening, but just as clearly nervous about doing so based on the way she stutters and several of her bio-luminescent markings flash. Alastor is so used to being the one to cause fear that it takes him a moment to realize the poor thing is nervous about Charlie, not him.

“You can just call me Charlie,” Charlie insists, as Jenny mispronounces one of the wines and then frantically scrambles to apologize to ‘Your Highness.’ “And it’s okay! Everyone makes mistakes. I’m not mad about it. Just take a deep breath, you’re doing great!”

“Th-thank you, Your High—I mean, Charlie,” Jenny squeaks. “S-sorry. I’ll get it right next time, I swear.”

“It’s okay!” Charlie repeats. “Alastor, do you know what you want?”

The waitress looks at him with a blank stare, and it’s a bit of a shocking revelation to find that she doesn’t know him at all. It’s almost refreshing, in a way. There are no preconceived notions about himself, and there is no reputation he has to maintain. He can just exist as Alastor, Charlie’s sort-of father for the evening, and nothing else.

“Certainly,” Alastor says, smiling politely at the poor waitress. He rambles off his order (large, because Charlie is paying and he’d rather not upset her by feasting on the locals later, and he may as well enjoy as much as possible while he’s here), which seems to startle Jenny. But she obediently writes down the plates, take’s Charlie’s order of satanic salmon, and promises the sommelier will be out with their wine selection shortly.

Alastor waits until she’s gone before giving Charlie a raised eyebrow. “You’re quite frighting down here, Your Highness.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Charlie grumbles. “I hate when people do that. I’m not going to tear them apart just because I’m the Princess of Hell. I don’t know where they get that idea.”

“Perhaps because some of the ruling classes that are your peers would, should they have the opportunity,” Alastor says mildly. He’s heard the occasional story about the Ars Goetia. They rarely interact with Sinners, but sometimes he picks up news and gossip from Imp City. Most of Hell’s royalty seem like precisely the sort of pretentious, superior assholes he would have killed when he was alive.

“I guess,” Charlie sighs. “I just wish I could convince people that I’m not like that. Or that they could relax around me. That’s why I like working with Sinners so much, y’know? They don’t really care who I am.”

“I suppose that is true,” Alastor concedes. Sinners don’t care much for Hell’s monarchy and internal government as a general rule. Control in Hell for Sinners is based entirely on power, not bloodlines. Every single Overlord has climbed their way to the top with their own brands of strength, and they maintain their status only so long as they can defend it.

He should know. He achieved his own rank of Overlord by toppling the ones that couldn’t defend their thrones anymore.

“Still,” Alastor continues, idly holding up the pearl-handled dinner knife and examining it, “it’s rather an impressive change of pace for you to be feared, and for me to be completely unknown.”

Charlie flushes. “Overlords aren’t really super important this far down in the Rings. Sinners are sort of an ‘up there’ problem for people in Envy.”

“Can they tell that I am a Sinner?”

“I’m not sure,” Charlie says. “You obviously aren’t one of the First Races. But other demons have popped up over time. And they could always think you’re one of the Ars Goetia. Earl Furfur has some stag traits.”

Alastor raises an eyebrow at that. “Surely they know I am not him?”

“Probably, but the Ars Goetia are usually required to have precautionary heirs to inherit their jobs,” Charlie says, poking at her fork. “They might think you’re one of his sons.”

Alastor wrinkles his nose at that. “Sounds like an awful condition for power.” Though perhaps something he could take advantage of down the line, if he ever makes his way into the Lower Rings again. He makes a mental note to look up this Earl Furfur to learn more about him for future manipulation.

“I think it’s stupid too,” Charlie admits. “But they’re pretty insistent, since certain powers are bloodline-locked. Anyway, I don’t know if they can tell if you’re a Sinner or not. Most of the people here probably have never even seen one, and they know Sinners can’t get down here, so it’d be more logical to assume you’re from a cadet branch of the Ars Goetia than a former human.”

“Interesting.”

The sommelier interrupts the conversation as he arrives with their wine. He’s a surprisingly tall imp with jagged, black-and-white horns that rival the size of that loud-mouthed one they’d met a while back, Blitzø. Thankfully, this one is much quieter. He introduces himself as Claxxen, goes through the tradition of displaying the wine, popping the cork for their examination, pouring and waiting for the taste-test with the air of an absolute professional that knows his subject matter well. And the wine is excellent, made from fruit grown in this very Ring, underwater, over a hundred years ago.

But he, too, treats Charlie like a very important person and refuses to address her as anything less than Your Highness. And by the time their meal arrives shortly after, on a tray carried by no less than four tiny imps to account for all the entrees Alastor has ordered, she looks like she’s trying very hard to smile in the face of all the Your Highnesses and groveling and fear of apparent smiting if anything is less than perfect.

“You really don’t like your title, do you?” Alastor notes.

“I don’t hate being a princess, I just hate being mean about it,” Charlie says, picking at her fiery red salmon dish. “I don’t like using my power to make people do stuff. Sometimes I wish I was just a normal person.”

“They don’t know you well enough for that, I think,” Alastor says, as he digs into his many, many meals. He’d ordered nearly every type of fish available, as well as the crab, lobster and shrimp. He’s experimented with cooking several of these Hellish variants in his own meals, but tasting them fresh makes a world of difference compared to importing them from Envy for his New Orleans cuisine. There’s so much more flavor here!

Now if only he could convince them to cook dishes with more spice. Goodness, this Ring could use a Cajun restaurant. He’d do it himself if he weren’t constrained to the Pride Ring for all of eternity. Perhaps he could use stand-ins...well, it’s an enterprise to consider if he ever gets bored, at any rate.

“I guess,” Charlie says. “I just don’t know how to get them to know me better. Any time I try to start a conversation people immediately start bowing and letting me talk or win or whatever’s going on just because I’m a princess, and calling me Your Highness and Princess Charlotte. I hate being called Charlotte. It makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

Now, now, this just won’t do. It may be Alastor’s day, but Charlie is the reason it’s his day at all, and he won’t see her miserable on it.

So he jumps to a topic he’s been dying to tease her over since he learned it.

“Better Charlotte than Princess Charlotte Lilliael Eden Morningstar, yes?”

Charlie actually spits out her wine with a squeak. “Oh no. You’re full-naming me. Like really full-naming me this time. Where did you even learn that?”

“I have my ways,” Alastor says with a chuckle. “Who knew you had such a fancy title?”

Charlie groans. “I hate using the whole thing,” she says. “I only ever do that on paperwork. Hardly anyone even knows it. Really, where did you learn it?”

“The gift your father gave me,” Alastor admits. “A...photo-book, of sorts.”

“Oh!” Her eyes shine. “That’s so sweet of Dad! Oh my gosh!”

It is disgustingly ‘sweet’ of her father, which Alastor doesn’t want to acknowledge for a second. He moves on to his real questions. “Yes, well, it certainly did reveal a few things to me. When were you intending to tell me you’re nearly a century older, my dear?”

Charlie looks surprised. “Oh! I didn’t even think about that. I guess that is a little, um, not normal?”

“It certainly is, given you’re the one treating me like a parental figure. You realize you’re probably older than my great-grandmother, yes? I didn’t even exist when you were born.”

She flushes a little, and ducks her head meekly. “Is that a problem? Is...do you not want to be my Monster Under the Bed? Because if it’s weird we can stop—”

“Heavens, no,” Alastor says immediately, flipping a hand to chase away the thought. “You can pry that title from my double-dead hands, my dear. I’m only teasing, given that you being over two centuries seems to have slipped your mind.”

“It’s just how I grew up,” Charlie says with a shrug. “A lot slower than anyone else. You still feel more like an older person to me.”

Alastor grins at her. “Why, are you calling me old, Charlie? Perhaps that is something worth ‘full-naming’ you over.”

Charlie squawks and waves her arms around in a panic. “No no no! I didn’t mean it like that! You just feel more like you could be my parent! Please don’t full name me again.”

Alastor chuckles, but now he’s curious. “What is the reason for such a long name if you hate it? Is it a royalty thing? We didn’t have royalty in America, but that sounds like something they’d do.”

“Sort of? But not for the reason you think,” Charlie says. “But it’s to prevent summoning.”

Ah, now that’s intriguing. “I beg your pardon?”

Charlie pops a bit of fish into her mouth, chews, and swallows before answering. “It’s, uh...demonic summonings are really complicated for living humans. You have to know the sigils, and the rituals. But you also have to know the full name of the demon you’re summoning. I’m not in the general knowledge on Earth yet, but Dad says people will figure out he has a kid one day, and the really crazy humans will be pretty desperate to summon me to start the end of the world or something.” She makes a face.

Alastor can’t help but laugh at that. “You? End the world? You’d rather fix it with puppy dogs and rainbows than start an apocalypse.”

“Right! I don’t want the world to end. That’d be awful for everyone!” Charlie gestures emphatically. “But most humans won’t know that. They’ll just go ‘oh boy, the daughter of the Devil,’ and try to get me in a demonic circle. So the extra names help with that.”

“Clever,” Alastor says. He crunches through fish bones, causing Charlie to wince, before musing, “Could I theoretically be summoned?”

Charlie scratches her head. “I think? But people would have to know you’re a demon, and know your full name, and know your symbology and rituals. And so much of you is tied up in being the Radio Demon at this point, that’d be a part of it, and how would they know that happened after you died? I think you’d be more likely to accidentally get caught in one of those silly human seances, but the circumstances would have to work just right and the odds aren’t great.”

“Fascinating.”

“Dad says being summoned is a huge pain,” Charlie says. “I really hope it doesn’t happen to you. The cultists and magicians aren’t usually the problem, but Dad says the trapping circles and sigils can be a real pain to escape and it’s just an annoying waste of time.”

Perhaps. But Alastor would rather welcome an opportunity to go back to the world of the living for even a day. Just to see it. There’s nothing living humans can do to him, or make him do, that could be worse than his contract with Lilith brought.

Well, that’s a thought for another day. “I’ll spare you the shock of your full name, then,” Alastor says. “Unless you are in danger or have done something profoundly stupid.”

Charlie winces. “Yeah, that’s...that’s usually what it’s for. I really just prefer Charlie.”

“Charlie it is then.” Alastor’s grin grows wider. “Unless you would prefer Rayven Hellmoon Morningstar?”

Charlie’s flush of embarrassment sets him cackling, as she moans and buries her face in her hands. “Oh please tell me Dad didn’t share my fucking goth phase.”

“Oh, he did. It really was darling, seeing how hard you were trying to be bad. Even your worst was delightfully tame. Was that the only time you ever tried to smoke a cigarette?”

“Alastor,” Charlie whines.

“Ah-ah, answer the question, my dear!”

She moans, before muttering under her breath. It’s probably meant to answer without being audible, and normally, Alastor would compliment her on beating an agreement to the letter while still concealing the actual information. Unfortunately for her, his hearing is exemplary. “Yes. It tasted really icky and breathing was awful.”

Alastor throws back his head and cackles loudly. “Ha-hah! How adorably pathetic! To think the Princess of Hell fails so spectacularly at even classical teenage rebellion.” He wipes away an imaginary tear before leaning forward. “Do let me know if you require instruction in the art of trouble-making, my dear. I would be delighted to teach you. Perhaps we can progress far enough to smoking an entire cigarette, a proper insult, and breaking something on purpose!”

Charlie wails into her hands, still hiding her face. “Oh, I’m gonna kill Dad when we get back. That’s so embarrassing! Why would he share that?”

“Now now, my dear. While I thoroughly encourage patricide, I fear it must be for something meaningful,” Alastor says cheerfully. “I’m afraid I would have to stop you from murder in this particular instance.”

“I could order you to not get in the way.”

“And your father could override it, and I’m sure in this case he would,” Alastor says, still cheerful.

“I regret all of this. I regret everything. Why did I take you out for Father’s Day. Why are you doing this to me.” But there is no actual malice or disgust in her tone, just deep embarrassment, so he isn’t especially hurt by the words.

“I’ve been told it’s a father’s prerogative to thoroughly embarrass one’s children,” Alastor says. “If I’m committing to this role, I must do it fully, musn’t I?”

“Nooooo,” Charlie moans. “You’re a monster under the bed. Monsters don’t embarrass.”

“Monsters are perfectly capable of both,” Alastor says, gesturing with a pointed claw in the direction of her feet.

Charlie looks down and yelps. Phantom has been carefully worming its way into her natural shadow for the past five minutes, taking on its shape. It now looks up at her and grins, before immediately shifting her outline into the messy-haired, hunched silhouette of her teenage rebellion, completely with a sullen frowny face and half-lidded eyes.

“Not you too! You two are the worst,” Charlie says, putting her head in her hands again.

“I’m a demon in Hell, my dear. It is my thing to be the worst,” Alastor says, putting his hand on his chest and affecting a seated bow. Phantom laughs at her from the floor, before slithering up the back of her chair to settle its head on hers fondly.

Charlie scowls at them both, which only makes Alastor laugh. It’s so reminiscent of the look of that rebellious teenage Charlie. “Oh, come on,” she grouses. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have a goth phase.”

“Absolutely not. We didn’t have goth phases in my day.”

“But you must have done embarrassing things when you were a teenager!”

“Perish the thought. I was perfect,” Alastor says, flipping a hand at her. It’s absolutely false, but there isn’t a soul in Hell that could rat him out.

“I think you’re lying,” Charlie says decisively.

“Ah, but can you prove it?” Alastor grins at her.

“One day, when I get to talk to your mom, that’s the first thing I’m gonna ask her,” Charlie says. “’What kinds of embarrassing things did Alastor do when he was a kid?’ And she’ll tell me all the gossip.”

She probably would. Well, that’s a problem for a future day.

“Off, and let her eat in peace,” Alastor says, waving at Phantom. His shadow grumbles, but slithers off of Charlie and goes back to exploring the room.

Charlie stabs her fish with perhaps more force than necessary. Alastor decides to take pity on her and ease up, so he says, “Your...goth phase was entertaining, but some of the other pictures were more fascinating than anything else. I didn’t know you used to ride horses.”

Charlie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I used to do competitions all the time, at least until Sparkles died. That was my mare.”

“You named her Sparkles?”

“I was little when Dad got her for me! Sparkles was a great name at the time. Her mane sparkled.”

Light-bad-name, Phantom observes from the corner, where it’s busily climbing over coral and squeezing into the wrinkles and cracks.

Already established, Alastor says. Phantom grumbles back at him.

“Why didn’t you go back to riding after?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie admits. “It just didn’t feel the same without Sparkles. And then life got busy, and then all this stuff with the Hotel happened, and I just never went back.”

“Perhaps a hobby wouldn’t go amiss, on occasion,” Alastor says. “Breaks are always important, and you can’t spend every waking moment with the Sinners.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t want to leave you and Vaggie to deal with all the work while I went out riding…”

“Take your sweetheart. Bring a picnic. Make a day of it.” Alastor shrugs. “Perhaps she deserves it after this outing. I can only imagine how much the guests have made nuisances of themselves today for her. I assure you I’m more than capable of keeping the Hotel from burning itself to the ground.”

“Maybe,” Charlie muses. “I do kind of miss it, sometimes.”

“What do you miss about it?”

“Oh, lots of things!” And she’s off, chattering excitedly about her days of riding and competitions. The pictures and memories had been wonderful, but this does add context. Alastor doesn’t know a damn thing about horses, but Charlie’s enthusiasm is catching, and he rather enjoys just seeing her happy. Happy is a good look on Charlie, especially when her smile is genuine.

The meal passes happily enough after that. The restaurant is excellent, the accommodations comfortable, the view beautiful. The food is excellently prepared, and he demolishes everything, much to the polite shock of the wait staff. Alastor has been known for so long as a cannibal that can and will eat entire packs of Sinners up above that it’s entertaining to watch the waiters subtly attempting to figure out where he’s putting it all. It’s quite fun, being a virtual unknown. Phantom agrees, since it gives his shadow fresh opportunities to unnerve and startle people from the shadows.

He does make sure they get an excessively generous tip for their troubles, though.

They do take a detour to the beach afterwards. There are some other Hellborn walking along the beach, but the purple sky above is starting to get darker and with it comes a chill on the ocean breeze, so many are retreating for the evening. That means they have the beach mostly to themselves, which Charlie says is a rare treat.

She takes her heels off and carries them she walks through the sand. It looks soft, and her hooves slide around as she runs down to the surf and kicks at the foamy water. “Try it!” she says, waving her hands excitedly at him.

Alastor shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”

“It’s easier to walk when you’re not in heels.”

“Perhaps for you, my dear,” Alastor says idly. Her hooves are built thick and sturdy, like a mountain goat’s. His are narrow little deer hooves, and they tend to sink straight through unstable surfaces like gravel. He can only imagine sand is worse. His raised heels are designed to support his deer feet, and they are sinking into the sand, but at least the soles are providing a wider surface area to walk on.

Charlie frets a little. “Do you want to leave? This probably isn’t much fun.”

“On the contrary, I’m rather enjoying it,” Alastor says. “And Phantom seems entertained.” His shadow has no such difficulties with unusual terrain, and is currently trying to splay itself over the water and foam to ride its surface.

“It is?” Charlie whirls around to find the shadow, only to be splashed directly in the face by Phantom’s sweeping claw. “Ack! Hey! That’s it! You’re getting it now!”

Alastor watches in amusement as they start some sort of splash-fight. His shadow is being careful not to hurt Charlie, but Alastor keeps an eye on it anyway, just in case. Neither of them are used to play fighting, and Phantom usually only engages when things are aggressive and dangerous. It might not know its own strength, or how to restrain itself, because it’s never had to.

But it toes the line well, flinging water at Charlie and then vanishing into the shadows under the surface. It resists the urge to tug Charlie under, even though she steps quite close looking for it multiple times. She flings plenty of water at it in retaliation, which answers the question of whether or not a shadow can become drenched. The answer is: yes, very.

Alastor walks along the beach while they play, looking about in the sand. There’s dozens of different kinds of footprints from all sorts of Hellborn. Plenty of trash, which is unsurprising. It is Hell, after all. But other fascinating things catch his eye. More of that strange sea-glass that their plates had been made out of. Odd plants, washed up on the shore. Smoothed stones and bits of broken coral. A dead fish, lightly decayed, which he pops in his mouth as a treat. The decay here tastes different than the stuff up in Pride; less brimstone, more salt. Fascinating.

The real prize are the shells. They’re all kinds of strange, alien shapes, not the clam and oyster shells he’s used to from cooking. One has ridges in the shape of a pentagram. Many are twisted and elongated into strange spirals and sharp enough to cut skin. A number of them remind him of the webbed fins of the sirens, stretched into fanned shapes or twisted into sharp cones.

But his favorite are the thick, dome-like ones with spines along the back. They remind him of his own microphone’s shell casing, but glimmering inside with mother-of-pearl, and iridescent on the outside with blue and violet swirls. He even finds a specimen about the size of his actual microphone shell, and picks it up to turn it over in amusement.

“Oh! What’d you find?”

Charlie has arrived, covered in sea water and sand. Phantom rests atop her head and draping down her back into her shadow, equally coated. He rolls his eyes at the both of them, and says, “You’ve both made quite a mess of yourselves.”

Phantom shrugs at him, slithers off of Charlie, and goes insubstantial. All the water, salt and sand immediately drops off of it onto the beach. It grins and circles Alastor’s feet. Clean. Easy.

Charlie is a little more sheepish. “Um. We might have gotten carried away. It’s Phantom’s fault!”

Lies, Phantom says, pointing back at her.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “I know it was you,” he tells his shadow. “I watched you launch the first strike.” He waves a hand absently at Charlie, and a quick spell leaves her relatively clean and dry, although her hair has become an absolute rat’s nest.

“Thanks, Al!”

“It’s hardly perfect. You’re going to have to let me fix your hair when we’re out of the wind, my dear.”

She runs a hand through her hair, pulling a messy tangle away from her face. “Oops! Um, yeah, sure. The next Ring won’t be so windy, we can fix it then. Anyway, what’d you find?”

“Ah, yes.” He holds the shell out to her. “There’s some interesting things on this beach.”

“Oh, pretty! It’s the same shape as your staff, too.”

“Yes, that’s why I was examining it.” This one is an especially lovely specimen of deep purple with some blue swirls, and glimmers with iridescence in the light.

“You can keep it, if you want.”

He blinks at her. “I can?”

“Sure. Lots of tourists from other Rings will take one as a souvenir. And that one’s really pretty!”

Shiny-very, Phantom agrees.

“Perhaps I will, then,” Alastor says. He’s fully aware that his trip to the Lower Rings may be a once-in-an-afterlifetime experience. He may as well keep what he can. He runs a hand over it gently, so as not to cut it with his claws, which stand out a brilliant red against its deeper purple-and-blue colors. Then he hands it to Phantom, who tucks it away deep in their shadow-space next to the book.

“Ready to try some other Rings?” Charlie asks.

“As ready as ever,” Alastor says.

“Alright. Remember, you promised you’d let me know if it’s too much Something.”

“I did, and I shall—as long as you believe me when I say I’m fine.”

“Right!”

What follows is a whirlwind tour of the Rings of Hell. After the disaster of first stepping into Envy, they agree that Charlie will portal them to a quieter location with less immediate stimuli until Alastor can adjust to the potential shock of the new world. Once he’s adjusted to the basics, they can include more stimuli, and Alastor can decide if it’s worth staying or not.

It’s a fair compromise. Alastor wants to see everything at least once, just to say he has. But as it turns out, some worlds are harder than others.

Sloth is excessively pink, humid, and extremely wet. It’s nearly as alien as Envy, and it takes Alastor’s human brain time to wrap itself around the concept of cotton candy skies and floating islands that spill water down on the residents. Most of the infrastructure seems designed around these seemingly random sky-waterfalls, making most roofs rounded sloped to shed water quickly. It’s quite easy to be doused at random, and Phantom ends up serving the function of a makeshift umbrella more than once.

Once he’s able to adjust to the perplexing way the world works, though, it’s fairly easy to adjust to the rest of it. Alastor takes out the sunglasses again, because it is obnoxiously bright here. But on the whole, it’s a rather pleasant place to be. It’s clean and quiet, compared to the chaos of Pride and Envy. This is because, according to Charlie, Sloth acts as the medical center for the entirety of Hell. There are hospitals and specialty centers everywhere, and a seemingly unspoken rule that aggressors are swiftly dealt with for the safety of all.

Overall, a peaceful place. He’s able to take the time to brush out, fix and style Charlie’s hair without so much as a hint of interference from the locals. If they’d sat around this long outside in the Pentagram, somebody would have tried to take a shot at them for not paying attention by now. If he didn’t know better, Alastor would almost think he’s in Heaven.

The upside-down crosses and demons everywhere do discourage the impression, though.

It feels like a sleepy little town...which makes sense, he supposes. Sloth, and all that. There isn’t much to do here as a result, since there isn’t much of an active lifestyle here. Just dozens of medical centers and pharmacies and rehabilitation centers and operations to supply it all, or extremely rich Hellish residents that want a life away from the insanity and chaos. But Charlie gives him a quick tour of some of her favorite places as a child, and Alastor enjoys that, at least. It seems, overall, like one of the safer places to be a child in Hell.

If Sloth is pleasant, Greed is not. The stench of toxic waste, drugs, urine, garbage and decay stings his eyes, and it’s enough to make him nearly vomit the moment he steps through Charlie’s portal. Most of what he can see from the hill Charlie had portaled them to is broken down slums, shady back alleys, and steaming vats of bubbling liquid. He witnesses an actual murder in real time from what look an awful lot like mafiosos, based on his own experience with them in New Orleans.

Within thirty seconds of their arrival, still with the stench of the place watering his eyes, two imps attempt to mug them by brandishing knives at Charlie. Alastor is not so overwhelmed by Something that he can’t kill when he needs to, and he tears their heads from their bodies and flings them off the hill even as he gags on the vile air here.

“Shit!” Charlie yelps. “I’m sorry, I was aiming for Mammon Stadium, it’s safer. I can’t believe I screwed up the location again! Are you okay, Al?”

Alastor blinks rapidly as he looks around. Phantom is currently driving off another pair of imps, but there’s no immediate further danger. They do appear to have arrived in the middle of a squatter’s camp, though, which explains the unexpected assault.

“Fine,” he spits, immediately hating the foul air on his tongue. “You, my dear?”

“I’m okay,” Charlie promises. “You got them before they got me. I was trying to get us over there, I’m so sorry…”

She points. There are some nicer areas farther to the north that look more like suburbs, and even some mansions. What appears to be an enormous stadium, and next to it the biggest mall Alastor has ever seen. In the distance is a run-down theme park that appears to be on fire. But even those comparably pleasant offerings are choked out in a thick layer of toxic, green smog.

“People live like this?” Alastor hisses, coughing on the awful taste in his mouth.

“Some people can’t afford to live anywhere else,” Charlie says with a sigh. “I want Uncle Mammon to fix it up, but I can’t really make him, so I just do what I can for Sinners.”

“Terrible.” Alastor can absolutely see why Charlie would be afraid of him going on a rampage here. Violence seems to be commonplace, even more so than in Pride. Killing those two imps had been an act of instinct more than anything else, to protect Charlie, but he can feel the stink of this place seeping into him in a way that would make him furious enough to kill indiscriminately. He can see why Lucifer would be fine with him knocking this Mammon down a peg, since the bastard clearly deserves it. “Let’s leave. I’ve seen enough.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Charlie says. “I wouldn’t have even brought you if you didn’t want to see everything. Oh, there’s the sky-coin, though.” She points up in the air, and to Alastor’s disbelief, there is indeed a massive coin, marked with an ‘M,’ twirling forever in the sky in place of a moon or sun.

Oh, he is going to find a way to get answers out of Lucifer on how the Hell that even works.

Gluttony is not much better. It isn’t the world itself, exactly, although the brilliant yellow-orange sky has a honeycomb texture across all of it that his eyes struggle to accept as real. There shouldn’t be geometric shapes in the sky, and his mind scrambles to accept it until it finally gives up and stops fighting the inevitable. It’s humid, warm, and lush with plants and flowers of all kinds—more jungle than bayou, but it feels similar to his own home. The air is overpoweringly sweet, like honey, which takes him time to adjust to until it stops cloying in his nose.

It isn’t the location, which is overall acceptable. It’s the residents.

Gluttony is overwhelmingly populated with its native denizen, the hellhounds—and they are simply everywhere. The variety of dog breeds represented among the hellhounds would be impressive, except that Alastor has never been a fan of dogs, and even less so after his death involved them. Within minutes of arriving, he spots no less than ten different sub-species of hunting dog, including a gray and white spotted pointer-hellhound that looks alarmingly similar to the damned thing that tore him down nearly a century ago.

Needless to say, his hackles are raised immediately, and his antlers extend as his readiness to fight kicks in. Fleeing does little good around pack hounds, but they will learn that this deer is dangerous if they try to bring him down again.

It isn’t until Phantom wraps around him and hauls him backwards that he realizes Charlie is holding his hand and calling his name. His ears are flat, his teeth are bared, and his claws are at the ready as he prepares to fight. Fighting is the only option, now. Charlie is here, and he can’t leave her behind. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, she’s his daughter, leaving her at the mercy of a pack of hunting dogs would be a cruelty he’d never forgive himself for.

He will not allow her to die like he did.

“Alastor! Calm down! It’s safe!”

Lies, lies, lies. They’re surrounded and they’re being hunted and he will not permit it. He’s already trying to grow, assuming his larger form, although Phantom is fighting him on it. Foolish thing, doesn’t it understand the danger? A bigger target will give the hounds more to focus on, maybe it will give Charlie time to get away—

Phantom crawls up his back. At first Alastor is grateful; his shadow clearly understands the danger now, and is willing to strengthen him. Except Phantom wraps its hands around his ears and tugs. It can’t hurt him, but he can still feel the pull, enough to distract him for just a moment.

It uses that precise moment to scream in his head, PORTAL-PORTAL-PORTAL-PROMISE-GO!

And damn it, he is an idiot, for forgetting they had another method of escape so quickly. It’s already threatening to flee his mind again, with the stench of the hounds in his nose and so many dogs watching them now, creeping closer, closer, closer—

“Leave,” he snarls in Charlie’s general direction, before he can forget again. “Now!”

She doesn’t hesitate, hastily dragging out the Asmodean crystal. The geometric portal appears faster than her self-made ones do. Alastor barely stops himself from plunging through, but he won’t leave without Charlie being out of danger first. Thankfully, Phantom is able to pantomime enough for her to get the idea and shoo her through, and he dives after her as quickly as he can before any of the hounds can give chase.

The new world is hot, hotter even than the last one, a dry heat with a scalding wind that blows across dry plains and stony mountains. It’s enough of an immediate slap in the face with a shock of new senses that Alastor stops snarling. He staggers over to a rocky outcropping and sits down on it, trying to will himself to calm.

It’s difficult. He’s panting, and the blood is still pounding in his ears. His nerves on fire, the hairs on the back of his neck still raised and prickling. If anything attacks them he is going to turn it into a fine paste. He hopes something does, just so he can burn this energy out. He hates feeling so twitchy and off balance.

“I’m sorry, Alastor,” Charlie frets, coming over to kneel down in front of him. “I didn’t realize Gluttony would freak you out so badly…”

“You couldn’t have,” Alastor says. His voice is harsh, but this new environment is helping. It feels more real than some of the other places in Hell; he’s seen pictures on Earth that looks like this expanse of desert. The sky is a deep, nearly black orange, but that isn’t exactly uncommon in the West. There’s some sort of volcano in the distance, and the distant skyline of a city to the North, but nothing so impossible to comprehend as spinning sky coins or floating islands. The scent of dust and dry air is helping to chase the scent of hunting hound from his nose.

It is also, notably, not a bayou. Not the place he died. Not a place where dogs can get him.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Alastor flattens his ears. “I’d rather not speak of it,” he says. He is the Radio Demon, after all. He isn’t supposed to be afraid of things.

But Charlie doesn’t let him squirm away from it so easily. “I won’t push if you’re not comfortable,” she says, taking one of his hands. “But I’d really like to know so I can make sure we avoid that in the future. Or help you get used to it. Or whatever you need.”

He’s still not willing to say anything. But Phantom, damn his shadow, takes the choice away from him. It slithers near Charlie and plucks at her leg for attention. When she’s watching it changes its shape into a dog, bounding across the dry stone and back before shifting back into itself.

“Dogs?” Charlie says. “You don’t like dogs?”

Alastor sighs. “I have...a history with dogs,” he says carefully. “One was involved in my death. I’d rather not go into details.”

Charlie’s jaw drops for a moment, before she squeezes his hand. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” she stammers. “I wouldn’t have brought you there if I knew, I’m so sorry Alastor, I didn’t mean to scare you—”

“I was not scared,” Alastor snaps, pulling his hand away. “Just...startled.”

“Okay,” Charlie says with an obnoxious amount of patience, which is enough to tell him she doesn’t believe him for a second but doesn’t want to push things, either. “I’m sorry I startled you then. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it would be an issue. I’ve seen hellhounds before in the Pride Ring. I just...didn’t realize there would be so many.”

“That’s where they come from,” Charlie says. “And Auntie Bee takes good care of them. People don’t treat them so well in other places. But it’s okay if they, um, startle you. Some of them can be pretty big and scary when they want to be.”

“I saw.”

Charlie blinks, and seems to have a moment of realization. “Wait...is that why you didn’t want to learn Houndhowl back in…”

In the Nothing. “More or less,” Alastor admits.

“I thought it was weird that you picked Greedspeak. You’re more likely to meet hellhounds in the Pride Ring. But I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry, I should have figured it out from that…”

“Do not feel bad, my dear,” Alastor says. “I kept it from you for a reason. I am the Radio Demon. I’m not supposed to be startled by things.”

“You’re allowed to be...startled by whatever you want,” Charlie says firmly, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t care. It’s normal to be startled by things. And it sounds like you have a good reason.”

“It’s shameful.”

“You spent a whole bunch of time embarrassing me earlier tonight.”

“That’s the fun kind of shame,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “No harm comes of it. This is just...pathetic.”

“Well, I don’t think so,” Charlie says seriously, “and I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. We don’t have to go back.”

He’s not going to beleaguer the point. The more he pushes, the more stubborn Charlie will get about apologizing and making it sound like his stupid fear is normal. Instead, he deflects away from the conversation, saying, “Where have you taken us now?”

“This is Wrath,” Charlie says. “I just jumped to it as fast as I could to get you out of Gluttony, so we’re in the middle of one of the deserts. But if you want to stop, we can. You look a little beat...I’m sorry.”

“Charlie, I must insist that you stop apologizing,” he says, standing up and collecting his staff. “You did nothing wrong. And I am not interested in giving up just yet.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s just—”

“Ah-ah, now,” Alastor says, waving a finger in his face. “I’ve been more than good about holding to my end of the bargain. I’ve told you twice now when I wanted to leave, as promised. Now you must hold to your end.”

“Alright,” Charlie says. “But we can still cut it short. I saved the best for last, but we can go back another day...I’m sure Dad can give me permission again if needed.”

“It won’t be needed,” Alastor says firmly. “Show me about, my dear.”

After the initial scramble, it turns out that Alastor quite enjoys Wrath. His first assessment that the Ring is ‘normal’ isn’t quite true. The whole place seems lit with hundreds of dripping balls of lava that hover above the volcanoes all around the region. It’s almost tame compared to the other Rings, though, and after Pride it seems to resemble Earth the most. Which is somewhat ironic, in a way, given that Wrath also seems to be the closest to Biblical descriptions of Hell and all the fire and brimstone he’d expected when he died.

More pleasant are the people. That seems strange for a Ring called Wrath, but the imps of Wrath are some of the most fascinating Hellborn he’s had the opportunity to meet all night. They’re violent and ready to brawl if pushed, but there’s also a shocking sense of community about them, too. Charlie says Wrath is the breadbasket of Hell, feeding most of its denizens, and it’s clear from the rolling fields of produce and pastures full of livestock that they work hard to do it. The towns are small and quaint, but the people are surprisingly friendly. And if they aren’t, they know strength when they see it, and back down before he actually has to kill anyone.

Given how much reading Alastor has done about imps and their bottom-of-the-barrel place in society, he’d actually feel bad about killing more of them than he has to, given how much he can relate to them.

It is also a place he can actually practice his Impish with actual speakers. He’s never had the opportunity to before outside of Charlie, or the rare few imps he’s come across since in Pride that don’t immediately flee at the sight of him. Pride imps keep up to date on Pride power-bases and know better than to mess with an Overlord.

Wrathian imps seem more impressed than anything else that somebody like him can speak their language, but they’re also eager to teach him tips and test his knowledge. They spend a surprisingly enjoyable two hours in an old-timey saloon straight out of the picture-shows. It reminds Alastor of the speaks of his day, without fear of the police showing up to dispose of the fun and the alcohol. Alastor wins three bar brawls, five games of poker, six arm wrestling contests, ten rounds of pool, twenty games of four-finger fillet, downs a dozen shots of Wrathian whiskey (lovely stuff—he buys himself a bottle for later), plays the piano for the guests, and listens to their stories.

Wrath is, on the whole, highly enjoyable.

He’d have been willing to stay even longer, except the last Ring on the journey is the one Charlie is most eager to take him to. And Alastor will admit, he is curious just what the Hell the Lust Ring could have to offer someone like him. Charlie knows he isn’t interested in romantic or sexual trysts, and that he finds such activity disgusting to even think about. He knows Charlie wouldn’t disrespect him by dragging him to a place that would actively make him uncomfortable.

So what, then, is she so eager to show him? What is ‘curios’? And why had even Lucifer agreed it was a good choice?

So when Charlie says it’s time to get going so they have enough time for the last leg of the journey, Alastor says goodbye to the saloon imps and steps through the portal she provides for the last leg of the journey.

Charlie had used the Asmodean Crystal again for precision, like Lucifer had suggested. Alastor is relieved, even if he would never admit it, because he has little interest in anything Lust has to offer.

But he’s actually surprised at how classy the Lust Ring is—at least, the part they’ve dropped into. It rather reminds him of Pride, except the sky overhead is a deep blue and somehow dotted with stars. Despite the lack of clouds it’s raining what appears to be ordinary water and not acid or blood or screaming hail. They’re in a city of some kind, and the higher buildings cutting across the sky are plastered with neon signs of genitals and humanoid figures in scandalous positions and various advertisements for certain activities. But that’s not much different than parts of Pentagram City, so after Alastor gets used to their bright colors it’s old habit to filter them out.

He expects the stench of sex or sweat or bodies in a place called Lust. Parts of Valentino’s corner of the Pentagram reek of it. But the city is surprisingly clean, and the rain keeps everything comfortably cool and fresh. He’s surprised to find perfume and flowers are more prominent scents, but perhaps that makes sense. He’s never been interested in sex himself, but he imagines it might be difficult to engage if surrounded by body odors and trash.

In short, Lust is shockingly the easiest of the Rings for Alastor to adjust to. At least in terms of sensory Somethings.

Less so for other reasons. “Your father took you here?” Alastor asks, disgusted. “As a child?”

“He took me directly,” Charlie says. “And he’d cover my eyes and ears sometimes. Or just take me straight to Uncle Ozzie’s palace.” She points at the skyline, where a strange twirling, cylindrical building towers over all the others, with long trailing décor like feathers spinning around it artfully.

“The Sin of Lust lives there?” Alastor can’t help but raise an eyebrow. It’s certainly a tall building, but it does not especially scream power.

“The feathers are like his tail,” Charlie says absently. “Anyway, I promise, I wasn’t allowed to run around unsupervised through all the sex shops and brothels.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, because I would have to figure out how to kill a seraphim otherwise.”

“Please don’t try to do that,” Charlie says, gripping his hand pleadingly.

Alastor sighs. “I will not...as long as he does not give me reason to.”

“That’s a little vague, but we’ll work on it,” Charlie says. “For now, this is the place I wanted to show you. It’s one of my favorite stores in Hell!”

She gestures grandly in front of them. Like the others, this building is lit up in flashing purple neon, and Alastor winces as it leaves trails in front of his eyes. However, unlike the other buildings, this one doesn’t promise ‘good times’ or display animated images of naked women. Instead, it says in looping script:

Curios of the Undamned

“C’mon, let’s go take a look!” Charlie says. “I asked Uncle Ozzie to hold it open for us privately for an hour, so he made sure somebody was staffed here for us.”

She grabs his hand and leads him inside excitedly. Alastor is so perplexed by what the name of the store could possibly mean that he allows himself to be led, while Phantom follows in his shadow.

The inside, he learns quickly, is full of things. Rooms and rooms of things of all kinds, packed floor to ceiling, wall to wall, with hundreds of displays in the center. There are more rooms leading off of this first one, and through the doors Alastor sees more things, these with some kind of theme. A sign over one door reads, Music. Over another, Books. A signboard near the entrance also lists locations for Houseware, Electronics, Clothing, Intimates, Tools, Weapons, Toys, Drugs, Film & Theater, Vehicles, Living Things, Art, Knickknacks, Family Life and Miscellaneous.

Well, that certainly explained the ‘curios’ part of the building, at least.

“What on Earth is this place?” Alastor asks. He can’t decide of it’s a pawnshop, a museum, or a hoarding situation, with the way items are stuffed everywhere. He’s curious despite himself, because this is the last sort of thing he expected in a place called Lust.

Charlie grins at him and opens her mouth to answer. But before she can, an incubus at the register leans over the counter and says, “Well, hello, sweet thing! You must be the guest Mr. Asmodeus mentioned.” He wolf whistles, and adds, “Surely you can find a better time somewhere else than this junk heap? I’d offer you a good time myself, but it seems like you’re into older men.” He nods at Alastor with a wink. “Unless you both want a r—”

Alastor is through the shadows and at the counter before the lout can finish, and slams his forehead into the register. It chimes loudly and the money drawer snaps open, smashing the incubus in the chest.

Alastor doesn’t give the little bastard a chance to recover. Phantom has already merged with him, and they’re growing rapidly taller now as he takes on his half-demonic form. His antlers stretch, his limbs extend, his neck snaps as his head cracks sideways. Bloody drool dribbles from his jaws as he looms over the reprobate at an impressive eleven feet. His massive claws crash down on either side of his prey, cracking the surface and digging deep into wood as he crouches over the incubus like a spider. Phantom makes its own appearance, slithering out of his back in the form of six shadowy tendrils, which it aims like spears ready to stab at every vulnerable part it can find: eyes, brain, throat, heart, and groin. One wrong move and Alastor will make sure the man suffers before he dies.

The stench of urine fills his nostrils, and the incubus squeals, wide-eyed, even as he goes very still. Good. Let him know fear.

“How dare you,” he snarls through his over-large jaws, static screeching. “I will strip the skin from your flesh and the marrow from your bones—”

“No no no no no!” Charlie yelps from behind him. “No stripping flesh! No murder!”

“I’m entitled,” Alastor growls. He doesn’t take his eyes from the incubus. “He said vulgar things about you. Terribly inappropriate! I want to kill him.”

“No, no!” Charlie rushes forward and grabs one of his arms, trying to pull it back. She’s not very successful at moving him, but he does at least register the touch. “It’s cultural! Cultural! He’s just being polite!”

“He propositioned you!”

“He’s a Lust native!” Charlie says, now trying to shove her way between Alastor and the counter the incubus is cowering behind to push him away. “Lust manners are flirting! It’s like saying ‘hi, how are you today!’”

“That is ridiculous!”

“It’s Lust, Al, and he’s an incubus! I promise he was just being friendly. Right?” She tries to look over her shoulder at the shaking incubus.

“Yes!” the man squeaks. “Just friendly! I-I mean if you wanted it I’d be down too—”

Alastor snarls in his face.

“—but just being friendly!” he stammers. “Please don’t kill me!”

Alastor may not be familiar with...Lust etiquette...but he is a solid judge of character. He can smell the raw fear on the incubus, not to mention the stink of urine. He’s being genuine, and he’s clearly too afraid to try crossing Alastor even if he isn’t.

Still, Alastor decides to be very clear about where the line is. “If you so much as insinuate that my daughter is in a relationship with me again with your so-called ‘manners,’ I will eat you.”

The incubus squeaks. “I-in...in a fun way?”

“In a cannibal way,” Alastor hisses, feedback screeching. He leans less than an inch away into the incubus’ face and lets his teeth gleam and blood dribble between them.

“H-how about I just don’t say anything, mister...um—”

“Alastor,” he introduces himself, finally leaning away. “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. Always nice to see the youth can be educated.”

The incubus takes a noticeable deep breath of relief as Alastor steps back and shrinks to his standard form. For that matter, so does Charlie, who makes an effort to stand between the two. Alastor doesn’t like that at all, but Phantom quietly slips into the shadows and slithers around behind he incubus just in case, so he permits it.

“I’ll, uh, just let you two browse,” the incubus says nervously, eyeing Alastor. “I’m gonna find a new pair of pants. Just, um, ring the bell when you’re ready to purchase.” He gestures to the little silver bell next to the register.

Follow him, Alastor instructs Phantom, as the incubus rushes off. Best to be sure he’s not collecting reinforcements from somewhere.

Watch-silent-secret, Phantom agrees, melding perfectly into the dark to follow. If the incubus does cause a problem, Phantom will give them enough of a head’s up to flee, or independently incapacitate the man if able.

Alastor spins his staff once and tucks it neatly behind his back in the crook of his folded arms, before turning to Charlie. “Now then, I believe you were explaining what this strange place was?”

But now that the danger is passed, Charlie is regarding him with almost starry-eyed delight. “You called me your daughter,” she squeaks happily. “In public! To a stranger!”

Shit. He had, hadn’t he? He’d just been so riled up at that little bastard’s vulgar implication that he and Charlie were dating. As if he would! Even if he didn’t already think of her like his child, and even if he was interested in a romantic partnership, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to date someone so much younger and less mature than him.

Well. Relatively speaking, anyway, given Charlie is technically a hundred years his senior. Which is going to take getting used to.

Irrelevant, anyway. Charlie is still staring at him with starry-eyed delight, and he fights to keep his smile in place and his ears from flattening in embarrassment. “I should think that was obvious, dear,” he says. “Is this not a Father’s Day outing?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know that,” Charlie says. “And you said it anyway!”

She’s doing that antsy little shuffle that says she wants to throw herself at him in a hug but is trying very hard to respect his boundaries. He rolls his eyes, but waves her forward with a gesture. She doesn’t hesitate to squeeze him into a tight hug immediately, while he pats her patiently on the head.

“Thank you!” she squeaks into his chest.

“I can’t imagine what for, my dear, you are the one treating me to this trip,” Alastor says.

“It was just nice to hear!”

He sighs, but doesn’t protest. Undoubtedly rumors will start, but he supposes rumors in Lust could hardly harm him in Pride. It’s tempting to have Phantom snap the incubus’ neck and stuff him in a closet somewhere just to clean up loose ends, but...just this once, he’ll permit the man to live.

Charlie pulls away from the hug, but captures his hand that isn’t occupied with his staff, tugging him towards the room marked Music. “Come on! I can’t wait to show you!”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re showing me,” Alastor reminds her, but he allows himself to be pulled along by his hand.

“Right!” Charlie smacks her forehead with her palm, but doesn’t stop tugging him towards the room. “This is Curios of the Undamned! Basically, it’s a collection for all kinds of things brought here from Earth. Most of the time it’s Uncle Ozzie’s people that go to Earth who are bringing things back. Sometimes it’s trophies, or things they stole, or gifts they were given by the people they seduce. But sometimes it comes from other places too! A lot of humans pay in material goods when they summon demons, and then demons can pawn things here for Hellbucks. There’s all kinds of weird stuff here from all across Earth and from all time periods. I thought you might find something you really want that I can get you as a gift!”

“Is that so?”

Things from Earth? Obtaining anything from Earth was a rare treat to be savored in the Pride Ring. Sinners longed for the nostalgia of their living days, and anything that could bring back old memories. Some Sinners died and dropped into Hell with items that were special to them, or buried in their coffins with them, and there were entire gangs that specialized in looting them blind the moment they arrived. Vox made millions every year just from figuring out how to steal television from Earth, cashing in on sentimentality and familiarity, and that wasn’t even something most Sinners could physically hold in their hands.

And to think a veritable wealth of Earthly things were sitting in a pawn shop in Lust, gathering dust!

“This used to be one of my favorite places to explore when I was a kid,” Charlie says fondly, as she weaves them around a haphazard stack of knickknacks and through the Music door. “I always wondered what humans were doing on Earth. Dad could tell me stories, but all these things told me stories too. A lot of them belonged to people. You can tell they were loved things, once.”

She lets go of his hand. “Anyway! Feel free to look around! Whatever you want, it’s all on me!”

“I can’t have whatever I want, dear,” Alastor says. “That’s bound to be an expensive bill—”

Charlie laughs. “I’m a princess, Alastor,” she says. “I might not like people being scared of me, but it does come with a lot of money, and I like spending that money on friends or people who need it. And you’ve done so much to help me, I think some familiar things are worth the price tag.”

“We’ll see,” Alastor says mildly. It feels a bit wrong to allow a lady—moreover, his daughter—foot the bill, but it is a special circumstance. And perhaps he won’t find anything of interest at all.

He is immediately proven wrong. Charlie had cleared steered him towards the Music room first for a reason. It’s full of musical memorabilia from across the ages; gramophones, record players, cassette players, CD players, and stacks and stacks of music in every recorded form imaginable. Posters and merchandise for various bands are stuffed into one corner. A piano fills another, with old guitars hanging on the walls over it. A sign indicates more instruments are in ‘back storage: just ask!’

He skips the shelves upon shelves of CD’s and cassette tapes and makes a beeline for the vinyl records, and oh, he’s already hit jackpot. These are dust-covered and neglected, but clearly that’s because the Hellborn who have access to them don’t understand the treasures they’ve found stuffed away in a back room. He flips carefully through each of the records, and though many are from after his time, he finds many from his era that he carefully sets aside. Bing Crosby, Bessie Smith, Rudy Vallée, Cab Calloway. The entire collection of King Oliver.

He even ventures out of his own era when he finds the full works of Louis Armstrong. The man had been up-and-coming and talented in Alastor’s day, but Alastor himself had died long before the man’s career had. He had a good sound back in the late twenties and early thirties, so Alastor is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s hardly paying for the music, after all. The same with Duke Ellington, who had certainly shown promise in Alastor’s day.

It hardly takes any time at all for the stack of records he’s selected to grow quite tall. He would feel guilty, except that Charlie seemed quite excited at the prospect of being able to give him back things he’d had in his lifetime. And if it makes her happy for him to spend her money, who is he to say no?

Charlie herself has vanished further into the shop. That makes him nervous, because he’s not thrilled about leaving her unattended in an unfamiliar place in Hell. He reaches out to Phantom, checking on its spying. Any change?

Boring, Phantom says. Change. Desk-sit. Fear-fear-fear. See-Phantom-not.

Good, Alastor says. The incubus is properly spooked enough not to try anything. Charlie left me to wander further into the shop. Stick with her. Just in case.

Light-better, Phantom says excitedly. Phantom-Light-PROTECT.

Good.

It doesn’t take Phantom long to find Charlie, even in this bizarre shop and its equally bizarre layout. She has, unsurprisingly, found her way to the toy section and is currently testing all the plush animals.

Light-safe, it reports.

Perfect. Stick with her.

With eyes on Charlie, he feels a little more comfortable going back to browsing. By now, he’s exhausted the stack of records, and most of what’s left is after his time and not at all interesting to him. But that still leaves a sizable stack of authentic records from his era, which is already a prize. Even if he doesn’t find a single other thing in this shop of interest, the trip will have been worth it.

He summons a few of his little shadow minions. They have no real intelligence, but they can follow simple enough orders. “Take these to the front counter,” Alastor instructs, dividing the stack into smaller groups for the little minions to handle. “Be careful. They are fragile, do not scratch.” They stare at him with wide, blank eyes and nod once, before scurrying off to their appointed tasks.

Now, time to explore what else this place has to offer.

He picks Books first. There’s a whole book shop in and of itself inside that one room, with rows upon rows of used books in every possible genre. It is not, unfortunately, organized in any useful way. He spends a few minutes browsing, and finds a book or two for his little shadows to deliver to the front before deciding to move on. He could spend hours here, but they don’t have hours. Perhaps after he explores the rest of the place he can come back, if there’s still time.

There are directories everywhere for how to find one’s way to the various rooms, which are not arranged in any particular order. Some sections he skips completely; he has no use forToys, Intimates, or Drugs, and there’s no point to Vehicles. He scoffs and puts up his nose at Film & Theater, and gives Electronics much the same treatment, skipping the rooms completely.

But he does find some fascinating things in other corners of this strange hodgepodge shop. Living Things turns out to also have formerly living things, and he adds several bones and teeth, assembled skeletons of reptiles, and a taxidermy alligator to his collection for the shop counter. His old collection had been mostly destroyed with the first iteration of the Hazbin Hotel, but these will make excellent substitutes. He is especially pleased with the dusty rack of elk antlers he’d found in one corner from some poor human sap’s shed hunting expeditions. They’ll look lovely mounted on his wall.

Clothing turns out to be mostly useless, since nothing from his era is present. He has a perfectly functional tailor in the Pride Ring, so it isn’t much of a loss. He does find a lovely machete and pruning shears in Tools, though, which will be useful for caring for his bayou properly. Or stabbing something, if he’s in the mood for a little variety.

Weapons is delightfully fun, even if he ultimately doesn’t purchase anything. He has no need for firearms, and he doesn’t use weapons in his general day to day combat, preferring the reliability of his own claws and magic. But it is quite entertaining to examine the swords and knives and axes on display. He does take his time to check for any angelic steel, but apparently Hellborn are smart enough not to leave that lying around in a shop like this. Pity.

He briefly glides through Knicknacks and Miscellaneous, but they’re about as the name implies. Some strange things, a bit entertaining to look through, but nothing he’d be interested in putting on his mantle-piece. Art is much the same, although he does have a laugh at some of the items on display. He’s no connoisseur of the old artistic masters, but he’s fairly certain at least a few of these are famous paintings that had gone missing or were stolen over the course of history. He can’t help but cackle at the idea of humans turning over stones and checking old vaults to hunt for these missing masterpieces, unaware that they’ve made their way to Hell and are sitting unwanted in a backroom. Oh, the drama it would stir up.

Houseware turns out to be shockingly fruitful. In the area insultingly marked ‘vintage,’ he finds a lovely set of kitchen knives, a Wagner cast-iron skillet, an old silver coffee press, and a Dutch oven almost exactly like the one his mother used to have. Every single one he snatches up greedily. Good cookware is hard to find these days, and nothing at all is made like it used to be back in his day.

(He does also find what he is reasonably certain is an iron and a vacuum from the 1950’s, based on Niffty’s descriptions. He pulls them aside for her, because the dear deserves a special treat. Then he doubles back to Living Things to set aside some of the displays of unusual pinned insects for her as well. He’ll pay Charlie back for them after if they won’t take Pride Hellbucks here).

He’s beginning to think he’ll never actually reach the end of this building. It just keeps going. He’s absolutely certain by now that it’s much larger on the inside than the outside would suggest. The ramshackle way rooms spill into other rooms and things are arranged in no particular order almost makes it seem like when they run out of space, they just attach a new room to an existing room, because the layout simply doesn’t make sense here. It’s curious, but fascinating, enough to make him actively search to see if he can find the end.

He does, at last, find it, nestled somewhere behind Family Life. At some point, it’s impossible to go further. He does a full circuit of the room, just to be certain, before beginning to find his way back to the beginning.

He’s not even sure how much time has passed here. He’s starting to suspect that time might not pass here, but somehow it doesn’t alarm him. It doesn’t feel like The Beginning at all; he’s surrounded by Something everywhere, and completely aware of the fact that he can escape any time he likes just by going out the front door. It’s oddly pleasant, when he doesn’t feel trapped, to have as much time as he desires to do as he pleases.

He is just beginning to head back for Books, planning to browse more thoroughly, when Charlie’s voice echos through the stacks upon stacks of things. “Alastor? Phantom says you’re around here somewhere...I think? It led me here anyway…”

Sure enough, Phantom slithers to his feet a moment later, staring up at him from the floor as it points in her direction. “Over here, my dear,” he calls to her, heading where his shadow had indicated. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong!” Charlie says, appearing from around a pile of junk in Knickknacks. He’s not sure how he got back to Knickknacks, actually, because he’d been fairly certain that one wasn’t connected to Family Life, so perhaps the shop also rearranges itself as needed. Fascinating. “But I found something I think you’ll really, really, really like!”

“Did you now?” He glances down at Phantom, but his shadow only grins back at him and shakes its head, refusing to spill the secret. “What is it?”

“Come on, I’ll show you!” Charlie rushes forward to take his hand and whirls around excitedly, back the way she’d come. Alastor once again allows himself to be led, intrigued despite himself at her excitement.

His intrigue dampens somewhat when he spots the Electronics sign over the room she leads him to. “I really don’t care for this sort of thing, Charlie,” Alastor reminds her.

“No, you will love this,” Charlie promises.

Follow-Light, Phantom says, still grinning at him from the floor. Solid-want-very.

Now thoroughly perplexed, Alastor permits himself to be led past bins of handheld telephones and music devices, shelves full of computers, and literal stacks of televisions from the fifties to now. He swears he sees Vox’s old head model in the pile. Vox himself would probably be drooling if he could get into this room for even five minutes. None of it holds any appeal for Alastor, though.

At least, not until they move further back. It starts with sound equipment—speakers, microphones, amplifiers. Nothing from his age, but less offensive than the junk they’ve passed already at least.

And then come the radios.

Radios from across the generations. New ones with ports for all the new technology. Older ones designed to play both radio and CD’s or cassette tapes. The oldest ones where radio was the entertainment, not simply some sort of add-on to a music device. They come in all shapes and colors and sizes, from brightly colored plastic to carefully lacquered wood paneling.

“This is wonderful, my dear,” Alastor says, eyes widening in delight.

He reaches out to them, antlers branching as he listens for their whispering voices. It doesn’t matter if they’re plugged in or if their batteries are dead; he can hear every one, and every single one clicks on simultaneously. They crackle through the same channels as one too, synchronized as he searches for the perfect station. Radio culture in the Lust Ring is much different than what he’s used to, but it seems some jazz, at least, is considered sexy enough for these denizens. He finds a station and has each of the radios singing together in moments with crooning voices and smooth brass instruments.

“Oh wow,” Charlie says. “That was cool.”

Alastor hums appreciatively, closing his eyes and listening as all the radios sing to him in their own ways. Even playing the same station and the same song, they all convey sound differently. Some are cheap products and produce cheap sound, but he’s sorry for them more than disappointed. Those are the newer ones, the ones that didn’t understand radio as a form of art, and the poor things would never really understand their true potential.

But some of the tones carry strong and sweet and familiar, better than others. His ears twitch and swivel as he searches for them in the choir, following his ears while his eyes are closed.

“Alastor?”

He ignores Charlie, for the moment, swaying idly with the song as he follows its sounds. And when he catches the perfect sound, he opens his eyes, and he gasps.

“I don’t believe it,” he says, rushing forward to gently push aside a few of the other radios and bring his unexpected surprise forward into the light. “An RCA Victor—what a beautiful thing! Why are you shoved in the back like garbage?”

“What did you find?” Charlie asks, coming over curiously.

Alastor gently eases the radio off the shelf into his arms. It’s quite big and heavy, so he carries it carefully over to a nearby table displaying what a sign says are ‘universal remotes.’ Phantom sweeps them off the table for him so he can set the radio down carefully.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he says. The poor thing is dusty from disuse, and the wooden casing could use a good cleaning and finish. His questing powers suggest he’ll need to fix a few things inside, because it won’t play without his assistance. But restoring it will be a fine project, and oh, it will look glorious in his room once he’s finished putting it back to the way it should be.

He’s even more delighted when he checks the specs on its back and finds the model number. “A 121! Why, this little darling came out the same year I died! I remember now, I’d been saving up for one when I met my end. Never did get a chance to get my hands on one.”

He remembered seeing the advertisement for the new RCA selective short-wave receiver, and at how they’d combined incredible functionality and beauty all in one. Oh, he’d wanted it, he’d wanted it so badly. Even if they’d been deep in the Crash by then and spending money on things like radios seemed foolish. Most of his paycheck from the station went to supporting himself and his mother. But he remembers squirreling away nickels and dimes where he could, aiming to have a Victor model of his own one day.

He hadn’t thought about it in a long, long time. Dropping into Hell had been quite a shock, and then things worked so differently, and he’d been too busy climbing ladders to greater power and then losing his soul to a monster.

But now! Now, he remembers that little dream of his. It might be ninety-three years late, but at last, he’s going to have his dream radio.

Charlie looks equally thrilled. “Oh, I’m so glad!” she says, bouncing up and down in place. “And you look so happy, I’m so excited we found one here!”

She isn’t wrong. His smile is so wide it’s hurting even his face, but it’s genuine, not fake. This is the best treasure he could find in this bizarre little shop, hands down. “Just wait until I fix her up properly, my dear, and you can really listen to her,” he says fondly, stroking gently down the wooden casing, mindful of his claws so he doesn’t scratch it.

“Um, is it not working now?”

“No,” Alastor says. “None of these are singing properly on their own. I’m helping them all.” He lets them rest as the song on the radio ends, and they quiet, snapping off. They can’t sing without him to power them, without electricity or battery or his magic. But he lets the RCA Victor continue a while longer as a new song begins, still stroking the top of the casing gently. “Listen to her carefully, Charlie. Her voice warbles. It’s scratchy. The poor thing needs a good cleaning inside and out, and a little bit of care. But she’ll sing so sweetly once I fix her up properly, and all on her own. She might be old, but she’s still strong. It will be beautiful.”

“Can I listen when you do?”

“Obviously, Charlie, obviously. How could I forbid it? You’re the reason she’s finding a home!” He grins at her. “We’ll make a night of it, and I’ll show you the proper way to appreciate radio like we did in my day.”

“That sounds fun,” Charlie says. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yes, yes, but first we must we must get the old girl home,” Alastor says. “And the sooner the better! I need to give her a proper once-over. Unless you have more shopping to do?” For the first time, he notices Charlie isn’t actually carrying anything with her.

“Oh, no. I got all my stuff. Phantom’s holding it for me, it’s been really sweet!”

Phantom makes a face from the floor at being called sweet, and then promptly reaches inside itself and pulls a six foot spear from its stomach.

“A spear? Not really your thing, is it, dear?”

“I got gifts for everyone,” Charlie says sheepishly. “Vaggie really likes weapons.”

“Always thinking of others,” Alastor says. “Shall we go, then?”

“Sure!”

He refuses to let the RCA Victor out of his sight or even out of his hands, so he carries it to the front personally. It’s big and heavy, but Phantom makes an exceptional seeing-eye-shadow, warning him which way to turn or where to go so as not to trip, and Charlie helps. The shop seems to recognize their excitement to pay and be on their way, because Electronics hadn’t been close to the front, but it now seems to be where Books was previously situated. At least it isn’t a long walk.

Charlie seems surprised at the mound of items Alastor had delivered via his minions to the front desk. “Wow! You found a lot!”

“I can put some back, if you need,” Alastor says, hugging the radio close. “This and the records are the only things I will refuse to leave without.”

“No, it’s fine! I meant what I said, I wanted you to find things that made you comfortable and happy. I’m so glad you did!” She pauses. “Is that a dinosaur?”

“It’s an alligator,” Alastor corrects, as he carefully sets the radio down on the counter. To the incubus at the register, he adds, “If you damage this in any way while ringing us up, your life is forfeit.”

The incubus squeaks. “Yes sir!”

Alastor almost, for the first time, feels sorry for the incubus as it looks at the stack of items Alastor had already had delivered to the front. His stare turns almost desperate as Phantom begins unloading items from its midsection and stacking them in a second pile. It turns to near dread as he realizes just how much he’ll have to do.

“Are you gonna kill me if I come around the corner to mark this stuff up?” the incubus whines, giving Alastor a fearful look.

“You are safe so long as you damage nothing at all, and do not lay hands on either myself or Charlie,” Alastor says. “No funny business. None of your ‘manners.’”

“Absolutely not, sir!” the incubus promises, before looking at the piles, sighing, and getting to work.

The bill is astronomical, by the end, but Charlie pays it without batting an eye. It really must be lovely to have a royal treasury to dig into, Alastor notes. He’s not hurting for money himself as the Radio Demon, but Charlie’s family has had literal millennia to accumulate wealth. Even so, he does insist on paying his share for the gifts he’d collected for Niffty. Fair is fair, after all, and Alastor does not need to rely on others to pay his way for him.

Thankfully Charlie seems more enamored with the idea that he’d gotten Niffty presents than anything else. “That’s adorable,” she says, grinning brightly at him. “She’ll love them!”

He knows that. Obviously. Why Charlie is so excited about him getting gifts for Niffty is anyone’s guess, but at least she agrees to take his Hellbucks in exchange.

Moving everything back to Pride is an entirely different endeavor. Because the portal will need to be open for a very long time in order to shuttle everything through, Charlie uses the Asmodean crystal instead of her own portal skills. “I’m not sure I could hold one that long yet,” she admits. “And I’m afraid I’d accidentally lose control and break something. I’d be so upset if I ruined your radio.”

He would be too. If it were anyone else, he’d probably kill them over it. Surprisingly, the thought of Charlie destroying his radio doesn’t make him want to commit murder, although he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t speak to her for a while. He doesn’t tell her any of that, though.

It takes a bit of work, but they do eventually manage to shuttle everything back to the Hazbin Hotel. Alastor’s things are deposited in his room, while Charlie’s gifts go to hers until she can find the proper time and place to hand them out. As a final flourish, Alastor also removes the pretty shell he’d found on the Envy beach and sets it on top of the stack of records, admiring the way it glimmers in the light of his room.

“Phew!” Charlie says, as she steps through the geometric portal and closes it behind her. “I think that’s everything.”

“It is,” Alastor agrees, watching with half an eye as Phantom examines the bones and skeletons he’d acquired. “An excellent job, my dear.”

“Thanks!” Charlie fidgets for a moment, wringing her hands, before saying in a softer voice, “Hey, um...Alastor?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks...for doing all this with me today.”

He blinks in surprise. “I’m afraid I don’t know why you’re thanking me,” Alastor says. “You’re the one that treated me to an excellent evening. I truly enjoyed it.”

“I’m so happy! I really wanted to do something special for you,” Charlie says. “It’s just, um...well. I know this whole...parent thing is still kind of new to you, and you’re adjusting to it. If you hadn’t felt comfortable doing something for Father’s Day, I would have respected that, so I really, really appreciate that you were willing to.”

Oh, dear. This sounds like it’s getting into emotions territory. He turns to face her properly, hoping to chase away the emotional moment with levity. “Well, there isn’t exactly a Monster Under The Bed Day, so I suppose Father’s Day will have to do.”

She smiles at him, although it’s a little weak, which he detests immediately. “Haha, I guess. I mean, it’s just...um...Mother’s Day was really hard this year, you know? I mean, it’s stupid, it’s not like anything really changed, my mo—Lilith hasn’t been around for the past seven Mother’s Days before that. But this past one was just...harder.” She lifts a hand, scrubbing at the corners of her eyes and trying very hard to suppress a sniff. “So...it was nice to have something else, instead of that.”

There is a vindictive part of Alastor that wants to tell Lilith to eat shit because he has effectively replaced her as a valued figure to Charlie. It’s what the woman deserves and more. But he also knows that won’t exactly help Charlie at his precise moment, and it’s not what she needs to hear.

So instead, he hooks a claw gently beneath her chin to turn it up to face him. “I’m honored to have had a day to spend with you, darling,” he says. “It was wonderful, and I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

This time she doesn’t manage to suppress the sniffle at all. “Can I—?”

“Another hug?” He makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Oh, very well then. You’ve earned it.”

She wraps her arms around him immediately, squeezing tightly. This time he actually returns it, resting his head on top of hers and rubbing a hand gently up and down her back. “Happy Father’s Day, Alastor,” she mumbles into his chest, content. “I love you!”

“Thank you, dear,” he says, and allows himself a rare moment to savor the embrace.

At least until Phantom arrives to smother the both of them, anyway. Phantom-attention-Light it insists, pestering and pawing until Charlie breaks away with a laugh.

“The menace wishes for your love as well,” Alastor translates, and this time he isn’t feigning when he rolls his eyes.

Charlie laughs, and does her best to give Phantom a hug when its solidity is questionable on a good day. “Happy Father’s Day to you too, Phantom...I think? Are you a dad too? You’re part of Alastor, so maybe? I’m not really sure how that works, but I love you and appreciate you too.”

Phantom-Light-PROTECT, Phantom purrs happily in Alastor’s head. Its grasp on the concept of fatherhood is somewhat limited, given shadows don’t actually sire or give birth to anything at all. But it seems content with the general concept of being a protector.

Not that Alastor can really blame it. It seems he’s been growing rather content with the role, as well.

His first Father’s Day, and already one of the more memorable days in his life and afterlife combined. He’s never felt closer to a person than Charlie, and today’s gifts and events had only made that connection stronger.

It isn’t a terrible feeling. He rather enjoys it. So he watches, satisfied and happy, as Charlie starts playing shadow puppets with his very much alive shadow friend Phantom, and devotes himself to saving it as a memory.

He’ll be putting it in The Book of Charlie later. The first of many of his chapter.

After all, her story—and his—are far from over.