I feel like my last update was a lifetime ago but I suppose vacations will do that to a girl. I'm back to my humdrum daily grind but now I have a remarkable, irreplaceable, priceless treasure from last weekend. Watch the video to see the messages I got from Kimiko Glenn, Erika Henningsen, Joel Perez, and Blake Roman -- as well as a clear view of the cover autographs from Vivienne Medrano and Amir Talai.
As a reminder, I am not selling copies of this fic. There will be FREE ebooks to download at the end of the year.
If there's interest (ya gotta interact with me so I know!), I will give away one or two hardcover copies of the book with my autograph (for what that's worth) as well as the pretty sprayed edges like this copy has. If I don't hear from anybody, I'm going to assume nobody wants one.
Also, I just joined Bluesky! If you're on there, let's be moots! I'm Jewel-E-Leonard over there. :)
Recommended Listening
Without further ado, welcome to my headcanon of some of Alastor's backstory:
Following her outing with Alastor, Grace did little but think about his offer. What it could mean for her, what the odds were that he would rescind it. How long was too long to wait in making her decision? And did the exterminations really worry her knowing she could survive Angelic Steel wounds?
And she remained baffled that he would want her in any capacity at all. He had his pick of souls. Who knows how many he already possessed? What did hers matter? It had been a while since Grace had a good old-fashioned ‘why me?’ party.
She washed up before bed, emerging from her bathroom enrobed in just a towel, hoping that Alastor would do the thing where he’d invade her privacy.
Her room was quiet. Even the radio was turned off, which was odd since she thought she’d left it on before hopping into the shower. “Please don’t be broken,” Grace whispered, tinkering with its switches to no avail.
“A word, Grace Bedgood?”
She broke out in goosebumps. At the words. At the voice. In her room.
Grace turned slowly. The television was alive with brilliant blue electricity arcing around its edges. And there was Vox on her screen.
There was no way the timing of this intrusion wasn’t coincidentally the same night Alastor finally attempted bargaining for her soul. The same day Val sent the uncanny text about Alastor being unable to see what was right in front of him while she sat, literally, right in front of him. Vox’s—and therefore Val’s—eyes were everywhere in Pentagram City—and probably beyond.
She swallowed hard, trying to control her fury. She white-knuckled the towel closed over her breasts. Why does this scenario keep happening to me? And why can’t it be Al right just now?
“No,” Grace replied stiffly. “Thanks.”
Vox grinned wickedly. “Oh, I truly think you want to have a word with me.”
“No. I truly don’t want to speak with you,” she said through clenched teeth. “What would ever make you think otherwise?”
His flat-screen faced tipped to one side. “Because if you don’t, I’ll take over every other television in this hotel. I’ll wake everyone up and tell them it’s your fault. And that’s just to start.”
“What do you want from me, you raging piece of shit?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“Then talk,” she snapped.
He laughed. “In person.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. If there was one thing she’d taken away from her time alive, it was to never have a private conversation with a threatening man. She negotiated, “It’s in public or not at all.”
“Y’know …” Valentino leaned his awful, stupid face into the frame. “We could take over that radio tower, too.”
Vox shoved the giant moth out of frame but a moment later, said, “Yeah. I’ll render Alastor’s radio tower unusable if you don’t come meet me tomorrow. At our building downtown.”
Grace didn’t know if what Vox threatened was even possible but was too scared to call his bluff so, through a livid haze, she consented to their meeting as well as his terms and conditions.
Grace joined the other hotel residents for breakfast the next day, in part to see if there was any chatter about Vox invading their televisions, and in part because she was so hungry that she had little choice in the matter.
Still seething, she plopped herself on the empty chair beside Charlie’s without a word of greeting to anyone.
Kofax poked her eyes over the top edge of her laptop screen. “Man … Grace is in a shitty mood.” She resumed typing away on her keyboard with furious speed. “Who fucked with you last night?”
“Nobody,” Grace scowled.
“I know not being fucked by someone would put me in a bad mood, for sure!” Angel Dust piped up.
Grace replied in one angry breath, “Nobody did anything to or with me last night and that’s not the problem at all would you all just back the fuck off already?!”
Everyone save Alastor leaned back in their seats.
Pressed for time and pissed off about the whole situation, Grace decided she needed to act on the intrusive thought she’d had following her interaction with Vox last night in a feeble attempt to regain some control of this ridiculous situation. But with everyone seated around the breakfast table, she couldn’t well ask Charlie to step out without drawing unwanted attention.
Alastor was right there, as always, and sitting as far as he could get from Kofax. And, as always, with his focus on Grace.
It was bad enough they were all staring at her.
As it was, she didn’t want Charlie sharing this request with anyone and figured if asked, she would buckle.
Do it. Do it now. Before you chicken out.
So Grace leaned over, whispering her request to Charlie.
Charlie leaned away from Grace and asked in response, “Now? But … Halloween isn’t for months.”
“We celebrate Halloween here?” She shook her head to refocus. “Never mind that. It’s not for that purpose. And ...” She lowered her voice. “Make it as sexy as you can. It needs an under-bust corset and skin-tight pants.”
Charlie frowned but agreed, the confusion clear on her face.
Upon her arrival, Grace was once more escorted by Kitty to the empty Vee Tower conference room. And once more, deposited there alone.
Perfect.
Grace didn’t waste any time plopping down into Vox’s chair, slipping off her shoes, and resting her dainty little hooves on the conference table.
And she waited.
This time, at least she had her cell phone to keep her entertained.
Wow, did Grace not want anyone knowing her current whereabouts, which she realized was actually pretty stupid in the event she needed a rescue.
Grace left Kofax on read, her face now matching her curve-hugging blazer in both hue and intensity. Why is he looking for me? She stuffed her phone back into her purse; that’s what she got for establishing any kind of positive relationships with anyone else in Hell.
It never ceased to amaze Grace how similar Hell was to her experiences in high school.
The door to the conference room slid open and Vox took a single step in before stopping, his whole body going rigid.
From her vantage point, she could clearly see her reflection on his flatscreen, his expression revealing that her choice in attire had the desired effect on him. And then some.
Her outfit emulated his rival’s: a red, pin-striped blazer with ample lapels and shoulder pads over a red brocade under-bust corset. Black skin-tight trousers. Rose-colored, oval-shaped, wire-rimmed sunglasses. A black bowtie with a pink spinel cabochon at center—her favorite detail and the single item she was inclined to hang on to once this nightmare ended.
She’d almost gone as far as to cut and dye her hair but that would have been hard to hide from everyone else and even harder to explain.
In essence, Vox entered the room to find Alastor sitting in his seat with hooves propped on his conference table.
And with both middle fingers casually extended in irreverent salute.
Vox’s pupils went down to pinpoints and he stalked up to Grace, whipping out the Angelic Steel switchblade and snapping the flat of it beneath her chin. She set her jaw, holding the Overlord’s gaze in defiance.
He can’t kill me with that, she reminded herself. He will not break me.
Vox’s pupils returned to normal and he used the switchblade to manipulate Grace’s head, turning it from side to side, examining her neck. “Not even so much as a hint of that wound,” he muttered. Then he traced where he’d made her cut herself with that very same weapon. “It’s like that never happened.” Vox’s gaze flicked upward to meet hers. “What a fun little plaything you are!”
“Go to Hell!” she spat.
“When I came to get you in the alleyway, I had every intention of presenting you as a gift for Valentino. But … now I think it’d be much more delicious if you were mine.”
Grace frowned. “I know why Valentino wants me—” She didn’t necessarily understand it, but he’d made it very clear what his intentions with her were. “But why you?”
“Because that unremarkable fossilized fucker wants you. And I want to keep him from getting anything he wants.”
I’m in a tug-o-war between two Overlords. It was excruciating to think that the only reason either wanted her was to keep her from the other. But especially painful to think Alastor’s interest in her was strictly to keep her from Vox. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t want me. And you’re wasting your time here.”
“I saw the pain in your eyes when you said that.” Vox chuckled, retreating to the nearest chair where he reclined like the arrogant asshole he was. “You’re infatuated with that old-timey prick.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered. She’d have yelled it but didn’t have the strength.
“You want to know everything about him, don’t you? I saw the way you touched him yesterday at the bistro. The way you gazed at him from across the table. The way it didn’t disgust you when he scared off a small, defenseless animal.” Vox clucked his tongue in disdain. “You do know that you caught feelings for a freak who has none, don’t you?”
Spoken just like someone who made the exact same mistake. With more force in her voice than her last interjection, Grace said, “Jump up your own ass and double-die already!”
“I can tell you everything you want to know about the Radio Demon. How badly do you want it?”
Desperately! I’d kill myself all over again to know anything about him! Yet she sat there, tight-lipped. That would be an invasion of his privacy, a betrayal of his trust.
Trust that I clearly don’t have anyway, and never will no matter how much I prove myself to him. But maybe … if I knew anything … I could help heal that wounded little boy I know is buried beneath that beautiful, horrible façade.
Vox was testing her loyalty to Alastor. No amount of possibilities was worth failing that challenge. “Why don’t you do Hell a favor and go drop dead again?”
“Alastor was a momma’s boy. Pretty confident he still is, even to this day.”
Grace ground her teeth.
Knowing about when Alastor died, roughly when he was born, she figured then that meant his mother had to be long dead, as well.
“I’m not engaging in this conversation.”
Vox snatched her face between his hands, staring her down. “Oh,” he chuckled wickedly, his left eye transforming into a spiral. “I think you will.”
She was compelled to blurt, “Where’s Alastor’s mother now?”
“Of course you’d ask me something about him I don’t actually know,” Vox muttered under his breath. “I don’t know where she is, but I can tell you where she’s not: here.”
“He … he was a momma’s boy but ended up a serial killer? How does that even happen? Was it like a … a Barker–Karpis Gang situation? A little … mother-son murder bonding?” She detested herself for asking, for participating in this, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Oh, the truth is far uglier than that.” Vox chuckled wickedly. “His father was an abusive prick who loved his dogs more than his wife and son. Alastor told me how his father laughed when one of the dogs damn near bit off his arm when he was a little boy.”
Was Vox experiencing some sort of sympathy? Or perhaps he had some similar history with Alastor. The disgust in Vox’s voice, however, didn’t seem to be put on.
“Although knowing Alastor, probably that whole ‘damn near bit off his arm’ part was hyperbole. Dramatic son of a bitch.”
That would also explain Alastor’s reaction to the dog that had approached them at the bistro. In retrospect, she was surprised he hadn’t just kicked it in the face or torn it limb from limb. Why hadn’t he?
The only possibility Grace could think of was that he cared just enough about her opinion of him that it stayed his hand. Nope. Not possible!
Vox maintained Grace’s eye-contact until she was once more compelled to converse with him. “What happened to his mother?”
“The asshole killed her when Alastor was just a young teenager.”
Grace’s heart lurched, her voice shaking as she said, “Please stop—”
“Once Alastor started killing, he got addicted to the fame it brought him. He got off on talking about his murders on the airwaves when he read the headlines about them.” Vox grinned wickedly. “Wanna know how he died?”
“No!”
“Oh, of course you do!” Vox tapped against the top center of his screen with a single teal talon. “Shot in the forehead by a hunter while burying the body of one of his victims in the woods.”
“Stop!” Grace sobbed. The thought of Alastor lying in a pool of his own blood, dying slowly, alone, brought on a level of despair unlike any Grace had ever known. “You’re torturing me, you monster!”
Vox sat back in his chair, releasing her from his hypnotic stare. “Pssh! I’m only having a little fun.” He shrugged. “At your expense.”
Grace’s tears ebbed in favor of a scowl.
She studied Vox in silence, considering just how much he seemed to know about the Radio Demon’s past.
And then she thought back to the moment Vox had stepped into the room and saw her dressed like Alastor. The look he’d had on his face, as if he’d been stabbed in the heart.
For Vox to know so much about Alastor—assuming, of course, that he was a reliable source of intel—the two demon Overlords obviously had a positive history. At least at some point, they did. And yet were now arch enemies?
Ho … ly shit. Vox is as obsessed with Alastor as I am!
So she tested her theory. “When’s his birthday?”
“November 13th.”
There hadn’t been a second’s hesitation. MmmmmmHM.
Vox said, “If you think you can change Alastor—”
Spoken like someone who’s tried doing exactly that and failed spectacularly. “Oh, I know by now I can’t,” Grace interrupted him, standing with a sneer. “Nor do I want to. But the big difference between you and me, here? I think Alastor is perfect the way he is. All you’ve succeeded in proving to me this morning is just how obsessed you are with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do with my day, and you can kindly go fuck yourself.”
Grace was too infuriated to notice Vox didn’t stop her from leaving Vee Tower, nor to wonder why he’d let her go so easily.
With each step she took while heading back to the hotel, she grew more and more incensed.
The hotel lobby was almost vacant when Grace stomped back in.
Kofax sat cross-legged on one of the couches, an iVox tablet in her hands. When the front door banged shut behind Grace, Kofax’s head whipped up. “There you ar—what the fuck are you doing?! If the Radio Demon sees you looking like that, he’ll tear you to shreds!”
Grace exhaled, some of her fury dissipating from her body in that breath. “I would only be so lucky.”
Kofax blinked, openly taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“What?” Grace’s skin started prickling. Panicked at the thought of Alastor seeing her dressed in attire he could easily perceive as mocking his style, Grace grabbed Kofax by the wrist and yanked her into the nearest closet.
It was crowded with cleaning supplies, leaving just enough room for the two women.
“Heh,” Kofax chuckled as their breasts squished against each other. “I can practically hear the bow-chicka-wow-wow.”
“Don’t you think I know how bad this outfit would look to him if he saw it?” Grace hissed. “I’m gonna have Charlie destroy this as soon as I’m out of it.”
Her voice low, Kofax asked, “Girl, what even is going on with you lately?”
I’ve lost my fucking mind? “Don’t ask.”
“Now don’t get me wrong, that outfit is sexy as shit. I’d do you in a heartbeat.”
“Thanks?” Grace replied weakly. She wanted to burn it, run the ashes through a shredder, and then flush its shredded ashes down the toilet.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on or not?”
Grace sighed, sagging against the closet door. “The Sparknotes version is that Vox is torturing me.” She couldn’t very well tell Kofax about the so-called special talent she’d promised Alastor she would keep to herself. Nor did she want to relive her conversations with Vox. That left her with little she felt free to divulge.
“Clearly you’re withholding information,” Kofax replied slowly, “which tells me this is much worse than you’re making it out to be. In which case … We’ve gotta make Vox pay. I kinda wanna retaliate for that shitty update VoxTek pushed through on my tablet last week, anyway. I lost a full day’s worth of coding! Dick.”
“I can’t do anything to him,” Grace hissed. No doubt he’d seek revenge against Alastor, and as highly as Grace thought of Alastor, she had no way of knowing if the Radio Demon could actually hold his own against Vox. “My hands are tied!”
“Grace!” Kofax gasped. “Please tell me you didn’t sell your soul to him!”
“Oh, no, it’s not like that! I just mean … if I fought back, I know it would only make things worse.” Grace slowly straightened, another wicked idea forming in her head rapidly. “But you … you’re different. An untethered, independent contractor with a certain set of skills that I think I’d like to employ.”
“Just say the word,” said Kofax, “and it’s good as done.”
Next week, Chapter 18: The End to the Means
Stay sane, deer friends!
