No recommended listening for this one. I'm open to suggestions though so if you know of any music that fits with this chapter, by all means, share!

Nobody did anything with Grace’s name. At least, not immediately upon her divulging it. What they’d even do with it was anybody’s guess, but here in Hell, she was sure nothing good would come of them having it.

And, she realized, the towering merlot menace known as Alastor somehow already knew her name. The bastard had summoned her here like he already owned her. 

It was nothing short of reprehensible. 

The au-fucking-dacity of that demon!

His gaze didn’t stray from her, as if he was dissecting her visually. Nor did his grin falter. And none of this attention was the type of attention Grace was used to receiving, at least not while she was alive. This wasn’t sexy or sensual. It was plumb unnerving.

Grace forced herself to address Charlie even though she could feel Alastor’s stare attempting to dissolve her soul. He probably could do just that if he really wished to. “So …” Grace cleared her throat and whispered, “About this outfit—?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” With all the enthusiasm of a child going to a theme park, Charlie jumped up from her spot, grabbed Grace by her wrist, and hauled her back to her room.

While it accomplished the relieving feat of getting her out from under Alastor’s intense observation, Grace protested the whole way.

She wanted one outfit, just something that fit her and wasn’t what Niffty had selected from Angel’s closet.

So of course Charlie insisted on providing a full wardrobe. It did give her the excuse of not being downstairs with the rest of the sinners, which made it a little easier for Grace to let Charlie do this for her.

Plus, apparently, it was helpful for Charlie to test her powers.

Nonetheless, guilt gnawed at Grace’s stomach no matter how much Charlie told her it was a pleasure.

“As much as I’d love to have you downstairs meeting and getting to know everyone else … you really look like you could use some sleep,” said Charlie after nodding with satisfaction at the full closet. It was very colorful and she clearly had a propensity for silky fabrics.

Luckily for Grace, so did she.

Grace objected, albeit feebly. “I still don’t know where my cat went—” 

“Wubby?” Charlie confirmed.

Grace nodded.

“I’m sure she’ll pop back up before long. Don’t worry about it. Now you get some rest and I’m sure tomorrow will be a whole new day for you.”

Grace didn’t sleep much that night inasmuch as she succumbed to unconsciousness. She washed up again the next morning and selected her favorite of the garments Charlie had whipped up for her out of thin air: a flowing, off-the-shoulder pale plum blouse and a magenta pencil skirt that fell to just above her knees. It reminded her a bit of the sorts of things she would have worn as a teenager when she was alive. The kinds of things her parents would have hated; the type of outfit she wore that got her followed around a rural Walmart by a horny thirty-year-old man even though she was just fifteen.

That memory gave her pause; there was nobody at the hotel from which she wanted such attention.

There was nobody at the hotel who, as far as she could tell, would be interested in giving her such attention. She was safe.

Supposedly.

That obnoxious hunger she abhorred spurred Grace to leave her room in pursuit of a meal.

Charlie invited her to join them for brunch. After a heated internal debate, Grace submitted and joined the group—Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, Vaggie, and Charlie; noticeably and thankfully absent was Alastor.

While she ate, Grace listened and learned, contributing nothing to the conversation.

Husk seemed to be the ‘grumpy’ to Angel Dust’s ‘sunshine.’

Angel Dust seemed to be the horniest thing to ever exist—which was impressive considering that Grace’s libido was not one to be trifled with.

Vaggie seemed to be so head-over-heels in love with Charlie that Grace resented her a little; nobody had ever felt that way about her. And she’d been married. Not one of her conquests had shown even a sliver of that kind of adoration toward her no matter what she did for them.

Niffty, while adorable and tiny, seemed to be completely out of her ever-loving-little-mind. Charlie assured Grace that they were like forty percent sure Niffty was harmless. While Niffty was almost certainly some degree of nuts, Grace found it hard to believe she could so much as hurt a fly.

Charlie was easily the least objectionable of the group—although Grace questioned the princess’s sanity a little bit. How could someone reside in this place for so long and be so optimistic? Chipper? Generous? Nice?

As they wrapped up the meal, Angel Dust pried into Grace’s existence; Charlie reminded him gently of past lessons about boundaries.

The second time that attempt was made, it was Vaggie to come to Grace’s defense.

A third time wasn’t the charm and with an apologetic, silent look to Charlie, Grace excused herself and holed up once more in her room.

The bed was comfy but too spacious. It made Grace feel vulnerable and only served to amplify her loneliness. 

She thought to turn on the television but couldn’t think of anything she’d want to watch. Her gaze slid over to the end table where a cathedral-style antique tube radio sat and buzzed quietly. Grace’s eyes narrowed; no fucking way that thing had been there previously. She would have noticed something like that.

It reminded her of the heirloom that used to sit upon the mantel at her paternal grandfather’s house.

Grace had only vague memories of her early childhood anymore; Grampa Bedgood placing her on his knee with that radio playing quietly while regaling her of stories from his own childhood.

Huh.

She stared at the radio, trying to recall what any of her grandfather’s stories were about. He liked to talk of what they did to entertain themselves as, he always said, ‘the current generation strays further from God.’

As far as he’d been concerned, radio was the height of amusement.

Grace, being a quintessential ‘80s girl, favored her Walkman. But boy had she loved the attention lavished on her by her grampa. He’d be so disappointed to see his precious little granddaughter now.

For a moment, she considered turning on this radio to see what noise it would produce. But probably radio broadcasts in Hell would be filled with nothing but wails and moaning and the gnashing of teeth. No, thank you.

And after her last interaction with a radio, Grace really didn’t want to mess with it.

She attempted a failed nap.

She played Minesweeper on her smartphone—because Hell just wasn’t torture enough already.

Eternity trapped in this room would drive her mad if she didn’t find some way to occupy her time. Maybe Charlie could conjure some books or games for her in addition to the clothing.

Ugh … I couldn’t! I’ve imposed on her enough already!

Grace paced around the foot of her bed, lapped the room. Went to the door numerous times and peered out through the peephole only to find an empty hallway. For such a nice place run by who was essentially a member of a royal family, why was it so vacant?

The afternoon dragged into the evening and Grace forced herself to go get dinner. It was the same group of souls around the same table.

Angel eyed her the whole time but didn’t bother to probe her for—Grace assumed—fear of admonishment.

After dinner, the group went to spend time around the pool table near Husk’s bar. 

The thought of going up to her room and being alone again practically brought tears to Grace’s eyes so she followed the group instead, taking a seat at the bar. Even if she wouldn’t converse with anybody, at least she could get to know them a little better. 

Husk gave her space until she glanced his way with a forced, crooked little smile. 

“You want anything?” he asked.

Yes. No. I don’t know. Yes I do know. I know I don’t want to feel this way anymore.

I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to be lonely. I don’t want to be hopeless and think my every breath down here is a punishment. “Water, I guess, Just Husk.”

He chuckled but fulfilled her request. Setting the glass in front of her, Husk said with a wink, “Pace yourself. Wouldn’t want you getting drunk.”

“I’ll take it slow,” Grace replied, sipping the water.

About halfway through the glass, Grace felt like a lead weight had been draped across her shoulders. She thought to ask if this water was, in fact, water when she noticed tendrils of black clouds curling around the base of her chair.

She whipped around, tumbling out of her seat to put distance between herself and Alastor, who had materialized a foot or two from the back of her chair. Grace stood, leaning on the edge of the bar to keep from collapsing under her own weight.

At the commotion, everyone turned to watch.

Grace glanced at Charlie although she pointed at Alastor. “If you want me staying here, you’re gonna have to put a bell on that thing!”

Although Alastor grinned, his eyes narrowed on Grace. He may have been smiling but something screamed malice about the way he regarded her.

Oh, fuck me.

Vaggie crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled heavily. “Do you think, for just once in your afterlife, Alastor, you could just … not … be creepy?”

Angel Dust sidled over to the bar. “Five bucks says he kills her before the end of this week.”

Charlie chided, “Angel!” She physically put herself between Alastor and Grace, offering the latter an apologetic smile.

“Aw come on, no takers?” Angel laughed.

Vaggie shot him eye daggers in the ensuing silence and he sobered promptly.

Grace took the opportunity to scoot to the far end of the bar where Husk wasted no time in offering her another drink, again to settle her nerves.

Perhaps being perpetually drunk was the way everyone coped with being in Hell.

Husk didn’t wait for Grace to accept his offer and just made the drink anyway, depositing it in front of her on the bar.

She picked up the glass but then hesitated; she was trembling, but realized in dismay that it wasn’t in terror. 

This was exhilaration.

Grace got an odd little thrill that lingered in her bones from the fear imparted by Alastor. 

What … the … fuck.

‘The fuck’ is that I’m feeling again. And it’s something other than depression.

Sure, her heart raced, but was this a negative feeling? Not as much as she would have guessed.

Holy shit I’m fucked up. Not that this was news to her.

Nonetheless, Grace drank. She didn’t want to appear an ingrate or let the drink go to waste, especially when she realized how tasty it was.

This concoction was stronger than last night’s. Vaggie had to help Grace stagger her way back to her room.

Grace locked the door and then rested against it for a few moments, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for Hell to stop tilting around her. When she opened them again, she gasped; there was a furry yin yang in the middle of her bed.

The yang portion of the taijitu popped up its head. “Wubby! There you are!” The yin portion popped up a head at Grace’s exclamation. “And … you must be KeeKee.”

She expected the cats to abandon her when she flopped onto the bed and burrowed beneath the covers. Maybe they did; Grace passed out before she had a chance to see.

She stirred some hours later in a darkened room but couldn’t recall turning out the lights. The dial on the radio beside her was alight with a green glow. She was too drowsy or maybe too drunk to make any fuss about it.

Instead, she repositioned herself only to discover KeeKee curled up at the small of her back and Wubby stretched out along her stomach. As she drifted off to sleep again, she caught a glimpse of what sure appeared to be a tall, slender, three-dimensional shadow in the corner of her room. Glowing red eyes and a yellow-fanged smile disappeared into the darkness.

She couldn’t recall turning off the lights but she was certain she’d locked her door. There was nobody in there with her except the cats, and the fact that they both slept soundly was proof enough that they were alone.

Confident that it was nothing more than a hallucination or maybe the lingering memory of a previous dream, Grace fell back asleep.

Some rest—or, more accurately, numerous hours of unconsciousness—did Grace’s weary soul a world of good.

There was far less hesitation or debate prior to leaving her room that morning even if she had little to no intention of interacting with any of the hotel’s residents. Her stride down the stairs slowed as she heard raised voices coming from the bar.

Heated debates in Hell had to be extra heated and this one did not sound like the exception to the rule.

“Oh, now, don’t be such a sourpuss!” Alastor laughed with his radio-filtered voice.

Grace reached the bottom of the staircase, pausing with a hand on the banister. There was Husk, behind the bar as always, and Alastor leaning over it in challenge, his red eyes twinkling in delight. Grinning.

She approached on tiptoe, hoping to go unnoticed.

Husk, unshaken, challenged Alastor right back. Even if Alastor had a solid foot on Husk’s height, that sure didn’t stop Husk from getting in his face with a growl. “I knew I should’ve sold my soul to Vox, you psychopath!”

Alastor chuckled but sounded not at all like he thought Husk’s response was humorous. “Excuse me?”

“I know you heard me.”

With lightning quick reflexes, Alastor’s arm shot out toward Husk.

Grace couldn’t withhold a gasp but neither seemed to hear her.

Husk, of course, did what cats do when imperiled: he swiped, claws fully extended.

Alastor recoiled, scowling as he studied the bleeding wound and his torn sleeve. “You ripped my jacket.” His gaze darted back to Husk. “Do you remember what I did to Pentious for less?” 

“Boss—” Husk started, Grace supposed, to apologize. But it was too late.

Alastor lashed out at him.

“No!” Grace cried, rushing to somehow intervene. “Alastor, stop!” She slapped her hand on his arm. Over his fresh wound.

He whipped around to address her, red sclera now black. His irises and pupils resembled radio dials. Alastor was in the process of assuming his full demonic form and Grace had her hand clamped around his fresh wound. She couldn’t possibly have been more within striking distance of whatever this sinner was actually capable of doing.

And she held her ground. He could dispatch her without any effort whatsoever, no doubt, but Grace was determined to make her last act in Hell easing the pain of another soul even if he was the last one who deserved such mercies.

Husk watched in horror. “Please—don’t hurt her—” he whispered, both body and voice trembling violently.

Grace released Alastor, fighting the instinct to step back. You don’t scare me, you stupid, scary demon!

Alastor covered his arm the moment she removed her hand, then lifted his palm just enough to peer at the injury before covering it back up. 

She knew she’d healed it during that contact. Why was he concealing it?

Alastor’s eyes narrowed on Grace before he said to Husk, “For by Grace, you have been saved.” Without another word, he retreated, his gaze lingering on her as he excused himself from the bar.

“Grace,” Husk breathed though his eyes tracked Alastor. “You shouldn’t have done that! He could’ve torn your soul to shreds.”

“I know,” she replied impulsively. She didn’t know, although she did, somehow. What she knew about Alastor and what she risked just now also hardly mattered. And there it was again; her thundering pulse.

Holy Hell that felt good.

“I owe you one.”

“No. You don’t.” Grace glanced at Husk once Alastor was out of the room. She slumped into a chair at the bar before her legs had the chance to give out on her. “What … did he mean by that? ‘For by Grace, you have been saved?’”

Husk wrinkled his little heart-shaped black nose. “Last time I heard something like that was at church. Can’t believe someone like him would know any such thing.”

“Is everything okay?” Charlie asked, descending the staircase. “I thought I heard yelling.”

Husk reached over and patted Grace atop her right hand. The same hand that moments before had been wrapped around the arm of the scariest thing Grace had ever known. “All good here,” he replied, winking at Grace.

Did they have some sort of inside joke now? She found no part of that exchange particularly amusing. Nonetheless, she echoed weakly, “All good here.”

Charlie joined them at the bar. It took the briefest glance to remark, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I almost was a ghost, I think. “I’m fine,” lied Grace.

“Did you sleep okay?”

Grace nodded. “I slept like the dead.” Despite herself, despite how her morning had gone, how the last couple days had gone, she actually laughed.

“No pressure, but we’re all going to get together to chat after lunch. Just an informal gathering but … it’d be great if you joined us,” Charlie offered.

Will Alastor be there? Nope. Not gonna ask that. She mocked herself, ‘Well I can’t go. Alastor might be there.’ Pathetic!

She said, simply, “I’ll think about it.”

Charlie gave her a small smile. “Good. That’s a start!”

A start? For what? The fuck did I walk into? But Grace was too scared to ask; she assumed she’d find out eventually.

Grace didn’t join the informal gathering. Instead, she skulked around the hotel, looking. Learning. Observing. She didn’t know what she might find, nor what she was hunting for, but figured if she was staying here a while—like she had any other option?—it wouldn’t be a bad idea to know her way around, to find escape routes and hiding spots. Points of general interest. Things to steer clear of. 

She knew one of those things already.

The hotel had a beautiful pool that Grace briefly entertained visiting. Not today. Not anytime in the near future, but maybe someday. She used to love swimming. 

In addition to the pool, the hotel also boasted some lovely balconies that overlooked the far-less-lovely Pentagram City. She stepped outside to take in the view at the second she encountered; pillars of smoke billowed, she thought, from the general vicinity of where her old apartment was.

Ignoring the misery of Hell below, it was actually nice there. The solitude, for once, didn’t feel like loneliness. She felt at peace.

Then Grace’s heart skipped a beat; her solitude no longer felt quite so solitary. She turned at the feeling of being watched only to find Alastor backlit in the doorway leading into the hotel.

She glanced over the railing. If the fall from there didn’t kill her dead, she’d surely wished it would.

Oh shit. I’m trapped!

“Hello, Grace darling,” he purred, his head tilted slightly to the side at an angle that couldn’t have been pleasant for him.

She failed to respond, instead desperately trying to figure out how she could bypass him. Grace sidled along the balcony wall, her hand dragging on the railing behind her as she gauged just how much room there was between Alastor and the door frame. How did he take up so much of that space? Was he even bigger than she thought? 

Not possible!

There was just enough space to his left and if she darted at top speed, she could squeeze by—

But he caught her, hand gripping the frame just above her head, effectively pinning her against the doorjamb. 

Grace felt impossibly tiny and it was far too late to hide her apprehension. Her skin prickled with his proximity, as if the radio static he emitted was giving her physical goosebumps.

“Listen, my dear,” he said, coiling a bit of her blue hair around his index finger before tugging it gently, “let's keep your little talents just between us, shall we?”

She swallowed hard and despite the dread rushing through her veins, Grace puffed out her chest and challenged him. “Why?”

“Why?” He chuckled. Once. But his perpetual smile looked, at the moment, almost genuine. “I wouldn't trust anyone not to take advantage of you.”

Chapter 2: Stuck between Charybdis and Scylla

Chapter 4: Grace Under Pressure

Stay sane, deer friends!