Chapter Text
Vox was having a frustrating day.
Which, admittedly, was not unusual. But today felt particularly engineered to irritate him personally.
First, he and Valentino had gotten into a screaming match over advertising metrics and “brand image,” which had somehow devolved into Valentino throwing a drink glass at one of the screens. Then Velvette had declared them both “embarrassing manchildren” and locked them out of the main tower lounge until they “stopped being idiots.”
Which meant Vox was now stalking through Pentagram City alone trying to cool off.
And failing.
Dealing with Katie Killjoy earlier had not helped.
The woman was genuinely unsettling.
Vox considered himself a connoisseur of insanity. Hell practically ran on it. But Katie had the specific kind of energy that made him wonder if she kept taxidermied ex-boyfriends somewhere in her apartment.
And the crush thing?
Absolutely not.
A psychopath with a deranged crush on you was never fun.
To make matters worse, every screen in the city seemed determined to remind him how beloved the damned Morningstars still were despite everything.
Clips of Charlie’s latest hotel interviews.
Pictures of Lucifer resurfacing publicly.
Positive headlines.
Public sympathy.
It was nauseating.
“Little Miss fuckin’ perfect,” Vox muttered bitterly as he walked. “And her powerful fuckin’ dad.”
He kicked a loose rock hard enough to crack it against a curb.
There had to be a way to get something over on them.
Something that would finally let him control the narrative.
His screen flickered irritably as he turned down a dingy side street lit with sputtering neon signs and grimy puddles reflecting static-colored light.
That was when he stopped dead.
There, standing in the middle of the alley beside a graffiti-covered wall, was a child.
Not an imp.
Not a hellborn thug’s brat.
A child.
Small and cherubic with pale cream-white skin touched faintly with peach, bright pink eyes, and fluffy blonde hair cut just shy of her shoulders. A tiny ponytail stuck out crookedly from the back of her head, clipped with glittery star and bat-shaped barrettes.
She was staring intently at a piece of graffiti written in dripping vulgar red paint.
The girl sounded the letters out slowly with immense concentration.
“Fffff…”
She squinted.
“…uuuu…”
Another pause.
Then sudden realization lit her entire face.
“Oooohhh!” she gasped. “I think that’s one’a the bad words Charlie says I’m not s’posed to say.”
She blinked up at the wall in genuine confusion.
“...Why would you draw that on a wall though?” she wondered aloud. “That’s weird.”
Vox stared.
The kid couldn’t have been taller than four-something feet. Tiny little thing. She wore a pink-and-orange striped hoodie under denim overall shorts, paired with retina-searing rainbow leggings so aggressively neon they almost hurt to look at.
And velcro shoes.
Velcro shoes.
So young she apparently couldn’t even tie her laces yet.
The child tilted her head thoughtfully at the graffiti like she was attempting to solve an advanced philosophical problem.
“Maybe they forgot paper,” she decided.
Then she spotted a bug crawling near the wall.
“Oh! Hi bug.”
She crouched immediately.
Vox remained very, very still.
Because now that he was looking closer—
The pink eyes.
The pale blonde hair.
The faint resemblance to Lilith around the face.
And underneath it all…
That unmistakable Morningstar aura.
Not Charlie Morningstar.
Too young. Smaller.
The hidden one.
Right.
There had been rumors, years ago. Quiet whispers before Lilith vanished. Another daughter born shortly before the disappearance.
The family had kept her almost entirely out of public view.
And now here she was.
Alone in an alley. Talking to insects.
Vox’s mind began spinning so fast his screen emitted a low electronic whine.
This—
This could be huge.
The public barely knew this kid existed. Which meant he controlled the story if he got to her first.
Leverage against Lucifer.
Leverage against Charlie.
A sympathy scandal.
A disappearance.
A bargaining chip.
His irritation evaporated instantly, replaced by electric excitement.
A slow smirk spread across his face as he slipped seamlessly into his polished public persona, posture relaxing into something warm and approachable.
Friendly. Safe. Trustworthy.
The girl was still crouched near the bug.
“Okay,” she informed it seriously, “you should maybe not live in alleys because there’s probably rat pee everywhere.”
Then she looked up and noticed him. Bright pink eyes widened.
“Oh!” she said cheerfully.
No fear. Not even a little.
Instead she beamed at him like he was a friendly cashier at a grocery store.
“Your head’s a TV!” she exclaimed.
Vox smiled smoothly. “That’s right.”
The child gasped dramatically. “Can you play cartoons?”
Vox had taken Dani to a nearby ice cream parlor to secure her trust. It was, he had to admit, one of his better improvisations.
Children were simple creatures, weren’t they? Offer them sugar, smile reassuringly, and they would follow you anywhere.
Theoretically.
In practice, Vox was discovering that eight-year-old Danica 'Dani' Morningstar was less “simple child” and more “unpredictable force of nature in neon leggings.”
The waitress—a weary sinner with a beehive hairdo and dead eyes—leaned over with her notepad.
“And what can I get for you, sweetie?”
Dani sat up very straight in the booth, pink eyes shining.
“I would like a hot fudge sundae,” she announced with the solemnity of a queen issuing royal decrees. “With rainbow sprinkles and chocolate chips and cookie pieces and cherries and the pink frosting syrup.”
The waitress blinked.
“And whipped cream.”
She scribbled.
“And gummy bears.”
Another scribble.
“And marshmallows.”
Vox’s screen flickered.
“And caramel.”
The waitress raised an eyebrow.
“And the little crunchy bits.”
“Peanuts?”
“No, the sparkly ones.”
“...Colored sugar?”
“Yes!”
The waitress looked to Vox.
Dani gasped suddenly.
“Oh! And if you have edible glitter, that would be excellent.”
Vox stared at her. The waitress stared at him.
He forced a smooth smile. “Whatever she wants.”
The waitress walked away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Kid’s gonna see God.”
Vox adjusted his tie and tried very hard not to visibly twitch.
A few minutes later, Dani’s sundae arrived. It was less an ice cream dessert and more a structural engineering challenge. A towering monument of sugar, syrup, whipped cream, and chromatic excess that looked like it should have required building permits.
Dani clasped her hands under her chin.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Dani swung her legs under the booth, velcro sneakers kicking happily against the vinyl seat.
“Thank you, Mr. TV!” she said, beaming. “This is the best exploring day ever.”
“Glad to hear it,” Vox replied smoothly.
Then she attacked it with astonishing efficiency.
Vox folded his hands and leaned forward casually.
“So,” he said in his most affable, trustworthy voice, “how exactly did you wind up out here all by yourself?”
Dani took a bite large enough to concern several medical professionals.
“I gave Daddy and the hotel people the slip.”
Vox raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”
She nodded proudly.
“I was lonely.”
The admission was matter-of-fact, almost cheerful.
“Daddy and Charlie are really busy all the time, and everybody at the hotel is always doing Important Grown-Up Stuff.”
She made dramatic capital letters with her spoon.
“So I wanted to go exploring.”
“Exploring for what?”
Dani’s pink eyes lit up.
“A bat cavern.”
Vox blinked.
“A… bat cavern.”
She nodded vigorously, sending whipped cream onto the tip of her nose.
“I love bats.”
“Do you.”
“They’re like…” She paused, searching for the perfect phrase.
“…sky puppies.”
Vox stared.
“Cuddly.”
“Well,” he said after a moment, “that is certainly one way to describe them.”
Dani grinned and dug out a gummy bat from her sundae.
“Nifty says she has a rat cult, so I wanna see if I can make a bat club.”
Vox froze. “…A rat cult?”
Who in the seven rings was allowing Nifty anywhere near children?
Dani nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! The rats worship her like a goddess.”
She shoveled another spoonful into her mouth. “I don’t need worship, though.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “I just wanna play with them and have cuddle sleepovers.”
Vox found himself strangely relieved by that.
Dani licked the frosting off her spoon.
“And I wanna learn how to sleep upside down without passing out.”
Vox folded his hands tighter. “That seems… ambitious.”
“I think you need very strong ankles.”
“That sounds medically inaccurate.”
Dani leaned in conspiratorially. “I tried hanging off the couch once.”
“And?”
“I bonked my head.”
She said this with the bright, cheerful tone of someone recalling a successful experiment.
“Daddy said that was why bats evolved and I did not.”
Vox let out a short, involuntary snort.
Dani gasped. “Did you just laugh?”
“I did not.”
“You did too!”
She pointed her spoon at him accusingly. “Your screen got all squiggly.”
Vox adjusted his tie. “Static.”
“Uh-huh.” Dani took another bite, then regarded him thoughtfully.
“Do you have bats at your house, Mr. TV?”
Vox opened his mouth to say no.
Then he remembered the enormous tower, the dark rafters, the constant neon glow, and the fact that Valentino regularly shed enough wing fluff to qualify as a small ecosystem.
“…Possibly.”
Dani nearly vibrated with excitement. “REALLY?!”
She clapped, almost knocking over the sundae.
“Can we look for them?”
Vox smiled, the wheels in his mind turning.
“Actually,” he said smoothly, “my tower is very large. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few bats hiding there.”
Dani’s eyes became enormous. “You live in a tower?”
“I do.”
“Like a wizard?”
“Something like that.”
“Can you play cartoons?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have snacks?”
“Plenty.”
“Can I push buttons?”
Vox hesitated. “…Some buttons.”
Dani squealed loud enough to turn heads across the shop.
“This is the BEST EXPLORING DAY EVER!”
Vox smiled pleasantly.
Inside, he was already drafting headlines, contingency plans, and bargaining strategies.
Across the table, Dani stuffed another gummy bat into her mouth and kicked her rainbow-clad legs with pure joy. “Maybe your tower can be the headquarters for my bat club,” she said.
Vox’s smile tightened. He had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that this plan might become much more complicated than anticipated.