Chapter Text
It started with a succubus.
Vox had always been partial to the traditional, sultry beauty of succubi and incubi alike. They were temptation incarnate, fitted out with taught fuchsia skin, full breasts and rippling muscles. After several decades in Hell, Vox had slept with his fair share of demons of all forms, and while he was game enough to venture into bed with some truly bizarre-looking individuals, he couldn’t deny the allure of the classics. It had been some time since he’d had the pleasure of taking a literal sex demon home with him, and when he spotted a group of them all clustered together by the bar one night, he figured it had been long enough.
Maybe, if Vox didn’t have such tastes, or if he hadn’t been so horny that night, none of what followed would’ve happened. He could’ve gone on living in blissful ignorance for however much longer until the universe decided to drop that anvil on his head. Alas, Valentino had dragged him out that night with the promise of booze and boobs, and who was Vox to say no to that?
While Val chatted up a couple of slinky butterfly demons in their booth, Vox sipped his drink and cast his eyes across the flashing lights of the club floor to the group of succubi chatting and giggling amongst themselves. He traced his eyes down the columns of their long legs, visible beneath short skirts and bodysuits, accentuated with wicked stilettos. Their tails flicked enticingly, swaying back and forth hypnotically, like they were beckoning Vox to come over. His gaze latched on a girl at the edge of the group, her own eyes, ringed with sparkly black eyeshadow, sussing out the crowd.
So, she was scoping out the scene too? Vox liked those chances. He downed the rest of his drink and rose to his feet, straightening up his tie.
“Be right back,” he said to Val without losing sight of the succubus. “Or maybe not.”
He heard Val answer with a vague grunt before Vox plastered on a smooth smile and made his way across the dancefloor, over to the bar. He sidled up beside the succubus and skimmed his knuckle along the edge of her spiked wing.
“Hey there, sweet thing,” he crooned, leaning back against the bar. “How you feel about going home with a big shot tonight?”
The succubus turned at the sound of his voice, a smirk of her own stretched across plump lips. She glanced over him with interest, spinning her body around on the barstool she was seated on and giving him a full view of the deliciously deep cut of her dress. Just when Vox thought it was a done deal, something in her face changed. Her nose scrunched up and she frowned, nearly going cross-eyed, before leaning back, the shutters coming down over her eyes.
“Sorry, babe. But I don’t do married guys,” she said, then shuddered, her wings quivering. “Not anymore.”
Vox was too taken aback to reply right away. Married? Was his work suit coming across less sexy businessman and more stuffy married guy? He shook his head, quickly recovering his charming smile.
“Hah, well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not married,” he replied smoothly.
“Nice try,” she scowled. “You can leave the ring at home but I can practically smell the matrimony wafting off of you.” She emphasised this by dipping close and taking a big whiff. “Smells pretty ripe too. How long’s it been? Ten years? Twenty? Can’t say I blame you for wanting to throw it all away for a piece of this ass, but the answer’s no.”
Vox was well and truly lost now but determined not to let it show. Still, he couldn’t quite keep the confusion or bewilderment out of his voice.
“I, uh, really don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m most definitely single and-“ he dropped his voice an octave, low and seductive, “-ready to mingle.”
The succubus suddenly flapped one of her wings between them, forming a barbed barrier she glared at him over the top of.
“Listen, pal, I’m not interested. So, why don’t you stop wasting my time and crawl back to whatever wifey or hubby you got at home waiting for you?” Her smile thinned, sharp as the horns on her head. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with them.”
Vox’s own smile fell from his face, replaced with a frown. Annoyance simmered under his skin in the form of static electricity. He’d fried demons for less than the way she’d just spoken to him. Did she not know who he was? Did she not realise he could vaporise her on the spot? And unlike sinners, a hellborn like her wouldn’t be able to respawn in a new, uninjured body. He could’ve done it, just to send a message to others not to cross him, but the other succubi were beginning to look their way and were slowly forming a protective ring around their sister.
So, Vox made the business decision to let it go, pacing back towards his booth without another word. After all, Val liked this place, and he didn’t think the owners would take kindly to Vox killing one of their patrons. Succubi were usually more trouble than they were worth anyway.
By the time he fell back into his seat, Val had on of the butterfly demons straddling his lap and sucking at his neck. Two of his hands caressed her body, while the other two held his glass and cigarillo, allowing him to alternate between taking drags of smoke and sipping his drink. He peered around the woman’s ass when Vox swiped up another glass and threw the rest of it back.
“Aw, it’s okay,” Val cooed when he spotted the look on Vox’s face. “We all strike out sometimes. Well. Some of us do.” When Vox didn’t say anything, he clarified, “You. I’m talking about you.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Vox grumbled, pulling out his wallet and tossing some cash on the table. He rose to his feet again as Val slapped the woman’s ass, signalling for her to get up. Vox cast a look over at the group of succubi, unable to ignore the seed of puzzlement that bitch had planted in his brain. He shook his head to clear it and turned towards the exit. “This place is lame anyway.”
He began to walk away and heard Val groan behind him.
“Ugh, fine. But I’m not sucking your dick tonight just ‘cause you have no game.”
Vox had been ready to forget about the whole incident and put it behind him, chalking it up to nothing more than a bitch with a weird nose who didn’t know what she was talking about. He probably would’ve done just that if it weren’t for Luga. It was a couple weeks later when his assistant informed him that his latest head of legal wanted to meet with him.
Vox glanced up from his tablet as he strolled down the catwalk over-looking the assembly line. Voxtek was days away from launching another round of vouyertech drones and he anticipated a sell-out on their first day.
“Did she say why?” Vox asked, only half listening as his assistant scrambled behind him, prattling on.
“Er, no, Sir. Just that it was very urgent.”
Vox sighed. He always preferred being on the factory floor leading up to a product drop, over-seeing the manufacturing side of things. Of course, something urgent would always crop up, demanding his attention. He’d always envisioned having people to do the menial tasks for him, but he supposed when no one could do what he did, people wouldn’t be up to the job. It was his cross to bear, as the only bitch worth anything in this company.
“Fine,” he grunted, thrusting his tablet against his assistant’s chest, who fumbled to catch it. “See to it that Batch 1 makes it to packaging by the end of the day and only call me if there’s a fire.”
He didn’t wait around for a reply. In a flash, he was a bolt of electricity, travelling through the wires and up to the third floor. Luga, to her credit, didn’t startle or squawk like so many other lawyers had before her. She merely sniffed as Vox materialised in front of her desk.
“Luga,” Vox said by way of greeting, straightening up his suit. “I was told there was some urgent business for us to discuss?”
“That’s correct, Sir,” Luga said with a nod, standing from her office chair.
The chair squeaked with relief as her considerable bulk was lifted. With her smooth, rubbery skin, sloping head, and black and white colouring, Luga bore a striking resemblance to a killer whale. She certainly looked as though she’d be more at home smashing in skulls than squeezing her hefty body into a pencil skirt and pumps, but she was cut-throat and efficient, so Vox hadn’t thought twice before hiring her. Legal Luga he’d been calling her in his head.
She adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose as she flicked through a clipboard. “I was reviewing some paperwork when I noticed something…concerning.”
Vox grunted, not really paying attention as he strolled in a circle around her office, taking in the sparse décor. She had a painting of some bluebells above her desk and a mug that had the slogan Deal with it painted across the ceramic face.
“Is that right?”
“Yes,” she went on, leaning against the lip of her desk and crossing her legs at the ankles. “You see, as I was reading over all the business taxes filed since the foundation of Voxtek, I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t declare your spouse on a single one.”
That got Vox’s attention. He paused in the process of rifling through a cup of pens next to Luga’s laptop and swivelled around to face her. She looked at him expectantly over the top of the clipboard. She was nearly twice his height, which meant he was staring straight up her nose as he gawked at her.
“Um,” Vox began once he’d regained control of himself, “maybe that’s because I don’t have a spouse.”
Luga hummed, her lips pursed, and turned back to her papers. “I didn’t think so either at first, but whenever I take on a new client, I like to do a little background check, you know? Just so I know what I’m getting into. Criminal records, prior notices, anything like that.”
Criminal record? They were in Hell! A criminal record was basically a requirement for entry!
“And martial status, past or present. Lo and behold, I stumbled upon this little beauty when I looked you up in the registry.” Luga pulled a sheet of paper from the stack and passed it to Vox, who accepted it with shaking hands. “Says you’ve been married over fifteen years. Congratulations.” She didn’t sound enthused in the slightest. “I can’t say I blame you for wanting to keep it under wraps, though. Considering who your other half is, anyway.”
Vox’s systems were already heating up at an alarming rate as he glanced down at the flimsy paper in his hands. The document proclaimed to be a marriage certificate, dated from August 1st, 2009. His eyes were bugging so much he thought they might pop clean through his screen as he glanced down at his name, penned in his own neat handwriting, and beside it, scrawled in the adjoining box-
Alastor, the ‘Radio Demon’ :D
Vox’s screen glitched out as he screamed “What!?”
His words echoed, stacking on top of each other as he fought to wrestle his hardware out of an error cycle and back under his control. He clutched at his head, the paper proclaiming him to be married to fucking Alastor gently floating to the floor. After a minute of his internal fans whirring to cool him down and his safety checks redirecting the bugs threatening to shut him down, Vox’s vision swam back into focus. Luga had fished the marriage certificate off the floor and stood, waiting, her face set in a mask of indifference.
Vox’s hands shook as he licked his dry lips. “There- This has to be some kind of mistake. A filing error.”
“I checked at three separate courthouses and the Hell-wide marriage registry,” Luga replied calmly. “They all came back the same. It’s not a filing error.”
“But this- This isn’t possible,” Vox argued, his voice sounding desperate to his own ears. He pulled his hat off and dragged a hand over his antennae as he blinked against the pixels threatening to black out his vision. “I think I’d remember getting married to that guy.”
He spat the words out with disdain, folding his arms over his chest. Luga straightened up her notes and cleared her throat.
“Some sources have informed me the two of you used to be…rather close?” she said, meaning hanging heavy in her choice of words.
Vox ground his teeth against the blast of heat that rushed to his monitor. His fans kicked into high gear, embarrassingly loud in the silence of the office.
“We were acquaintances,” Vox settled on. When all Luga did was raise her non-existent eyebrows, he felt compelled to go on, “But we didn’t get fucking married! The closest we ever got was one of those stupid fake weddings at Atlantis City.”
Vox scoffed just thinking about it. His mind hadn’t resurfaced that memory in a long time. Honestly, it was still kind of fuzzy, just a patchwork quilt of stitched-together recollections from his and Alastor’s drunken night around the known party ring of Pentagram City. It wasn’t a spot they had frequented much in their time together, but Vox had been feeling lucky and wanted to try his hand at some good, old gambling, so he’d pestered Alastor into joining him.
The night had started with a couple of glasses of rye and a round of black jack, then had progressed to tequila shots and slot machines, before finally reaching vodka sodas and roulette. Vox had won big, much to their shared delight and the annoyance of the dealer, who’d been glaring at Alastor’s soundboard of reactions throughout the whole game. High off his victory, Vox had pulled Alastor onto the dancefloor, the two of them spinning round the casino while guzzling flutes of champagne.
This was where things got truly fuzzy in Vox’s brain. He remembered them running around the casino together, drunk off their tits and spouting nonsense about Vox’s grand destiny, now that he was filthy rich (it had only been a few thousand, and they’d spent it all that night on alcohol and a window Alastor had accidentally shattered by kicking his shoe off in an over-excited attempt at a cartwheel), then they’d spotted the chapel. Vox couldn’t recall who had suggested what a fun joke it would be to get fake married, but one veil headband and fifty dollars later, they had been slurring their way through a couple of “I do”s.
Vox was pretty sure he’d tried to kiss Alastor. He’d missed after Alastor, who was off balance courtesy of being down a shoe, had tripped over and face-planted into the cardboard backdrop of a sandy beach. A polaroid photo of the incident was probably stuck to that chapel’s wall as Vox stood there, trying to piece together what was happening.
Luga just stared at him, her mask of indifference slipping into incredulity. “Sir,” she began slowly, “you are aware that those weddings are real, aren’t you?”
“What?” Vox said, startling out of his trip down memory lane.
Vox blinked at Luga. She didn’t blink back.
With a growing cavern of ice freezing over the pit of his stomach, Vox said, “No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are.”
Vox swallowed against the prickly phantom hand squeezing his throat. “No, they’re not! It was totally spur of the moment! The whole thing took, like, five minutes! The officiant was some bum in a cheap Mammon costume! There’s no way that was real.”
Vox was aware that he sounded panicked and that was because he was fucking panicking. He gripped his monitor as he paced back and forth across the floor. Error messages were beginning to pop up faster than he could dismiss them. Luga just sat there passively, her head swivelling on her meaty neck as she watched him burn a hole in her carpet.
“While I can appreciate this must be quite distressing, Sir, we should really co-ordinate our next step to ensure-“
“I need to speak to my associates,” Vox interjected, coming to an abrupt halt in the centre of the room.
He transformed into a bolt of electricity, zapping up through the light fixture before Luga could get a word out. He needed to sort this shit out. Now.
“Holy shit!” Val cackled, clutching at his side. “I think I’m actually fucking dying.”
“I wish you fucking would,” Vox bit out between his clenched teeth. “Now, would you cut it out?”
“I can’t,” Val wheezed, crumpling to his knees as he doubled over from laughing so hard. “It’s too perfect.”
Vox snarled in exasperation, throwing is hands up in the air. He longed to wrap his claws around Val’s throat and shut his shrill laughing up that way. Instead, he crossed his arms and glared at Val’s quivering shoulders, tapping his foot against the sleek tiles of his, Val’s, and Velvette’s shared living space.
As though summoned by his thoughts, the doors swished open and admitted Velvette. She strolled into the room, her heels clicking on the floor, only pausing to look up from her phone when she noticed Valentino nearly curled into the fetal position. She flicked a questioning glance at Vox.
“The fuck’s going on here? This better not be the reason I was called away from the studio.”
She poked a finger in Val’s direction, her lip curled with disdain.
“No, it’s something else,” Vox answered.
Val finally stopped laughing long enough to lift his head up and grin at Velvette. “It’s way better! Go on, Vox. Tell her.”
He was practically vibrating with glee as he rolled onto his stomach, threading his fingers beneath his chin and watching Vox expectantly.
Vox sighed. “Well, I-“
“Wait! Can I tell her?” Val pleaded. He jumped to his feet, excited as a kid on Christmas morning. “Please?” Vox opened his mouth but Val barrelled over him before he could speak. “No, no, you tell her. It’s way funnier hearing you say it.”
“Someone better tell me,” Velvette demanded, hands going to her hips.
“It’s not a big deal,” Vox preluded, ignoring the way Val snickered into his hand. “I just met with our head of legal and it turns out that I’m…” He mumbled the last word into his fist, earning him another raucous laugh from Val.
Velvette narrowed her eyes, her blue eye shadow really making the angry red of her sclera pop. “What was that?” She turned her head to the side and cupped her hand around her ear, leaning close. “Because it sounded like you just said you were married, but I know you didn’t say that because that would be fucking ridiculous.”
“He is though!” Val squealed, squeezing Vox’s shoulders and grinning, ear-to-ear. “Tragedy it is, you, I, and every other poor sap Vox has swindled into fucking him the last decade and a half have been made into homewreckers.” He pinched Vox’s cheek and said with a pout, “That’s poor form, Voxy.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Vox growled, batting his hand away.
Val just snickered as Vox rubbed at his cheek, steaming mad. Velvette watched them, her face screwed up into a look of bafflement. She and Vox locked eyes. Her eyebrows bounced up as if to say, You’re not gonna deny it? Vox’s answering droopy frown said, No, unfortunately.
“What-“ Velvette burst out, “the fuck? You’re being serious right now? You’re married and you never told us?”
“I didn’t know!” Vox yelled, ready to tear his antennae out. He desperately wanted to change the channel on his fucking life. Soap operas were so out, anyway.
This just made Velvette more incredulous. Her voice arced up an octave as she screamed back, “How can you not know? Or was it some other TV-headed shit-stain that got hitched for you?”
Vox did his best to explain himself, the same as he’d done with Val. Unlike Val, Velvette didn’t interject every two seconds to laugh at him. Instead, she just listened to his Sparks Notes version of his story in Atlantis City casino with an increasingly mystified expression creasing her brow. He got worked up again just hearing the tale from his own mouth, the reality of his situation really sinking in.
He was back to pacing the floor by the time he got to the end of his yarn. “There’s a marriage certificate and everything. It’s totally legit, which is crazy! How can they just let drunk people get married? Shouldn’t you at least have to pass a breathalyser test or something? Fuck! And it’s been too long to just get it annulled.”
“I’m sorry,” Velvette cut in, pinching her brow. “Can we pause just how much of a fucking idiot you are for one second? I’m still lost on who the other tosser is that’s as dumb as you.”
Vox had pointedly kept Alastor’s name out of his second rendition of the story, fearing this exact moment. This, of course, just delighted Val more.
“Oh, but that’s the best part!”
Vox took a deep breath, his shoulders hunched. “It’s-“
“Alastor!” Val yelled, unable to contain himself. He threw his head back and laughed, collapsing on the couch to clutch at his stomach and kick his feet. “Can you believe that? He’s been married to Alastor this whole fucking time!”
“Not the whole time!” Vox argued, his screen instantly heating up. “Just since 2009!”
Velvette rubbed her eyes as she growled, “Vox.”
The dangerously low tone of her voice froze Vox to the spot and even got Valentino to shut up. She lowered her hand and glared daggers at him over her meticulously crafted acrylic nails. They were a shiny set of pink and black marble patterns, dotted with glittery rhinestones.
“If you don’t sort this shit out-“ Her hand was enveloped with a red glow, like she’d slipped on a glove, and Vox’s tie suddenly felt a lot tighter. His hands flew to his throat but she pressed closer, her painted lips peeled back in a snarl. “-You won’t have to worry about getting a divorce because I’ll have made Alastor a fucking widow!”
With every word, she took a step closer, her fingers curling in and making Vox’s tie squeeze tighter until he was choking and gasping for air.
“Okay!” he managed to squeak, his screen turning blue. “I’ve got it!”
Velvette held his bug-eyed gaze a moment longer before rolling her eyes and flicking her wrist. In an instant, the red haze covering her hand disappeared, along with the pressure around Vox’s neck. He sagged, coughing as he dragged in precious oxygen. His head swam but he still heard Val purr from the couch.
“Damn, baby. I love it when you get freaky like that.”
“Whatever,” Velvette said, though there was a pleased little tilt to her mouth. “What I want to know is what you’re going to do about this.”
She aimed this question at Vox, who was still trying to catch his breath. Val stretched out languorously, crossing his long legs at the ankle.
“Do we even need to do anything about it? If he’s gone this long without it being a problem, why should it start now?”
“You’re seriously saying he should just stay married to that creepy fuck?” Velvette asked, arcing an eyebrow.
Vox didn’t love how the two of them were now talking as if he weren’t in the room, but he was still trying to get his bruised vocal cords back under control.
Val shrugged. “Maybe they can be married with benefits.”
“That is not happening,” Vox rasped, wincing as he rubbed at his throat. He straightened up his suit jacket, trying to regain the demeanour Velvette had effortlessly stripped him of. He folded his hands behind his back and glanced out the window overlooking the city. The Vee tower was one of the tallest buildings in the Pride ring, topped only by the Heaven embassy. It gleamed white and gold, a sparkling pillar of purity at odds with the foul tempest raging in Vox’s chest. “If Luga was able to just look this up, that means anyone can. We can’t have this getting out. It’d be a total shit show. Now, I just need to get a quiet divorce rolling and we’ll be in the clear.”
“Do you think he knows?”
Vox was startled out of his ramblings by Val’s question. He turned from the window and looked at Val, who was examining his nails with apparent disinterest to Vox’s plight. He supposed the comedy of the situation had finally worn off.
Vox blinked. “Who?”
Val gave him a look, letting his hand fall to his lap. “Who do you think? Alastor. Do you think he knows you’re married?”
“No way,” Vox instantly answered, his words scraped from his throat with a laugh. “He’d never let that sit, there’s no way. I mean, if he did know why would he just let it go on for this long?” Vox became more uncertain as he spoke, the echoes of Alastor’s cruel laugh and sinister smile bouncing around his mind. “…Unless he knew all along it was real, and he’s just been biding his time, planning to use this to ruin me.”
He peered anxiously at Val, who just shrugged again.
Vox stared down at his hands, his whole body feeling like he’d just been dunked in ice.
“Fuck.”
He needed a divorce. Stat.
Alastor was determined to have a nice day. Well, perhaps nice wasn’t quite apt. Little birdies chirping in trees were nice. Freshly blooming flowers after a spot of spring rain were nice. His idea of a good day involved a fair amount of what was decidedly not that. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the occasional peaceful walk in pleasant scenery, it was just that it all got terribly dull so quickly. Perhaps if he saw a piano fall on an unsuspecting passerby or just so happened to stumble across a bank robbery his day could be made. Now, that would be a walk worth remembering!
As it was, Alastor merely strolled down the street, whistling to himself as he thought ahead to what he ought to make for dinner. He still had the head of his latest kill hanging on a hook in his den. Maybe he could pick up some of that snazzy rock salt Rosie had mentioned and-
“Alastor.”
Alastor’s tune died, mid-whistle, on his puckered lips. He slowly turned his head to the side to peer in through a large display window, housing several television sets. Most played separate channels, one a sports game, one some kind of news segment, and another what appeared to be a dramatic romance if the way the two characters were passionately yelling at each other in low-buttoned shirts was anything to go by. In the centre TV, however, was the face of Vox, staring at him with a disdained curl to his mouth.
Well, two could play at that game. Alastor kept his genial smile but allowed his eyes to do the talking, narrowing as he stared Vox down through the window.
“Ah, Vox,” said Alastor by way of greeting. “We really must stop meeting like this. Or, better yet, how about we don’t meet at all? Ta ta!”
He twirled his cane in his hand and made to walk away but Vox’s voice arrested his attention.
“Hold on! We need to talk.”
“Hmm.” Alastor tapped his chin considerately. “I thought my lack of response to all of your attempts at reaching out signalled that I am not interested in talking to you. Honestly, some people just can’t take a hint.”
He grinned as Vox’s eye twitched in irritation. It was as he’d said though. In the last few days, he’d received not one but two letters stamped with the Vees’ official wax seal, requesting an audience with him. Both had been hand delivered to the hotel’s door by a couple of scraggly demons that doubtless worked for Vox or one of his inane partners. It wouldn’t be so vexing if both of these notes hadn’t been picked up by Charlie before they were handed onto him. Now, she was asking him questions about why one of the Vees was trying to reach out to him. A question Alastor had no desire to answer because he didn’t care to find out himself. He had burned both of Vox’s letters without replying, then promptly forgot about them.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. Forgot implied it had left his mind accidentally. Alastor had purposely ignored him.
With visible effort, Vox fought to maintain his calm as he said, “You can’t take a hint that this is actually important. I wouldn’t be punishing myself by trying to talk to you if it wasn’t.”
“How nice,” Alastor said, his voice dripping with faux pleasantries. “Perhaps you could have told me what was so important in those pesky letters?”
“No, it’s-“ Vox broke off with a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. He spoke half into his palm, his words coming out somewhat muffled. “It’s better if we talk about this in person. This is a very delicate situation.”
Alastor opened his mouth to refuse but paused when he noticed the pinched look on Vox’s face. The way he was grimacing and couldn’t seem to look Alastor in the eye. He was uncomfortable.
Hmm, Alastor thought. Now that is interesting.
Still, he knew better than to walk into a trap, so he shrugged and swiped up his cane. “Well, I trust that you can handle it yourself-“
“It’s about Atlantis City.”
Whatever Alastor had been expecting Vox to say, that hadn’t been it. “Atlantis City? What about that den of lechery could possibly concern me?”
He hadn’t thought of the place in years. Casinos no longer really did it for him. There were only so many times you could loosely gamble with other people’s money before it got old. Besides, dealing in souls was a lot more exciting than throwing around coin.
“It concerns both of us,” Vox impressed, leaning forward so that his face nearly took up the entirety of the TV screen. “Remember a while ago, the two of us went there. We got…slightly inebriated and then you decided it would be a great idea to go to the chapel-“
“Me?” Alastor interrupted. “I believe that was your idea.”
This was a total lie. His memories of that night were foggy since, as Vox put it, they were both slightly inebriated (completely wasted was, perhaps, more apt but it was all semantics). Still, he wasn’t about to let Vox lay the blame of that embarrassing little folly entirely at his feet. He cringed remembering the hazy snapshots of their joint walk down the ten-foot-long aisle, their drunken, improvised vows, and Alastor falling flat on his face. The whole thing made him prickly just thinking about it. What Vox’s reasoning for bringing it up was, he had no clue but it had better be good.
“No, it wasn’t,” Vox shot back, easing away from the camera to cross his arms over his chest and glower at Alastor. “Totally all your idea.”
Alastor hummed, examining his nails. “So argumentative. What happened to happy wife, happy life?”
He had said it in jest but Vox’s answering sputter exceeded the little jab immensely. Alastor was left confused as he watched Vox heave to catch his breath and regain his composure. If that was all it took to completely crack him, he was far less stable than even Alastor had given him credit for.
“So, you did know?” Vox burst out, his earlier discomfort vanishing to make way for anger.
This only confused Alastor more. “Know what?”
Vox grabbed the camera and shook it in his vehemence, boggling Alastor’s view of him as he shouted, “That the wedding was for real!”
Alastor froze. The ambient music that had been following him in the back of his head screeched to a halt, the record spinning without a needle. He was vaguely aware that Vox was still talking, rambling on and on, but Alastor stared at his prattling mouth, unable to hear anything but the long whine of white noise in his ears. His brain was awhirl, spinning a chaos of words round and round in a messy tornado of disgusting words.
Wedding? Marriage? Real?
Alastor’s lips barely moved as he said, “What was that?”
His voice was amplified louder than anything that pesky television could project. Vox winced at the screech of radio feedback that whined through their audio connection, cutting his rambling off.
The mic firmly back on him, Alastor went on, his voice dangerously light. “I thought you said something about that ridiculous imitation of a wedding ceremony we partook in over a decade ago being real?”
“It wasn’t an imitation,” Vox lamented, dragging his hands down the flat pane of his face. “I already checked it, doubled checked it, then double checked my double checks.” He dropped his hands back down to his sides, his red eyes narrowed to a couple of haggard slits as he glared at Alastor. “I’m not happy about it either but we have to face the facts. We’re married, wifey.”
Alastor felt the mask that was his carefully curated expression crack. His lips twitched in a sneer and he was pretty sure his antlers were branching but he couldn’t be certain. His focus was entirely on Vox, who was watching Alastor’s reaction with a growing look of wariness on his face. Alastor couldn’t remember the last time he’d so keenly watched television. Perhaps because he’d never watched it with the intent to crack the thing open and pull all its wires out.
“You mean to tell me,” Alastor began, his voice sounded distorted to his own ears, “that for the last decade or so, you and I have been legally wed?”
“Uh-“ Vox took a step back from the screen as shadows began to materialise around Alastor’s peripheral.
“Get out of that thing right now!” Alastor demanded, shooting a shadow tentacle to smash through the display window with ease. Glass rained down on the sidewalk, sending surrounding demons scattering. He wrapped a tendril around the TV, lifting it off the ground and holding it up to his face. Vox’s terrified eyes stared back. Alastor shook the TV as if that might dislodge Vox from it. “Get out of there so I can tear you apart!”
The screen flickered out just as Alastor squeezed the TV set, crushing it to shards of glass and wooden pulp.
Vox’s head swam as he materialised back on the floor of the Vee tower penthouse. His heart hammered at jackrabbit speed as he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. The image of Alastor’s enraged grin was pasted to the insides of his eyelids, haunting him with every blink. He raised his head to look up at Velvette and Valentino, who had been tuned in and watching the whole exchange on the flatscreen screwed into the wall. They stared at him, Val’s untouched cigarillo burning to ash in his hand.
“Well,” Vox said, rising to his feet on shaky legs. “I think it’s safe to say I don’t think he knew.”
The intercom by the elevator buzzed to life and the voice of his assistant warbled through. “Uh, Sir?”
“What?” Vox barked. He really didn’t need interruptions right now.
“You have a visitor.”
The elevator dinged politely. A beat later the doors exploded out, hurtling through the air and crashing to the ground. Vox narrowly escaped being crushed under one as he darted out of the way with an undignified squeak. A sea of snarling shadows erupted from the elevator chamber, a pair of glowing red eyes and an elongated grin the only things visible.
“There you are!” Alastor’s cracked voice, riddled with radio static boomed as the shadows swept closer. “I was thinking we could have some words, eh, old pal?”
Vox yelped as an inky hand extended from the darkness, reaching for him. Val attempted to swat it with a rolled-up magazine, but it passed right through the shadow harmlessly. It was Velvette, stepping between them with her phone raised and flashlight on, that made Alastor halt. The beam of light hit his shadow body and made him recoil with a hiss.
“Easy, big guy,” she snapped, keeping her phone trailed on the wisps of black tendrils attempting to slink around the barrier of light. “Killing Vox, while kinda funny, won’t make you any less married to him. If anything, it’ll drag the divorce proceedings out way longer than necessary.”
“Thank you,” Vox sighed, then paused as her words caught up with him. “Hey!”
The shadows stilled for a moment, before suddenly swirling in on themselves. With a poof of smoke, Alastor appeared in his regular form, hands folded neatly behind his back, gripping his cane. He squinted against the light blaring from Velvette’s phone until she switched the flashlight off with a swipe of her thumb.
“Divorce proceedings, you say?” Alastor inquired, his voice back to its regular tone. He tipped his head to the side, staring past Velvette to Vox. “You mean to say you want this whole sham of a marriage you swindled me into to be dissolved?”
In an instant, Vox’s fear vanished, replaced with indignation. He stormed past Val and Velvette to jab a finger at Alastor’s pleasant, smiling face.
“Swindled? I didn’t swindle you into anything! You think I want to be married to your decrepit, out-dated ass?”
“That’s exactly what I think, yes,” Alastor replied, pinching a piece of lint off his coat.
Vox’s eye twitched, his hypnosis rings warping of their own accord, but Alastor had his eyes trained on his own nails. Vox took a step forward. “You fucking-“
But Alastor swept past him, throwing an arm out to gesture grandly with his cane. “But if you’re willing to end this whole charade peacefully, I see no need for things to get messier than they need to.” He turned a rueful smile at Vox and sighed wistfully. “I do so hate to see divorces turn ugly. It always takes such a toll on the children.”
He spoke behind his hand, flicking his cane between Velvette and Valentino. Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes, while Val simply grinned. He’d settled himself down on the couch and was watching everything play out with an amused twinkle in his eye as he puffed out plumes of pink smoke. Vox felt as though he’d stumbled into some kind of fever-induced nightmare. He needed this all to be over so he could slip into his office and collapse at his desk.
“So, where do I sign?” Alastor asked, flicking his wrist and conjuring a fancy silver-plated fountain pen in his hand.
Vox sighed through his nose, pushing his anger and annoyance down to a simmer. “It’s a little more complicated than that. There’s a backlog of shit that needs to get sorted out before anything can be finalised. My legal team will be able to work it out but we’ll need a representative from your half to do it.”
Alastor wilted slightly, his ears dipping, before he straightened back up, the pen disappearing from his hand with a light pop. “Very well,” he said airily, making his way back to the elevator. The hinges still smoked and smouldered from where Alastor had blown the doors off. He stepped inside and spun around on his heel to face the Vees. “You can have your people reach out to mine. I promise not to burn any of your fan mail this time, Vox.” He jabbed a button and the elevator began to slowly descend. With a cheery wave and a, “Ta ta!” Alastor sank out of view.
“That wasn’t fan mail, you fucking asshole!” Vox yelled after him.
Alastor’s voice, growing more distant by the second, floated up through the open elevator shaft. “Verbal abuse of your spouse won’t do you any favours in the divorce, dear.”
Vox let out a snarl of frustration and lobbed a vase after him. It shattered against the wall, leaving a couple of pink lilies lying in a shower of jagged porcelain shards on the floor. Val snickered as Vox stomped off to his rooms.
Stupid succubus. Stupid Luga. Stupid Alastor.