and it's in the recommended listening list below.
I feel like this is one of those polarizing chapters ... that folks will either love or hate. I hope it's the former. LOL (I sure enjoyed writing it!)
A little funny aside: Grace's strings of creative expletives at the beginning here are taken from several of my other favorite shows. Do you recognize where they came from? Call me out if you do! :D
Recommended Listening
Grace kept a low profile in the following days, leaving her room only at night and while cautiously watching for predators. She didn’t join in any of the group activities and moved her meals to off-hours so she didn’t have to interact with anybody.
She would be unable to fake like everything was okay when nothing was fine. And the last soul she wanted to see was, well, the last soul she’d seen. On the bright side, her faux pas with Lucifer was now just a distant embarrassment.
At the end of the week, and of course when she left her room midday, a voice interrupted her while she attempted to steal a dark amber bottle from the storage space beneath Husk’s bar.
“You’ve been avoiding me again, Grace.”
Grace froze with her arm outstretched, fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle still sitting on its shelf. Oh, piss cakes of a dick, no, no, damn damn, crap, dammit to Hell, shitty-titty, blown-ball, double-fuck, aw Hell diddly-ding-dong crap! Despite the panic raging in her internal dialogue, she greeted him cordially: “Alastor.”
“Didn’t you enjoy my company in the radio tower?”
Oh, for the ding of fuck nuts! She slowly pulled the bottle from its shelf and considered grabbing another. Did he seriously have to sound legitimately confused and dejected? This was not going to be a one-bottle night. “I did. But you clearly didn’t enjoy mine.”
“Oh, of course I did, sweetheart.”
Okay, I’m hallucinating. That, too, almost sounded genuine. Grace stood and turned slowly to face him, not like his expression would reveal anything helpful.
It didn’t.
“I haven’t laughed like that in months,” he added.
“That’s not what I was referring to.” Grace inhaled sharply, the regret for saying that, immediate. If there had been a competition for flaccid dicks, he’d have taken first prize that night despite everything. Despite the dancing. Despite what was practically vertical cuddling. Despite all the booze.
How—?
Oh. Maybe because of the booze?
“I think you need to get outside of the hotel.”
Grace set the bottle down on the bar top, pleased with herself that she maintained her composure well enough that it didn’t result in a loud smack! “Pardon?”
“Some parts of Hell are actually pretty nice.”
Grace scoffed. “Do you even hear yourself? ‘Some parts of Hell are actually pretty nice.’”
“I know what I said.” Alastor offered Grace his hand. “And it’s true.” He sighed, his smile going a little crooked. “Plus, because I’m a demon of my word, I have to make good on our wager, don’t I?”
“Our wager?” she echoed weakly.
“Yeah. I have a friend you haven’t met who’s outside this hotel.”
She never thought, in a million afterlives, that he would actually follow through on their bet when he’d lost it. For that reason, Grace took Alastor’s hand and left both the hotel and the alcohol behind, a feeling in her gut that something significant was on the horizon, something from which there would be no turning back.
Grace should have known that Alastor’s idea of ‘actually pretty nice’ was quite possibly the worst cesspool within all the rings of Hell. It was as if Death Valley and Mount Vesuvius had a baby and then filled it with mosquitos, inland taipans, box jellyfish, funnel-web spiders, hippos, alligators, deathstalker scorpions, grizzly bears, and INTJs.
The most monstrous demons then appeared. Bloodthirsty, ugly beasts too horrendous to even have been documented in myth and lore, worse than anything anyone could imagine. Things that would give Stephen King’s and George Romero’s nightmares their own nightmares. The kinds of things reverends, ministers, and Sunday school teachers would speak vaguely of to scare impressionable children away from sinning for fear of ending up here.
The constant buzz she felt against her skin whenever Alastor was nearby stopped abruptly, the worst INTJ of them all vanishing mid-stride as he accompanied her through the single worst part of all creation. Grace also stopped, filled instantly with dread. “Al?” she whispered after him.
Naturally, there was no response, not even a hint that he’d ever been there beside her.
“Alastor?” Grace said, a little more loudly. “Where are you?” Her voice shook. “I need you!”
Nothing.
Shit. It dawned on her then: he’d taken her on a Snipe Hunt. In Hell. He’d spun losing this wager to his advantage and now she was going to pay the ultimate price. He brought me here to die. Enraged, she yelled, “Alastor!”
As the nightmare demons encroached on Grace, she began wishing maybe she’d listened to those stories and at least attempted to not sin quite as much as she did. She glanced around herself, trying to find some route to escape but by now she was fully surrounded and what little light permeated this wretched hive of dread and depravity was winking into darkness.
And then from the far end of the alley, a horror of eldritch proportions unfolded itself upon the smaller, ghastly demons. This one towered above the buildings on either side of Grace, enormous antlers scraping the rooftops surrounding them. A glowing red X emblazoned its forehead between black voids of eyes that bore down upon them, red blood streaming from where yellow fangs split its own lip. Giant, seemingly endless black tentacles emerged from its back, snaking toward them at an alarming rate.
A twinkle of remaining light glinted against a tiny red monocle perched above its right cheek because even in ferity, there was still dignity.
“Alastor!” Grace gasped.
Just when one of the beasts was close enough to make contact with her, it was ripped away—and bifurcated at its waist. From there, the carnage got progressively more gruesome, as if the brutality was meant to match how repulsive they were. Some of these creatures were skewered on a giant tentacle, others crushed beneath an enormous foot. Blood and guts everywhere. Grace dodged an entrail.
And just as Angel Dust had once described, Alastor was, indeed, dropping most of these creatures into his waiting, fang-filled maw with what could only be described as unabashed sadistic glee.
He was like a rich kid on Christmas morning, an entitled brat in a candy store.
Only as a colossal, demonic cannibal.
In the blink of an eye, the alley was cleared and Alastor was back to his normal—if it could be called that—self, a satisfied yet at the same time smug smile on his face.
He eyed Grace from a couple yards away.
She stared, struggling to process what just happened but, moreover, how it left her feeling.
The whole display of overt dominance had been beyond the pale. And in her breathless gaping, Grace learned something about herself.
I’m attracted to power.
And evil, probably.
To some degree.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m no better than Padme from Star Wars!
Because there was no other way to describe what she’d just seen Alastor do—even if the intent was to protect her.
After he’d abandoned her like—
“I was bait,” Grace realized in dismay.
Alastor didn’t deny it. He stood there as if he hadn’t just engaged in all that. As if it were a perfectly standard day.
Heaven’s, Earth’s, and Hell’s most annoying voice then sliced through the ensuing silence. “Alastor! I should have known all that screamin’ ’n’ mayhem was your doing!”
He looked appropriately annoyed for the grating sound of that voice.
Grace approached him, trying to peer around him to see from where the vocal cacophony was originating. He put his hand out as if to stop her.
Standing behind Alastor at about two feet shorter was a curvaceous, platinum-blonde demon with icy lilac skin. Her hairdo evoked the 1920s, which complemented the pink and maroon flapper-style dress she wore.
“Whatever are ya doin’ here? Didja come lookin’ for li’l ol’ me?”
“Actually,” he said through clenched teeth as he turned to face her, “we were just passing through, Mimzy.”
Mimzy. Grace’s eyes narrowed. Mimzy! In her already heightened emotional state, fury mounted.
“We?” Mimzy echoed.
Grace was definitely seeing red now, and it wasn’t Alastor in her sights.
Mimzy sized Grace up and then said with a titter, “Oh, Alastor! You’re really scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel for your companions these days! Didja pick this one up at that tacky hotel?”
An obnoxiously familiar and loathsome feeling pooled in Grace’s chest.
Mimzy seemed uninterested in letting anyone else speak. She continued, “You’re not still mad at me for that li’l mess with the loan sharks, are ya? I can’t believe ya chose those moral chumps over me! Did nothin’ from the time we spent together when we were alive mean anything to ya?”
Grace scowled loudly enough that Mimzy’s heavily fringed, black eyes shifted toward her in brief acknowledgment.
Mimzy smirked; she knew fully well what she was inciting within Grace.
Every heartbeat of jealousy that Grace had experienced in her lifetime raged in her veins. Nothing felt right anymore. The sounds of Hell dimmed, light shimmering gold around her.
Grace had no idea what she was doing, nor what possessed her; she shoved Alastor aside as if he wasn’t the most horrifying thing to exist, slamming her fist into the chest of the most annoying thing to exist. Mimzy’s skin split, her bones buckling, cracking, and breaking against Grace’s knuckles.
Distant keening echoed off the alleyway facades as Grace wrapped her fingers around throbbing muscle. Squeezing.
“Alastor is too good for someone like you.” The voice was unfamiliar but Grace knew somehow it was still hers. “You’re nothing but a self-centered diva who isn’t worth the shit on the bottom of my shoes!”
She yanked her arm back, taking Mimzy’s heart along with it. She held it there for a moment before pitching it to the ground at the outdated demon’s feet. Mimzy’s body followed suit.
“Souls like yours deserve to rot,” Grace scowled, looking down her nose at Mimzy. Even if it was too late, she added, “Should you respawn from this, you better hope I don’t encounter you again.”
A quiet, radio-filtered exhalation brought Grace back from whatever nightmarish place she’d gone to. She blinked a few times, looking around, trying to regain her bearings.
They were in the horrible nightmare alley, now splattered with blood and guts.
And Mimzy. And Mimzy’s heart. And Grace’s right hand was coated in blood.
There stood Alastor, staring with wide eyes and a bright grin, his ears erect as ever.
Grace regarded him in silence, her eyes stinging. She’d accused him of something. She’d been infuriated with him. But she couldn’t recall much of anything beyond carnage, fear, and the rush of endorphins.
The filter gone from his voice, Alastor said in quiet awe, “What a fierce little fawn you are.”
She was in such a disarray of emotion that she couldn’t even snap back at him about the use of that nickname.
In this context, it felt like a badge of honor.
Actually … I think I might like it.
And just maybe she wouldn’t object to hearing him call her that again.
The filter back on his voice, Alastor offered Grace his arm. “Let’s go. I want you to meet a real friend of mine.”
Grace didn’t know what she was expecting, but somehow even after what she’d witnessed of Alastor in his full demonic form, she was surprised when he brought her to the outskirts of Cannibal Town.
Her knees locked on her, arm slipping out from where it had been nestled for blocks now, comfortably in the crook of Alastor’s elbow. “I can’t go in there.”
“But of course you can!” he encouraged with a leading, grandiose gesture.
Would it be somehow racist to say I assume I’m just gonna be eaten here? And not in the fun oral sex way? Will it offend him, considering … the whole … cannibalistic-tendencies-deal he’s got going on?
“I’m not a cannibal,” she whispered, as if the admission might somehow displease him.
“I’m aware.”
“And I refuse to be anyone’s snack!”
He laughed.
The asshole laughed.
“Don’t you trust me, now?” he replied once his laughter ebbed. “Haven’t I proven I can keep you safe?”
Grace blinked. What she was trying to remember was on the outskirts of her consciousness, the equivalent of a word on the tip of the tongue. “I—? You did—”
“Come along, then,” Alastor said once more, motioning toward Cannibal Town’s main street.
Against her better judgment, Grace relented.
So when Alastor described parts of Hell as being ‘pretty nice,’ he was apparently talking about this part, a community with an aesthetic perpetually stuck at the turn of the century before last. That is, everyone was dressed as if they’d stepped right out of the Gibson Girl era. The streets were shockingly clean, and everyone smiled. Sure, their teeth were ultra sharp fangs, but whose in Hell weren’t?
Grace could always bite back, she supposed, if she really needed to.
Alastor led Grace to a building labeled as Rosie’s Emporium which had a rather sassy set of coffin-shaped, rose-colored, stained-glass doors with a white skull-design at the top. He wordlessly opened the door for Grace and herded her inside.
Garments similar to ones Grace had seen worn by Cannibal Town’s ladies hung in the back corner of the shoppe. There were displays on the floor filled with probably-demon meat, and mixtures of meats and bones, and glass-lidded freezers in which decidedly-not ice cream was being stored. She choked down some bile. This was going to be a test of willpower to not bolt for the door. Even if this place was pretty and peaceful, the food here turned Grace’s stomach fiercely.
A tall, slender demon with big black eye sockets and a wide, sharp-toothed grin popped up from among the patrons, her enormous maroon sun-hat leading her way by a half-mile. She wore what looked like a high-class Victorian-style gown in maroon and burgundy. The cut merely accentuated her tiny waist and wide hips.
She was stunning.
And at the sight of Alastor, her smile grew and she waved him over enthusiastically. “Alastor!” she called, rushing over to meet him halfway. “I’m so happy to see you!”
She swept him up into a tight embrace and for a moment, Grace swore she heard a tiny bleat escape his lips. Her heart thumped hard against her ribcage. Shut up! she thought at it, as if that would accomplish anything. You’ve caused more than enough trouble to be doing shit like that!
The beautiful demon’s gaze slid to Grace. “And who’s this bissel you’ve brought me today?”
“Grace Bedgood,” Alastor introduced her.
She cringed, once more regretting ever uttering her name—in part or its entirety.
“Grace, I’d like you to meet Rosie. My friend, and the most cunning Overlord this side of Pentagram City.”
Another Overlord. One who was staring Grace down like she was trying to decide which part of her to devour first. Lucifer’s taint, did Grace want to trust Alastor! She opened her mouth with the intent to ask a poised, how do you do? but instead squeaked, “Hi.”
“Oh, come now! There’s no reason to play so meek!” Rosie took Grace’s hands in her own and held them briefly before addressing Alastor: “Where do you keep finding these darling little women?”
Keep? Finding? Darling?
These?! As in more than one?
Grace didn’t know what to do with that question but really didn’t want to do to Rosie what she’d done to Mimzy. If Alastor genuinely considered this beautiful Overlord one of likely few friends he had, Grace didn’t want to do something that would upset him.
And he’s clearly—she swallowed an envious growl—fond of her.
Although … he hadn’t greeted her with the same enthusiasm she’d shown him, nor had he instigated that hug.
The desire to rip Rosie’s heart out ebbed, much to Grace’s relief.
Rosie laughed. “You don't think you're gonna replace me in Alastor’s life, now, do you Grace?”
Grace’s face burned. “N-no, of course not! It’s just—”
What was it ‘just,’ exactly?
Alastor leaned in and whispered something in Rosie’s ear.
“Oh!” She put a svelte hand to her mouth. “Well isn’t that interesting!”
Rosie glanced at Grace and then back at Alastor. “Would you be a dear and fetch us some snacks from the back room? I’m going to sit Grace down in the parlor. She looks a bit flushed.”
While Alastor excused himself on what seemed even to Grace to be busywork appointed him by Rosie, Rosie did exactly as she’d said, escorting Grace to the emporium’s parlor.
Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me. I’m sure I’d be gamey and scarcely enough for an appetizer!
“Now, now, there’s no call to be jealous,” Rosie said as she sat across from Grace.
Grace’s blush darkened. “I—I’m not—”
“Honey.” Rosie leaned forward in her seat. “I saw your expression. I promise, I’m no threat to you.” She added with a wink and a hearty laugh, “Not unless you want me to be!”
Grace twisted in her seat, trying to see if Alastor was within earshot. When she confirmed he wasn’t, she turned back to Rosie. This would likely be her only chance.
She hissed, “How do I get into Alastor’s pants?!" If anyone would know the answer to that, it would be this friend of his. “Whiskey didn’t work. Jazz didn’t work. I’m losing my damn mind, here!”
Rosie’s smile fell. “Aww …” She put a hand to her breast delicately. “Sweetheart! You don’t.”
“Is he committed to someone already?” I’ll kill her!
“Don’t be silly! You have no competition.”
“Well then why—”
“He’s asexual.” Studying Grace’s expression carefully, Rosie sighed heavily. “You didn’t realize?”
Grace’s heart dropped right into the next ring of Hell.
“I found some Angel Hair Pasta in the back of your freezer,” Alastor announced as he joined the ladies in the parlor. “I can’t believe you still have some of that sitting around after so long.”
“Thank goodness for the modern comforts of refrigeration, right? Angel got to be quite the delicacy after last extermination day!” Rosie replied, an odd look on her face as she glanced between Grace and Alastor.
He’s
asexual
Grace leapt to her feet and shoved past Alastor on her way out of Rosie’s Emporium.
Rosie watched a very red-faced Grace flee.
“What was that?” Alastor asked, openly baffled.
“You sweet summer child,” Rosie said, taking the bowl of Angel Hair Pasta from him. “You can't see what's right in front of you, can you?”
He shook his head, as always smiling but with his eyebrows pulled together.
“Did you think Grace follows you around and hurts herself like a lovesick little puppy because she wants to be ‘just friends’ with you?” Surely he’d understand that.
Alastor waved Rosie off, taking the seat Grace had occupied moments before. “She just wants someone who can protect her.”
Rosie arched an eyebrow. Was there a hint of despondency in his voice? “Is that what you think? Truly? Oh, Alastor, honey, no … that poor sweet soul is falling in love with you!”
“Why would anyone feel like that toward me?”
“Lord help that girl,” Rosie muttered under her breath. Even though she knew there was a snowball’s chance in here that he would do any such thing, Rosie told Alastor, “Don’t you think that’s a question better suited for Grace to answer?”
He looked at her as if she’d just admitted she was actually an Angel, herself.
Rosie patted him on the knee. “Much as I love your visits, you’d probably better go keep an eye on Grace before she gets herself into trouble here. In case you’re blind to this, too, she does look exceptionally tasty.”
Next week, Chapter 11: If Demons Were Disasters
Stay sane, deer friends!
