Chapter Text
It’s a relief to finally leave her room, after Charlie spends two days being sick in it.
It’s been a long time since she’s felt that sick. Any time she fell ill as a child, Dad had fixed it up in a matter of hours, and she mostly felt sleepy and achy for a day after his healing. And even as an adult, when her and Dad had fallen apart for a few years thanks to Mo—Lilith’s interference, Charlie usually had a fairly strong immune system to begin with. Dad said it was the angelic side of her blood that did it, since nobody ever got sick in Heaven by design.
But things have been weird since coming back from The Beginning.
Charlie knows it’s mostly in her head. The weirdness, that is. She knows it’s trauma, because everyone has been so quick to reassure her that it isn’t her fault. She fixates on needing more sound or less light or more touch or less smells, on needing to know people are there, on knowing she’s surrounded by Something again. Adjusting back to Something is hard after the Nothing, because there’s so much of it, and she wants it so badly but it’s overwhelming.
It’s been getting easier. But somehow she hadn’t even realized just how much her physical body was affected, too. And as it turns out, spending an-indescribable-amount-of-time-or-three-weeks in the Nothing, eating biblical fruit and surrounded by the absence of everything at all, is terrible for one’s immune system.
So she’d gotten sick. Innocently enough, and she can’t really blame Uncle Satan for it. With the whole early exorcism fiasco and then disappearing into the Nothing, she’d forgotten to get her annual Impfluenza shot, and then, well. It happened. She caught it.
It was just rotten luck that by the time Charlie figured out she was sick, Dad had already left for the day. And for the one thing he’d felt obligated to turn his phone off for, too.
It had been a miserable experience, but at least she knows she’s loved. Vaggie had stuck by her side all day and taken care of her, and put up with her whining for Dad. She hadn’t meant to make Vaggie feel bad or unwanted, and she’d apologized profusely when she wasn’t delirious, but Dad always made her feel better when she was sick and she’d just wanted that comfortable familiarity when she felt awful.
Alastor had helped with that, though.
Charlie is still kind of surprised he’d shown up when Vaggie asked for him. Or that he’d stuck around. She hadn’t wanted to force him, and she knows he’s still getting used to the idea of being friends or even her monster under the bed of his own volition. But he’d stayed, and she’d felt safe. She doesn’t really remember much of it with clarity, but she does remember her monster kept her rest safe, and didn’t let her get dragged back into the Nothing, and he’d provided exactly the right amount of Something when she asked. Because Alastor always knew when the Something there wasn’t right, and needed more or less, and knew exactly how to fix it.
She doesn’t remember much after that. Dad arriving and making the pain and grossness go away. Resting, snuggled against her father and then Vaggie again. Sleeping and sleeping and sleeping.
She’d spent a whole day just resting and recovering after being down with Impfluenza. And Vaggie had confined her to bed for most of the morning too, wanting to be absolutely certain she could handle being out of bed.
Well, she’d proven it. She’s a little tired, but she’s also tired of being in bed, and she needs people. She’d taken a shower and gotten dressed and prepared for the day, and while she’s not up to work, she does feel able to at least be in the hotel.
“You can go,” Vaggie says. “But if you need a break, take a break, okay, Hun? Nobody’s going to be upset if you sit down or take a nap on the couch if you need it. Nobody’s redemption will be in peril if you take it a little easy.”
“I promise I will,” Charlie says. And she does mean that.
But first, she’s ravenous, and it’s almost lunchtime, and she’s on her way to see if anything’s being prepared for the day and if she can maybe peck at it a little early.
She’s surprised but pleased to find Alastor in the kitchen when she makes her way to it, bustling around and assembling food. He hasn’t made many meals since returning from The Beginning, because there’s been a surplus of casseroles Niffty had stress-cooked when Charlie and Alastor had been missing. But they’ve finally gotten through the last of those, and now that the leftovers are done, it seems like Alastor’s taking a turn with some of his New Orleans meals.
“Something smells really nice,” Charlie says, as she wanders into the kitchen.
Alastor’s ear flicks towards Charlie, even as he uses a dishtowel to crack the oven open. “That’d be the bread baking, my dear,” he notes, as the smell wafts even stronger from the oven itself. “A little more time, though, I think,” he notes, before closing the door and turning to face her. “Nice to see you up and about at last. I was beginning to think you’d never crawl your way out of bed.”
Charlie flushes. “Vaggie only just let me out,” she says. “I’m sorry, I know I haven’t been very helpful the past few days—”
Alastor holds a hand up to stall her. “Did I accuse you of anything, my dear?”
“Um...no.”
“Then there is nothing at all to apologize for,” he says, setting the dishtowel aside and returning to vegetables on the cutting board on the counter. “You really do need to break that nasty little habit of yours, always apologizing for things you didn’t even do.”
Charlie’s not sure what to make of that, and she’s not sure she’s ready for more complicated discussions today. Instead, she sidles over to the kitchen island and asks, “What’s the bread for?”
“Hungry, Charlie?”
She nods. “Well, it is almost lunchtime…”
He grins. “Which is what the bread is for. Po’boys. Can’t have a proper po’boy without quality French bread, of course.”
Charlie remembers him talking about cuisine from his home city back in the Nothing, enough to remember that this is a kind of sandwich. “I can’t wait to try it!” she says excitedly...right before her stomach growls impatiently. “Er, how much longer, do you know?”
Alastor raises an eyebrow at her, before glancing to her left. Something flickers past Charlie’s vision, and a small bowl of grapes appear at her elbow, nudged into place by a shadow that slithers over the counter. Gleaming red eyes appear out of the outline on the counter top, and it grins at her as it nudges the bowl closer.
“Oh!” Charlie glances between Alastor and his shadow. “Um, is this okay for me to eat now? It’s not part of the ingredients or anything?”
“It isn’t,” Alastor says, giving his shadow a shrewd look. “And it won’t ruin your appetite either, but it will quiet that singing stomach of yours.”
“Thank you, then,” Charlie says to the shadow, as she gratefully pops one of the grapes into her mouth. It’s nice and juicy and light on her tongue, and her stomach appreciates having a little something inside it.
The shadow grins at her. It doesn’t make any noise, but she swears it’s laughing, or maybe it seems pleased. She’s not entirely sure. It usually only ever shows up when Alastor’s fighting or trying to scare someone, and it’s very menacing when it arrives. She’s never seen it calm before, or simply hanging about for no reason.
Apparently, she’s not the only one to notice the difference. As she pops another grape in her mouth, Alastor gestures with his cutting knife at the shadow and says, “There’s no point trying to curry favor. You’ve already agreed to let me deal with it.”
Charlie blinks. “Curry favor?”
She glances at the shadow, but it’s already giving Alastor a scowling glare from the counter-top. It slithers away down the surface to the floor at the foot of Charlie’s stool, and for a moment she thinks maybe it’s leaving in a sulk.
Except a moment later it flows out of the ground, and there’s an uncanny sensation of a large spider crawling up her spine before its claws curl over her shoulders. It’s gentle, but it’s definitely solid as it presses cheek to cheek with her and nuzzles. Somehow, its massive rack of antlers don’t clunk her over the head.
Charlie is met with the strangest sensation of deja vu. What’s a favor between friends?
“What is happening?” Charlie asks, freezing in place, eyes wide in alarm. She knows Alastor can’t hurt her, and she’s pretty sure that extends to his shadow as well.
But it’s also easy to understand at precisely that moment why people consider Alastor’s shadow so terrifying. Even resting on her shoulders, its claws run halfway down her arm, and they look very sharp. The texture of it against the side of her head is strange; a mix of cool silkiness from the shadows and bristling animal hair from all its spikes. She can see its now-blank eyes and empty smile from the corner of her vision as she tries very hard not to move while it nuzzles against her.
“Off,” Alastor says, gesturing with the knife again. “The innocent act doesn’t work with you, and you know it.”
There’s a harsh sigh of movement from the shadow-stuff, but then the shadow pools away back into the ground and becomes intangible again. Charlie half expects it to vanish, because it’s usually hiding even when Alastor is around. But instead it slithers over the ground and crawls up over the counters and cabinets, until it looms over them against the wall near the coffee maker.
Charlie watches it in bewilderment. “The...innocent act?”
“Yes, yes,” Alastor says absently, as he goes back to chopping sandwich fillings. “It’s caught on to the way you simply adore cute things and is trying to catch your attention by being…” he grimaces. “...friendly and sweet.”
He gestures to the shadow, which despite its softer outlines and smaller form, is still a sharp, jagged thing with spikes and antlers and claws and a frightening smile. “As you can see, it isn’t nearly so capable of coming across as gentlemanly as I, because that’s not its job, and it knows that.”
Alastor gives it a sour look. The shadow’s equally sullen return glare does actually look quite menacing, even if they technically have the same face. It opens a cabinet and slams it shut like a grumpy poltergeist, presumably to make its thoughts known.
“Aww!” Charlie gets up and wanders over to where the shadow is. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you wanted my attention. Don’t worry! I do like cute things, but you don’t have to be cute or sweet. I wouldn’t want you to be something you’re not!”
The shadow tilts its head and seems to consider this, before giving a pronounced nod.
“Oh, don’t let it off the hook quite yet, my dear,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t forget, it’s a part of me. There’s a reason it’s being friendly. It has an angle.”
The shadow snaps its teeth at Alastor, and its whole body writhes with unnatural, eldritch agitation. Charlie assumes this is because its deception has been called out.
It must be able to communicate with Alastor in some way, because he pauses in his chopping and flicks an ear at the shadow. “Oh, really? You can’t very well talk to her. How do you anticipate asking without me to translate, hmm?”
“Translate what?” Charlie asks, looking back and forth between the two in bewilderment. “Is this why your shadow wants my attention?”
The shadow nods excitedly, and sways in place with a weird sort of undulating motion that reminds Charlie of Pentious more than Alastor. Alastor himself rolls his eyes, before turning back to his food preparations. “Oh, it’s nothing of consequence, my dear. It wishes for you to pay up on your promise.”
Charlie freezes. “Promise?” she squawks. “Did...did I make some kind of Deal with it somehow?”
She can’t imagine how. She’s barely interacted with Alastor’s shadow since they reworked his contract and freed it from being locked away. And how would that even work? Could Alastor’s shadow make Deals independently of him? What would a shadow even want?
The shadow looks deeply disappointed. While Alastor is always smiling, the shadow’s mouth seems capable of other expressions. The empty crescent flips over in a frown now, and its head hangs dejectedly.
Alastor rolls his eyes at it. “I told you she wouldn’t remember, she was ill,” he tells it, before he scoffs at Charlie’s question. He pauses in the middle of his preparations to raise a hand and flap it at her, waving the idea away. “Oh, no, nothing so binding,” he drawls. “All Deals are managed through me, and I would never waste time Dealing for something so ridiculous.”
Whatever the promise is, the shadow takes it much more seriously than Alastor does. It grows larger, and its teeth get sharper as it shrieks a silent scream in Alastor’s general direction.
There must be words of some kind attached, because Alastor’s not even looking at it, but he rolls his eyes all the same. “For goodness sake, that’s not worth a soul and you know it,” he tells the shadow, before glancing at Charlie. “Anyway, my dear, it’s a moot point. I already agreed to deal with its payment, so you needn’t worry your little head about it.”
The shadow shrinks. Despite being a reflection of Alastor’s more demonic, more frightening appearance, Charlie swears it looks defeated and forlorn. Its ears droop and the rest of its body sinks, and its gaping empty smile disappears into the void of the shadow-stuff its made of.
“No,” Charlie says decisively. “If I promised something, I want to hear what it was. It’s only right that if I make a promise, I keep it.” And to the shadow, she adds, “I’m very sorry that I don’t remember. It sounds like I promised when I was sick, but I wasn’t feeling very well and I have a hard time remembering much that happened.”
The shadow perks up, ears flicking high and smile returned. It nods at her once, which Charlie hopes is it accepting her apology, and then gestures at Alastor. When he sticks to arranging sandwich fixings, it scowls and slithers over to him, crawling up onto his shoulder and waving a semi-solid hand in his face.
Alastor rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, I heard you,” he grouses, before cleaning his hands on the dishtowel and looking over at Charlie. “You promised to give it a name.”
Charlie looks shocked. “You don’t have a name?” she asks, as the shadow slithers back over to the wall across from her again.
It shakes its head insistently.
“Why not?” Charlie asks, giving Alastor a look.
“Because it’s a shadow, dear. It never needed a name. Nor did it bother to want one before. At least, not until you put the idea of a name into its head,” Alastor says, gesturing at it. “The exact nature of your promise specifically was that it works hard, it deserves a name, and you would speak to me about granting it a name later. Your promise is now fulfilled. No need to fret, Charlie.”
Alastor seems to think the conversation is over. The shadow, by contrast, doesn’t seem to think so at all. It scowls at Alastor and gestures insistently at Charlie.
“What’s it saying?” Charlie asks. “I’m guessing you can talk to it, since you were answering things before…”
“It doesn’t speak in words, exactly,” Alastor says. “More...concepts. But yes, we can communicate, after a fashion. And right now, it is insistent that you respect it and therefore it wants a name from you specifically.”
“Awww,” Charlie coos, because for a massive terrifying shadow-monster, that’s actually quite sweet. “I’m sure Alastor respects you too.”
The shadow’s answer is to stick its tongue out in Alastor’s direction. Alastor himself rolls his eyes.
Charlie frowns. “You...do respect each other, right?”
Alastor sighs. “We aren’t exactly different creatures, Charlie. The shadow is me and isn’t at the same time. I respect it the same way I respect myself.”
Which isn’t exactly encouraging. Charlie still remembers how Alastor had yelled at himself, through the proxy of his staff. Which she spots sitting against a cabinet in the corner, hastily bound together with green threads, thankfully silent. She glares at it, and then looks more thoughtfully at Alastor and the shadow.
Alastor shrugs. “At any rate, we’ve been together for nearly a hundred years. We can have all the respect in the world for each other and still annoy each other on occasion.”
The shadow sticks its tongue out at Alastor again.
“Well,” Charlie says slowly, “since it’s a part of you, are you okay with me giving it a name?”
Alastor shrugs as he sets aside the finished plates of sliced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and pickles for the sandwich ingredients. He digs through the fridge for some kind of meat—it smells fishy—and sets it on the counter to start slicing that too. “I don’t particularly care,” he says. “As long as both of us approve of the name.”
The shadow scowls at him. Alastor looks up and meets its eyes, and although he’s smiling habitually, his own eyes mirror that scowl. “Oh, no,” he says to it. “I am absolutely not letting you have some high-and-mighty name that goes to your head. God complexes lead to sloppy work. We are not sloppy.”
The shadow crosses its arms, sulking, but then looks hopefully to Charlie.
“Well, if you’re both okay with it, then I’d be happy to give you a name!” Charlie says. It seems pleased by this, swaying back and forth, its silhouette slides over the cabinets.
The question is, Charlie wonders, as she watches its shape rock back and forth, undulating over surfaces in a way that’s both very normal and entirely abnormal for a shadow: what does one name a creature like this?
She looks it over carefully as it waits. It’s quite frightening, even when it’s being passive. Its shape always seems to resemble Alastor’s larger, half-demonic form, with the extended rack of antlers, stretched limbs and especially frightening smile. There’s a jagged zig-zagof extra joints in its neck, even if they aren’t currently visible on Alastor himself. Even its hair and ears, a reflection of Alastor’s own short hairstyle and deer ears, are much messier and unkempt.
But it had been trying to be friendly. And it really seemed to want to appeal to Charlie. And looking at it now, despite its less groomed appearance, it certainly does look like it has the softest ears…a lot like Alastor’s do. Charlie respected Alastor too much to ever actually ask to pet his ears, especially after her mo—Lilith had spent so much time treating Alastor like a pet, but they really do look inviting.
“How about Fluffy?” Charlie asks.
The shadow recoils with an expression of disgust. At the same time, a harsh bark of laughter escapes Alastor, and he doubles over the cutting board with his fish in a laughing fit.
“I told you!” He wheezes eventually, when he catches his breath. He points at his shadow, still cackling. “I told you that would be the first thing she picked!”
The shadow slams a cabinet door again, although this time it seems to be more out of embarrassment than anger. Its ears have flattened (goodbye, fluffy shadows) and it sulks as it slithers into a shadow in the corner and vanishes.
Charlie is bewildered and a little hurt. “Is...there a problem? I thought it was a cute name! Its ears do look really fluffy!”
Alastor is still snickering as he wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Oh no, my dear,” he says, but the way he’s hissing through his teeth says he’s not quite done being amused yet. “You’re rather predictable, is all. When it said it wanted a name from you, I told it you’d pick something sickeningly sweet and bland like Fluffy, and I was right.”
“I thought it might want a sweet name!” Charlie says. “It was trying to be friendly before...and I thought, maybe it was tired of always being seen as an evil monster, just like you—”
“Ah-ah, Charlie,” Alastor says, raising a finger and shaking it at her. “Don’t misrepresent me. I rather do enjoy being an evil monster. Moreover, so does my shadow. It’s quite good at it. It’s built for that.”
Charlie frowns. “But you’re more than that. Right? You’re my monster under the bed. And I guess your shadow would be too. You’re like a fa—”
“Ah, look who’s come crawling back,” Alastor interrupts, glancing down at her feet. Charlie can’t help but feel the interruption is deliberate.
She tries not to feel hurt by it. She’s grown to view Alastor as a paternal figure very quickly, after everything that happened in The Beginning. But he’d seemed uncomfortable the one time they’d discussed it seriously, after reworking his contract. Even acknowledging that Charlie genuinely saw him as a father figure had flustered him, heading into emotional territory he didn’t seem ready for.
He’d liked the idea of being seen as her personal monster under the bed better, and a little more willing to accept the title. But it seemed he was still struggling to come to grips with what it actually meant to him. And he had never exactly said how he felt about her in return, which, if Charlie’s being honest with herself, had been a bit discouraging. She knows he seems to genuinely want to protect her and her dream, based on the way he’d insisted on keeping protection and bodyguard clauses in his contract. He’d shown more softness and patience and care with her than she thinks he’s ever shown to anyone, except maybe the mother he sold his soul for.
But she’s not sure yet if Alastor is doing it out of some sense of duty and devotion to his bargain. Or if he just thinks of her like a student to mentor. Or if he actually thinks of her like a daughter.
She really wants it to be the last.
But she’s not sure if she should push—if they should talk about it now, if maybe she can help him figure it out—or if she should wait. With Alastor, it’s so hard to tell. They’d bonded in The Beginning, but she’s still not sure if that bond is purely made from trauma, or if he sees her as family just as much as she does in return. She doesn’t want to scare him off with emotional conversations, but she doesn’t want him to struggle if he doesn’t know how to move forward.
Before she has much of a chance to think about it, something tugs at her pant leg. She looks down and spots the shadow staring up at her, mostly burrowed into her own natural shade. It’s a little uncanny, because she knows her shadow should not have a massive rack of antlers, and there definitely should not be inky black claws slithering out of it to wrap around her ankle and tug at her pant leg again.
“Um—hello again,” Charlie squeaks. Even if she knows the shadow won’t hurt her now, this is still the stuff of nightmares.
“It’s willing to give you another shot,” Alastor says, turning back to cutting fish and neatly escaping the emotional conversation. Dang it. “I’ll give you some free advice, my dear—Mr. Antlers is also a pre-established ‘no.’”
Darn. Charlie hadn’t thought of it, but Mr. Antlers did sound kind of adorable.
“Okay,” Charlie says. “So things like ‘Fluffy’ are out, right?”
The shadow’s head slithers out of her own natural shadow’s, giving her shady reflection the frightening appearance of being two-headed. It nods at her.
“Okay. Um…” She tries to think. It doesn’t want to be something soft and sweet, so how about the opposite? “Spiky?”
Alastor snorts. The shadow looks a little disappointed, and shakes its head.
“Um...Shady?”
“Will all your naming attempts be adjectives?” Alastor asks idly. He starts collecting bowls and mixing together a dry coating, which he applies liberally to the chopped fish.
Charlie crosses her arms. “They make good names.”
“Perhaps, but not any it agrees with.”
The shadow nods in confirmation.
“Okay, fine.” No descriptive names. No saying what it is, either, she supposes. KeeKee’s name came from her literally being a key-cat, and it was cute, but it sounds like the shadow doesn’t want something like that at all.
She casts around for other ideas. Dad had created Razzle and Dazzle, and those were more showy, exciting names. Alastor was an entertainer, so maybe his shadow would be too.
“How about Razzamatazz? ‘Cause you can do all kinds of neat stuff!”
“Literally the antithesis of what it is, my dear,” Alastor says, as he starts frying the seasoned fish. “Noisy, flashy and colorful are all quite the opposite of a shadow.”
“Which is why it would catch people by surprise!” Charlie argues, looking down at the shadow hopefully.
But it doesn’t seem impressed, and shakes its head. After a moment, it crawls up from the floor and slithers over the counter-tops and cabinets until it’s next to Alastor at the oven, and starts gesturing insistently.
“Is something the matter?” Charlie asks.
Alastor tuts. “It’s spoiling my entertainment, is what,” he says, with a put-upon sigh. The shadow grows larger, eyes gleaming red and teeth sharpening, and Alastor rolls his eyes. “Oh, very well. I’ll give you a hint, Charlie: it would prefer a frightening name, in line with what it is.”
Charlie narrows her eyes at Alastor suspiciously. “Is that true?” she asks the shadow. “Do you really want to be scary, and he’s not just making that up?”
It nods enthusiastically.
“Okay!” Charlie says. “That helps, I think. How about...um...Spooky!” She holds her hands up and waves them around in front of her face. “Like a ghost! OoooooOOOOooh!”
The shadow doesn’t make any actual noise. But based on the way its ears flatten and its lips draw back to expose extra sharp teeth silhouettes, Charlie gets the uncanny impression it’s hissing at her.
“Another adjective, I see,” Alastor says. “You really do enjoy those, don’t you, my dear?”
Charlie groans, dropping her hands to her sides. “This is a lot harder than I thought.”
Alastor chuckles. “Ready to give up?”
Charlie thinks the question is for her, until the shadow itself slithers out of her own shadow and over the counter-tops to Alastor again. It shakes its head insistently and bangs a few of the cabinets open and closed again in a small tantrum.
“Oh, calm down,” Alastor says. “I will think of something suitably terrifying for you as I promised, you need only be patient—do not.”
The last words are said with a warning snarl and a crackle of static, as the shadow inches closer to Alastor’s little antler-carved spice rack. One of its hands oozes out of the counter top and grows solid, and its long fingers start nudging the spice rack towards the edge of the counter.
“Knock that on the floor and you’ll pick up every grain, so help me.”
The shadow’s hand sullenly nudges the spice rack back into place and withdraws into the counter again, until it’s a flat image once more. But it does take the opportunity to slap a few discarded bits of silverware and an empty metal bowl on the ground, causing quite a racket and glaring defiantly at Alastor from the wall.
Charlie is reminded an awful lot of when KeeKee was a kitten. She still likes to knock things off counters, but at least she’s old enough now to not push the fragile things off. She’d smashed more than a few breakable things when Dad first got KeeKee for her. He’d always laughed it off and repaired anything broken, saying that KeeKee was just being a cat.
And Alastor’s shadow is just being what it is. And right now, what it is seems to be upset and moody about its lack of name.
“I’m not ready to give up,” she says decisively.
Both Alastor and his shadow look over at her in surprise. “Oh?” Alastor asks, and his shadow does that peculiar neck-cracking head tilt Alastor often does when he’s amused and a little curious.
“Nope, not yet,” Charlie says, this time speaking to the shadow directly. “It’s pretty hard to figure out a name you like, I won’t lie. But, maybe that’s because I haven’t been properly introduced to you yet, or gotten to know you. Maybe we could try that, first?”
She holds out a hand to the shadow in introduction.
It narrows its eyes at her suspiciously.
In retrospect, Charlie realizes, offering Alastor’s shadow a handshake might have been a poor choice. Alastor is infamous for his Deals, and shaking hands with him was almost guaranteed to lose you something. No one would know that better than Alastor’s shadow.
“Um...maybe not?” She starts to take her hand back. “We can just talk—”
But the shadow slithers suddenly over cabinets and counter-tops until it’s across from her in a more open patch of wall. The paint seems to ripple as the shadow emerges from it, and after a moment it’s leaning out of the wall, half solid and half not, and puts its hand in hers.
Well, it tries, at least. Its hand is nearly double the size of her own, and its claws could easily envelope her entire hand and wrist. But it doesn’t try to grab her, at least. Instead, it lays its hand in hers and stares at her with wide, empty eyes, and tilts its head, as if to say, now what?
“It’s nice to meet you,” Charlie says, carefully shaking its one hand with her two. “Let’s get to know each other, okay?”
It only blinks at her again, and waits, hand still laying in hers.
Well, she supposes they can’t have a conversation like this. “I wish I could talk to you directly,” she says with a sigh. “It’d be nice if I could hear you.”
“You’d regret it,” Alastor says from the oven, where he’s still frying fish. He’s watching them out of the corner of his eyes, but seems mostly content to let Charlie and the shadow interact if it means his shadow isn’t throwing a tantrum in his cooking space. “It can be quite a chatterbox if it wants.”
“I think it’d be neat,” Charlie says.
She can’t imagine what it’s like, having another part of her like this, one that’s not fully her and a little bit independent. She thinks it’d be nice, to never feel alone. Granted, the shadow hadn’t been able to come with them to The Beginning because her mo—Lilith had banished it, but Charlie still had moments where she felt too alone in her own head, in her own space, in her own home. She wouldn’t have been able to function at all without the help of people like Vaggie or Alastor. She wonders if this is how Alastor functions, after The Beginning.
The shadow says nothing, of course. It can’t know the thoughts going through her head. But it does tilt its head to look down at its hand in hers, and back up again, as if to ask, Well? What’s this about, still?
Charlie runs her thumb over the back of the creature’s hand thoughtfully. It feels so strange. Cool to the touch, but not frigid. Its shadow-stuff doesn’t feel like skin, and its fingers don’t feel hard to the touch like Alastor’s claws. But there’s a force there all the same, something her fingers can touch and recognize—like trying to grasp wind in a storm, when there’s pressure against her hand, but it flows through her fingers if she tries to clamp down.
It has weight in her hand, when it lets her support it. It has temperature. It has solidity. But if her fingers slip sideways, if she massages her thumb even gently into its not-skin, it feels like a part of her could pass through its existence and it wouldn’t be solid anymore. And if she runs her fingers down to its claws, despite lacking that hardened texture, they don’t lack at all for sharpness. Despite its strange, malleable not-quite-flesh, she has no doubt those claws could tear through solid objects—or bodies—with ease.
When she tries to test the tip of a claw out of curiosity, she’s surprised to find it blunts before her eyes. The dizzying edges of the shadow-stuff its made out of smooth over, making its fore-claw harmless even if she presses her thumb against it. The moment she takes her finger away, it sharpens back to its razor point.
“Oh,” Charlie says. “You’re not supposed to hurt me...is that it? You’re protecting me?”
The shadow stares at her like this is very obvious, but nods after a moment.
“Thank you,” Charlie says, leaving the claws alone for now so it doesn’t have to stress over that. She runs a thumb over its strange, fluid outline of a hand, and says slowly, “It’s like...you’re Something, but you’re not at the same time.”
“Oh, it’s always Something,” Alastor says. “Sometimes the thinnest Something can ever be, because a shadow always outlines an absence, and it can come close, very close. But never Nothing. Never that.”
Charlie decides that makes perfect sense.
She regards Alastor’s shadow thoughtfully. It stares back with empty eyes. She’s not sure why they’re sometimes glowing red, and sometimes blank, empty spaces; maybe it’s a show of power. Everything about it seems to show off Alastor’s more powerful side, even when he isn’t being particularly threatening himself.
That makes her think. “You’re a shadow,” she says slowly, looking at it curiously.
It doesn’t have eyelids or brows, but the blank holes of its eyes adjust in a way that suggests it’s raising an eyebrow at her anyway. After a moment, it nods very slowly, like she’s especially stupid and this is particularly obvious.
Charlie flushes a little, because yeah, it sounds kind of stupid out loud. “I mean, yeah, obviously, you’re Alastor’s shadow,” she says. “But I’ve never really...I don’t know, thought of you like a shadow before? You’ve always been like...like Alastor’s companion. Or a part of him, or something. You look so different from him even right now, with your…” She lets go of its hand, raising both of hers to her head and spreading them out in an imitation of big, branching antlers.
It tilts its head curiously at her, reaching up to touch one of its long antlers and run its claws along half a dozen curling tines. It can interact with itself, which Charlie finds fascinating, even if it’s hard to tell if it’s grabbing hold or just touching. It only ever reflects an outline, so any kind of depth or layer is swallowed up in its silhouette.
“Can you do normal shadow things?” Charlie asks curiously.
Its head cracks back upright. Charlie notes, with relief, that despite having the same disjointed neck as Alastor, it doesn’t make the icky bone-snapping noises he does. The shadow grins at her, like it’s happy with her question.
Then it slithers over to Alastor in a flash, crawling up the wall near him where he’s frying the last of the fish in a pot of oil on the stove. And suddenly it stops, and Alastor has a prefect reflection of himself sprawled over the counter-tops and wall as he works.
The huge rack of antlers are gone, and Alastor’s smaller half-moon nubs only appear if he turns his head a certain way, because they’re mostly hidden in the silhouette of his ears. The jagged broken neck is gone, and the ears and fur are slimmed down to Alastor’s well groomed versions. There’s even a thinner, more diffused area of shadow where light filters through Alastor’s monocle, when he turns his head.
Most importantly, the shadow’s face has vanished. Where it normally has an impossibly gaping mouth and slits for eyes, they’ve disappeared into the silhouette of Alastor’s head.
The shadow had even taken into account Alastor’s tools. Alastor plucks a completed fried fish from the pan of oil with a pair of tongs, and the same thing appears in his shadow’s hand, carefully shaking drops of shadowy oil free and setting it aside on a rack next to the stove.
For all intents and purposes, this is a real, natural shadow cast in Alastor’s image. Charlie is impressed, and claps her hands excitedly. “Wow, that’s really good!”
If the shadow is pleased about her compliment, it shows no sign. It still studiously mimics Alastor exactly as he sets a new strip of fish in to fry, perfectly pretending to be a natural shadow.
Although...perhaps perfectly isn’t the right word. Even though its mimicry is identical, as far as Charlie can tell, there’s something uncanny about it still. Something that makes her just a little bit nervous, raises the hair on the back of her neck just a tad.
“It’s the lighting,” Alastor says.
“Huh?”
“The lighting is wrong,” Alastor says, gesturing up to the ceiling with one finger absently as he keeps an eye on the fish. The shadow mimics the gesture exactly, without even a millisecond of delay. “That’s what you’re noticing is off, even subconsciously. The light is above, so a natural shadow would be below, like your own. It isn’t where it should be.”
Charlie looks down at her feet. Her own natural shadow is below her, a weird scrunched up puddle of darkness with things at odd proportions because the light is above and slightly to her right. It’s also, she notices, much more diffused and fuzzy. By comparison, Alastor’s shadow is against the wall, sharply outlined, and very dark.
She glances at Alastor’s own feet, curious now. But he doesn’t have a natural shadow at all, to her surprise. Light should be cast against Alastor and he should be blocking some of it to hit the ground, but it’s like he’s not even there.
That sends a chill up Charlie’s spine.
He glances sideways at her, watching carefully. “I’m real,” he assures her. “And I am really here, thank goodness, or the whole place would be burning down right now.” He gestures at the oil and fish in front of him, before pointing at his darker, more alive shadow on the wall. “This shadow consumed my natural one the moment I arrived in Hell. It’s in there somewhere.”
Alastor’s shadow finally stops mimicking his actions, if not his form. It makes a gesture like its rubbing its belly, quite full, before expanding into its usual appearance. A mouth and red, gleaming eyes split its silhouette face open, before it bobs its head in a motion like laughter.
“Oh,” Charlie says slowly. “But...you had one before, didn’t you?” She remembers releasing the shadow creature from banishment once she’d gotten Alastor’s contract and cleaned it up. Alastor had a natural shadow then, because this creature had returned to it.
Alastor shrugs. “If this one is banished, light has an effect on me again,” he says, gesturing to the shadow on the wall, which gestures back exactly perfectly. “You’ll notice it took that shadow back immediately when you freed it.”
“So...so that’s normal?”
“Perfectly normal for us,” Alastor says, turning back to his cooking. “I’m hardly surprised you’ve never noticed, though. It really is amazing, what minds will filter out. The subconscious knows something is off, but the active mind ignores it. It makes it quite entertaining when trying to cause a fright.”
The shadow’s grin grows wider, and so does the rest of it. It towers over Alastor, a reflection of him in approximation only, as its enormous rack of antlers crawl across the ceiling towards the light fixture. Unlike a normal shadow, it doesn’t fade the closer it gets to brightness.
“That is pretty scary,” Charlie agrees, watching it grow, awed at the way its antlers become sharper and its smile more jagged, the outlines of its teeth needle sharp. It hasn’t tried to hurt her, and neither has Alastor, but she could understand why she wouldn’t want to meet it like this in a dark alley.
The shadow seems gleeful that its frightening presence has finally been recognized. It clacks its massive claws—by now, each large enough to wrap around Charlie’s waist and pick her up if it wanted to—and stretches them wide, until it spans the entire length of the wall.
“Can you be a shadow for anything, or just Alastor?” Charlie asks. “You were hiding in my shadow down here earlier.”
In response, the shadow shrinks and slithers across the wall, until it’s in front of her. And to her shock, it’s her, a perfect outline of her in every sense of the word. The lighting is still unnatural and a little uncanny, but if she puts aside the fact that this shadow is too dark and too sharp and in the wrong place, she could absolutely believe that it belongs to her.
“It’s a lovely way to frighten folks,” Alastor says cheerfully, setting aside the last of the fish and cracking open the oven to pull the bread from it. “Or to spy on them. No one ever looks at their own shadow. And it finds it to be quite a fun game, playing mimic with one who isn’t me.”
“Oh yeah?” Charlie raises her hand curiously, waving at the shadow. It waves back perfectly, imitating her without difficulty. She walks around in front of the wall, and it matches her gait and her speed exactly. She unties her hair and flips it, and the shadow mimics each individual hair with shocking precision. She lets a few of her demonic traits out, but it adjusts to her horns and tail and sharper claws without a hint of hesitation.
Curious, she tries to catch it off guard. She turns as if to walk away, then whips around suddenly and raises her hands into the air. “Boo!”
It isn’t caught off guard at all. Despite how fast she whipped around and moved, it mimics her exactly, without a bit of delay. She really would believe it was her own shadow, if she didn’t already know any better.
It seems to know it’s won, because a face appears in the outline of her head. It’s still blank, open holes for eyes and a wide, toothy grin, and it only appears for a second, but it winks at her before vanishing. Then it toys with her a little, elongating the silhouette of her claws and sharpening her edges until the shadow shows a more frightening version of herself.
“Okay, I can see how you could scare somebody like that,” Charlie says. “That is weird, please go back.”
It does, softening back into her own natural outline, like nothing creepy ever happened. Charlie plays with it a bit longer, making shadow puppets like her father used to do for her when she was afraid of the dark at night, to show her the dark didn’t have to be scary.
Well, this darkness is very scary, when it wants to be. But it’s also a part of her Monster Under The Bed, so at least it’s a scary on her side.
Plus, its shadow puppets are much more lively than Dad’s ever were. The moment Charlie gets her hands into the proper alignment to make a cute twitchy bunny nose and ears, the shadow brings it to life, moving in ways it shouldn’t be able to. It grows and stretches, absorbing the rest of her outline, until there’s a full-sized shadow rabbit on the wall, twitching its ears and nose and flicking its cotton tail. The rabbit dashes across the walls in a full circuit and bounces off other natural shadows of other things in the room.
When it bounds past Alastor, Charlie swears she sees the quirk of a very natural, amused smile on his face as he assembles his sandwiches and supervises their play.
The shadow-rabbit skids to a halt in front of Charlie, then bubbles and extends until it’s itself again, sharp claws and antlers and an empty, jagged smile. It ripples out of the wall and wraps its long claws around her shoulders, which is still a little creepy, but at least Charlie knows it doesn’t want to hurt her. Its odd face presses against her cheek again, and she realizes it’s vibrating. Maybe purring, like KeeKee, or maybe it’s a radio thing and they’re silent sound vibrations. She’s not sure.
Alastor snorts. “It’s rather fond of you, I think.”
“Aww! I like you too!”
“But it is also cozying up to see if you’ve been inspired with a name yet,” Alastor notes. The shadow’s vibrating gets a little sharper, which Charlie thinks might mean it’s annoyed that its attempts at being sweet are once again being called out.
“I’ve definitely learned more about you,” Charlie says, turning around and gently taking its hands from her shoulders and in hers. Well, she attempts to hold its hands in hers, anyway. They’re still too big, so it’s more like she holds a couple of its claws in each hand. “You’re not just a shadow. And you’re Alastor, but you’re not Alastor at the same time. You’re Something, not Nothing. You’re very clever, and sneaky, and good at being scary. So you definitely deserve a good, scary name.”
Its toothy grin grows marginally less sharper and a little softer, and its disheveled ears prick up a little straighter. It weaves in place while letting her hold its claws, and it’s vibrating silently, like it’s humming at a wavelength she can’t hear. Charlie is pretty sure this means it’s quite pleased with her words.
She hates to disappoint it, but unfortunately, it’s not going to like this next part. “But...I’ve been trying really hard, and I’m just...not good at coming up with that kind of name. You deserve a good name. The best name. And I’m not sure I can do it justice.”
The shadow visibly wilts. Its size actually shrinks, its fluffy ears flop, and its crescent smile flips over into a sad frown. Charlie swears even its antlers droop, which wouldn’t happen if they were actual bone like Alastor’s real ones.
It’s almost funny, Charlie thinks, how expressive Alastor’s shadow is compared to Alastor himself. Alastor is so put together in image and in expression that it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling. His shadow, by contrast, doesn’t seem burdened by the necessity of personal appearance or wearing a mask, and reflects what its feeling to an almost exaggerated degree.
Then again, Alastor’s shadow doesn’t have the benefit of a real face for expressions, or a voice and noise. Its only way to communicate with anyone that isn’t Alastor himself is body language, and even then, only what it can express in a silhouette, without depth or color.
“You did try, my dear,” Alastor interjects, where he’s busily assembling the last of the sandwiches. “Never fear! It will get its frightening name at some point.”
The poor shadow’s head sinks further. It withdraws its claws from her hands—very carefully, so as not to cut her, even when the wicked ends are dulled—and retreats sadly into the wall.
“I’m not done!” Charlie says, putting her hands on her hips. Both Alastor and the shadow look at her with identical wide-eyed expressions, so she pushes forward before Alastor can talk his way out of it. Looking to the shadow in the wall, she says, “I know you want a name as soon as possible. And I know Alastor hasn’t given you one yet, and you’re not sure when he will. That’s why you’re upset, right?”
It nods at her slowly.
“Right! So, I have a different idea on how to get you a name. Hopefully today!”
Its ears prick up with curiosity. Alastor watches with more caution, even as he transfers completed sandwiches to a tray. “Quite a turnaround for someone whose only suggestions have been cutesy adjectives so far,” he notes, with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Charlie says. “I’m no good at scary names. But other people probably are! We’re about to have lunch, right?” She gestures at the nearly completed tray of sandwiches. “So when everyone gets together, we could have a little naming session at the table! Everyone can give suggestions, and you can pick the name you like the best. Then you get to pick your own name.”
The shadow’s head tilts curiously. But its ears don’t flatten and it isn’t showing irritation or frustration like earlier. Charlie thinks it’s interested, but cautious.
“And if you don’t like any of those names,” Charlie adds, “then we can spend the rest of the afternoon working on it, as long as Alastor doesn’t need you. We can...go to the library, or something, and look at scary books. I’m sure we’ve got scary books. It’s Hell, right?”
The shadow nods slowly.
Alastor, on the other hand, is frowning. Actually frowning, even, not just frowning with his eyes like he used to. It’s barely a frown, but the corners of his mouth are turned down instead of up, and his lips are pressed thin, and that’s quite expressive for Alastor. Charlie’s noticed that he still smiles habitually around the other Sinners and staff, and it seems to be a habit he can’t quite break even if his lips aren’t bound by enchanted threads and a contract anymore. But he seems to be more comfortable dropping his smile around her.
Charlie’s heart warms at the notion that Alastor feels comfortable around her at all, even a little. Even to show the tiniest hint of vulnerability, or to put away his most valuable tool for just a moment.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
One of his ears flicks. When he speaks again, she’s surprised that he flips to Greedspeak, the language of the Greedsharks and the Greed Ring, rather than English. “I hope you don’t intend to reveal anything about our arrangement, Charlie.”
Charlie blinks, but responds in turn. “Of course I wouldn’t! That’s private, and Husk told me how dangerous it would be for people to know.”
“You told your girlfriend.”
Charlie flushes a little. “That’s different. You know I tell Vaggie everything. But Vaggie’s really good at keeping secrets, and she understands how dangerous it is too. I trust her with it, and I think it’s important she knows in case of emergencies.” She bites her lip. “Are you mad that I told her?”
“You are the contract holder. You may do as you like.” Alastor’s ear flicks again. He looks uncomfortable, but not angry, and after a moment he reaffirms her suspicion with, “I am not mad. I just suggest...caution.”
“Oh! Is that why we’re using Greedspeak?”
“No one else here speaks it. No chance of being overheard.”
“Dad speaks everything,” Charlie corrects. “Like me. More than me, actually, he comprehends all languages, human and demon. But he already knows, so him overhearing wouldn’t be bad anyway.” He had facilitated the transfer of the contract to Charlie, after all.
“No Sinners would overhear and take advantage, then,” Alastor says. “And no one in the hotel besides the ones already aware should be brought in on our arrangement, for your own protection. There are some who could take advantage, even if they do not mean to.”
She’s pretty sure he’s talking about Angel Dust. Husk had warned Charlie about that as well, back when he’d been explaining how to rework a Soul Deal. Angel wouldn’t want to take advantage of Alastor or Charlie, but Valentino owned him, and Valentino could make him do things against his will.
If Val learned that Alastor’s soul belonged to Charlie, then all the Vees would know, and that would put them in a very dangerous situation. Alastor is a valuable soul to try and seize, and Charlie...well, she’s starting to realize she’s stronger than even she understands, but she’s not strong enough to stand up to three Overlords at once. Especially not if they came in with a plan to kill her and take Alastor’s soul for themselves. And if they got a hold of his contract, he wouldn’t be able to protect himself or his mother, either.
They’re riding a very precarious line, and they both know it.
But Charlie doesn’t think that’s a problem when it comes to naming one poor nameless shadow. “I think it’ll be okay,” she says. “We don’t have to say anything about that. I mean, I did promise your shadow a name after it helped me when I was sick, right? So we can just tell them the truth.”
“And avoid the secret hiding behind it?” Alastor raises an eyebrow at her, but he looks a little amused now. “Why, selectively choosing parts of a truth, Charlie. That’s only a step away from lying!”
Charlie flushes. “I’m not trying to lie, but we just don’t have to tell them everything, and that keeps everyone safe, right?” She gives him a hopeful look. “Plus, it’d be a great bonding exercise for everyone! And I told you before, if you wanted to try building bridges with new people, the hotel would be a great place to start. It looks like you’ve been trying, so this would be a great way for everyone to get to know you!”
Alastor rolls his eyes, switching back to English. “You really can turn everything into a bonding exercise, can’t you, my dear?”
“I always do my best!” Charlie says. “All the better for redemption!”
Alastor snorts. “Well. I cannot guarantee you redemption, my dear. I think someone with my number of sins won’t flit off to Heaven with a single bonding activity. But I will permit this…naming activity, as long as my shadow is willing, and the names are approved by the both of us.”
Charlie whirls around excitedly to look at the shadow on the wall. “Did you understand all that? Do you want to try?”
“It can understand anything I can,” Alastor says. And sure enough, the shadow nods along in agreement, clasping its hands together as if to say, yes, please!
“Yes!” Charlie squeals, reaching out for the shadow. It obligingly places one of its hands in hers again, oozing out of the wall to do so, and she clasps it enthusiastically. “Don’t worry! One way or another, we’ll get you a name today!”
The shadow’s grin is so wide it actually does split its own face in half.
“That will only happen if lunch starts,” Alastor says, tapping the counter insistently. “So if you would like this farce to begin faster, I suggest collecting plates and cups while I bring out the food.”
Charlie and the shadow exchange glances, and then rush to the cabinets to do just that.