To Sever a Loveless Bond
••RadioDust Soulmate AU••
Part 20/?
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•••
Well, this took longer than intended. Y’all have no idea how much I love all of you and how grateful I am for your patience.
CW: implied cannibalism, electrocution, more Valentino-typical physical abuse, Stolas talking legal talk
•••
“The fuck you mean, he’s gone?”
“I mean he’s gone.” Niffty shrugged at Cherri, not sure exactly how else she should have phrased it. Cherri and Husk were both staring down at her, clearly riding the emotional high that had been building during their (inevitable) fight, and Niffty thought they both looked like they’d had a rug pulled out from underneath them. It would have been pretty funny if Niffty wasn’t feeling so concerned about Alastor. “I went to his room and he isn’t there.”
“Who’s gone?” a man’s voice called from above them. Niffty looked up to the balcony, where those two married imps were looking down at them with concern.
“Alastor, apparently,” Cherri called back.
“Alastor’s gone?” Arackniss called, from the other side of the lobby.
“For fuck’s sake, yes, Alastor is not in the building!” Husk said in a loud voice that was as close as he ever got to yelling. Niffty watched both Millie and Moxxie look back behind them as Charlie, way down the second floor hallway, yelled something muffled that Niffty couldn’t understand (but was probably a question asking if Alastor was gone).
Everyone gathered in the bar area, Charlie descending the stairs two at a time in a little leaping run that was one of the few goat-like quirks she ever showed. Once she reached the bar, Charlie held her hands out, palms down, and looked around at all of them. “What happened?”
Immediately, Cherri and Husk looked at Niffty, and everyone followed their lead. She blinked a couple of times, not used to having this level of undivided attention from people. “…uhm. Well, I— Cherri said I should keep an eye on Alastor,” she said, pointing at the other sinner.
“Yeah, to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid!” Cherri said, before turning to the princess. “Blitzø and Vaggie went to take Angie’s contract to that prince. I thought it would be a good idea to make sure Alastor didn’t fuck anything up.”
“He wouldn’t—” Charlie began, almost like a reflex, before she amended, “We don’t know he’s… doing anything he shouldn’t be doing. He could be… y’know…” She trailed off under the weight of Husk’s withering stare, clearing her throat instead. “Niffty, how do you know he’s gone? Did you see him leave?”
“No,” Niffty said. “But I know he isn’t here.” She looked pointedly at Husk, who abruptly glanced away from her. “Right?”
“…” Husk closed his eyes, sighing. “…she’s right.”
Charlie looked between the two of them, her expression torn. “…okay. Okay, I’ll trust the two of you. So… if he isn’t here, where is he?”
“He’s probably goin’ to VoxTek,” Arackniss said from his perch on the corner of the bar.
Almost immediately, Charlie did a double-take, like she hadn’t even realized he was there. “…what?”
Arackniss frowned at her, folding two of his arms on his bent knees (how he was able to make crouching in a suit look badass, Niffty couldn’t understand). “When I was gettin’ Tony’s contract outta Valentino’s office, Valentino came in, mutterin’ some shit about Alastor. I dunno what he was doin’, but he got somethin’ outta his desk and made some kinda remark about darin’ the Radio Demon to ignore him now. I figure he did somethin’ to bait the guy into goin’ out there.”
Cherri looked at him. “So the fuck do we do?”
“I don’t think none of us are in a position to stop an angry overlord from pickin’ a fight with three other overlords, exceptin’ the princess here,” Arackniss allowed, nodding towards Charlie.
“That would… not be a good idea,” Charlie said, twisting her fingers together nervously. “Plus, I’m not actually allowed to interfere with overlord disputes until they start getting out of hand. Alastor has every right to fight the Vees if that’s what he wants to do, it’s how the overlord system works.”
“So we can’t do anything?” Niffty asked, staring up at Charlie and feeling the distress mounting inside her at the idea of not being able to help Alastor.
Almost immediately, Charlie knelt down and placed her hands on Niffty’s shoulders. “Hey hey hey,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’s okay, Niffty, I promise we’ll think of something.”
“We need t’ wait for Blitzø t’ get back,” Millie said, looking at Moxxie. “It… it won’t take that long for Prince Stolas t’ find a loophole, will it?”
“If there is a loophole,” Moxxie said, a little pessimistically, before he added, “Of course, if Valentino wrote it himself, I don’t think that will be a problem. He seems pretty…”
“Stupid?” Arackniss supplied dryly.
“Yeah, basically.”
“If he got one of the other two to write it for him, it’ll be a bigger problem,” Husk said. “But Valentino’s vain and an idiot, I wouldn’t be surprised if his pride didn’t let him.”
Niffty sniffled, rubbing her hand underneath her nose. Read the room, Noriko. “What do we do if Prince Stolas doesn’t find anything?”
“Then we’ll figure something else out,” Charlie promised. “We aren’t just going to leave Alastor and Angel on their own. Okay?”
Niffty didn’t feel any better, but she nodded anyway. “…okay.”
As they all split off to discuss whatever their next moves were, Husk looked down at her, his frown softer than it had been. “…hey, Niff. Wanna reorganize the bar supplies?”
Niffty stared up at him, blinking. “…you never let me behind the bar.”
“Yeah, for good reason.” When he stopped there and didn’t withdraw the question, Niffty nodded hesitantly, and he waved her back. “Okay. Come on, before I change my mind.”
Niffty almost smiled as she scampered back behind the bar, ready to take Husk’s absolutely nonsensical organizational system and make it reasonable. It wasn’t a perfect distraction, but it was something, at least. And at this point, she was grateful for anything.
•••
Hell had an extremely complicated caste system, when you tried to figure out how power was distributed and what territories and domains in this place actually were. Back when Vaggie had been an exorcist, learning the intricacies of Hell’s hierarchy, she had it emphasized to her time and again that no one besides sinners were to be harmed. Because of this, she had been given only cursory information on the Hellborn that dwelt outside of the Pride ring; she knew the names of the Princes and their domains, of course, as well as what the Goetia were and the names of a few key members of their nobility. Outside of that, she had been taught very little, and as her time in Hell had been mostly devoted to doing what she could to keep Charlie out of trouble, she felt no more prepared for meeting a Goetian prince than she would have when she first arrived in this place.
Prince Stolas, Vaggie knew, was the only notable child of King Paimon and kept watch over the movements of stars and planets as his domain. It was a prophetic position, some said, or at least as close to prophetic as anything could possibly be; that kind of power made Vaggie nervous.
Blitzø didn’t seem to have that same problem.
“How do you know a Goetian prince again?”
“It’s a long fucking story,” Blitzø said unhelpfully, his eyes on the high stone wall that surrounded the property of the manor house that sat a short distance outside of Pentagram City.
“But he’s a friend of yours,” Vaggie guessed, one eyebrow raised as she watched the imp begin scaling the wall.
Blitzø made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a grunt of effort. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Uh-huh. Why aren’t we going through the gate?”
“Because,” Blitzø said, grabbing onto the top of the wall, “I am an imp, you are a nobody, and we are not supposed to be trespassing on Goetian royal grounds in the middle of the night. Besides, he’s in the middle of a divorce and his harpy of a wife might be keeping tabs on the building and I don’t wanna deal with the bullshit drama that’d follow if that’s the case.” He hauled himself up, crouching on the stone. “It’s fine, this is how I alw—shit…!” The last word came out as a squeak as he lost his balance, toppled over the wall, and landed in what sounded like some plants.
Vaggie sighed, then crouched and leaped up, landing on the top of the wall. She looked down at where Blitzø was gracelessly detangling himself from a plant that looked suspiciously like it was either trying to cuddle him or eat him. “Need help?”
“I am a very capable young woman.”
“Wonderful.” She jumped down, landing silently on the grass and waiting for him to roll out of the foliage. While he uttered a long string of curses, most of which Vaggie had never heard before, she examined the house. It was so… weird, how much even Hellborn architecture looked like shit that she could have easily seen in life. Demon or not, even she could tell this guy was absolutely loaded.
But I guess it wouldn’t be Hell if it didn’t have rich people.
Blitzø stumbled up next to her, brushing soil off of his coat. “Okay, all good. See that balcony?” he asked, pointing up and drawing her eye to a large stone platform jutting out of the wall, beyond which she could see two open doors that led into a dark room.
“…we’re not breaking into his bedroom, are we?” Vaggie asked as they darted across the lawn as quietly as they could.
“No, of course not,” Blitzø said, taking hold of the trellis and grinning at her. “The door’s open, we’re just walking in.”
Vaggie resisted the urge to groan as the imp began scaling the trellis with impressive speed. “I see why your employees always seem so pissed at you,” she hissed before she began following him up.
The bedroom beyond the balcony, while dark, looked… grand, but kind of gloomy. Vaggie thought it looked like a place you’d hole yourself up in during a bout of depression, naturally just making the depression worse. Blitzø crossed the balcony to the open doors, leaning in and knocking on the wood door frame a couple of times. “Stolas,” he hissed, knocking again. “Hey. Stols. Are you awake?”
Stols? Vaggie thought with a frown. He’s given a Goetian prince a nickname but claims they’re not friends?
From the bed, she heard a quiet groan, followed by a soft muttering, and finally a shriek as four glowing red eyes opened. “Oh my stars!!”
“Whoa!” Blitzø came a couple of steps into the room, holding his hands out. “Whoa, whoa, chill, Stolas, it’s just me!”
“Bl… Blitzy…?” a smooth and somewhat foppish tenor asked curiously, almost disbelievingly. Blitzy?? The lamps flared to life at once, and Vaggie winced, shielding her eye from the sudden light. When she opened it again, she saw an extremely tall, owl-like demon tying a silk robe closed and smoothing down the feathers on top of his head. “Whatever are you doing here? It… it isn’t—”
“It isn’t about that,” Blitzø said before Vaggie learned whatever ‘it’ was. “…oh, right. Stolas, this is Vaggie, Princess Charlie’s girlfriend or whatever.”
“Oh!” Stolas was now staring at her, his eyes wide. “I— I see— hello,” he said, brimming with awkwardness. Vaggie just nodded, feeling that awkwardness herself. “So… um… if it— if it isn’t…” He cleared his throat, then straightened himself into what seemed an attempt at a more dignified posture, the effect somewhat ruined by his robe and still-ruffled feathers. “What is it, then? It must be important, if you would come out here in the middle of the night.”
There was a lot hiding in that sentence, but Vaggie could only feel the weight of the implications; she didn’t understand the tension in the room, or why Blitzø was showing the first signs of caution that she had seen from him. His head was tilted down just slightly, though he maintained eye contact, and his tail sharply lashed behind him in quick and agitated, but brief, movements. “I need to ask you to… do something for me,” Blitzø said, after what sounded like a lot of thought.
“Of course,” Stolas said, surprise flickering across his face for a moment.
“You’re good with contracts, right?” Blitzø asked. “Fizz told me you helped Ozzie out when he had that kidnapping incident.”
Stolas stared at him for a long moment, and Vaggie thought he looked surprised… or, perhaps, like he was processing something. “…I… did provide assistance to Lord Asmodeus, yes. You require help with a contract?”
Blitzø didn’t address the obvious question—namely, why are you referring to the Prince of Lust so casually—and instead pulled out Angel’s contract from inside his coat. “I need to know if there’s a loophole in this.”
Stolas took it carefully, but he didn’t open it right away. Instead, he said, “…both of you, come with me.” He then turned, walking to the door and out of the room without bothering to make sure they were following.
Vaggie caught the way Blitzø rolled his eyes, a movement so quick she wasn’t even sure he was aware of doing it, as they both followed the Goetian prince out the door and down the hallway. The whole place felt so hollow and cold, lacking a sense of warmth that Vaggie believed was the most important thing to making a place a home. It didn’t help that all of the portraits had been covered with white cloths, as well as what looked like statuary and other decor.
Blitzø seemed to notice that, as well, and it appeared to be unusual enough for him to comment on it. “…what’s up with the fabric?”
“Hm? Oh,” Stolas said, his voice flippant and disinterested. “The household is relocating to another building.”
“…you’re moving?” Blitzø asked, surprised.
“I suppose you could call it that,” Stolas said. “This place is, after all, still technically the property of my father. With Stella gone, there is no one to object, and since Via has reached her own age of majority, it shouldn’t interfere with her affairs either.”
“…ah,” Blitzø said, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. He did, however, whisper to Vaggie, “I don’t blame him, Paimon’s a dick.” Vaggie bit down on her tongue to stifle a surprised snort of amusement, but Stolas didn’t appear to be listening anyway.
They followed him through a set of double doors and into something like a library with a planetarium model set into a recess in the ceiling, hanging low enough to dominate the upper half of the room’s visual real estate. Stolas went to the desk and sat, opening up the contract and beginning to give it a cursory once-over. It wasn’t long before he spoke again. “…ah, Blitzy, darling?”
“Mm,” Blitzø answered, his back to them as he looked around the room.
“Would you care to tell me why, precisely, it is that you are in possession of Angel Dust’s soul contract with the Vees?”
“Long story,” Blitzø said. “And I’ll explain when I have more time, but long story short, I promised the Radio Demon that I’d get you to look at it for some kind of loophole in exchange for him not eating my entrails while alive.”
Stolas opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and he just stared at Blitzø’s back. When the imp didn’t continue, Vaggie spoke, drawing the prince’s attention. “Angel’s been… kidnapped isn’t really the right word,” she said. “But he’s being held at VoxTek, and that’s a really big problem for Alastor for reasons I don’t feel prepared to go into. Plus, he’s… y’know. He’s our friend. We were hoping that you might be able to find a way to get his contract… broken, or invalidated, or something so that Valentino can’t force him to stay there anymore.”
Stolas’s expression softened a little. “…I see.” He turned to the contract again, frowning faintly. “This contract is quite old. Decades. That’s… highly unusual, for a sinner soul contract.”
Vaggie raised an eyebrow. “…is it?” she asked. “I thought making a contract for your soul was usually permanent.”
“If a living human makes a deal with one of the less scrupled Hellborn, that isn’t uncommon,” Stolas said. “But all overlords in Pentagram City hold soul contracts. Typically, they’re comparable to indentured service; a sinner contracts their soul to an overlord in exchange for a benefit for the duration of the contract, and in exchange, the overlord becomes the sinner’s… employer, you could say. Normally, the overlord will either set a length of time or a monetary value, and the contract will be over when either the allotted time has passed or the sinner has repaid the set value.”
Vaggie frowned. “…what does Angel’s contract say?”
“Well… according to this, the value of his soul is… open for reevaluation,” Stolas said. “Which suggests that the price could be modified an indefinite number of times to prevent the contract from ending.”
Vaggie’s frown deepened. “…that doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s quite an unfair contingency,” Stolas agreed. He then sighed. “You two should make yourselves comfortable. You may look at any of the books I have if you would like, but it might take me a while to locate a weak point in this text.”
“Thank you,” Vaggie said, turning away and pulling out her phone. She fired off a quick text to Charlie, letting her know that Stolas was looking for a loophole, and then wandered over to the bookshelf for want of something else to do.
It had already been a long night, and it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon.
•••
When the alarm first flared to life, Angel was asleep.
It wasn’t a sound sleep by any means. It wasn’t restful, and it certainly wasn’t peaceful. How he had managed to drift off, he wasn’t precisely sure, but his dreams were strange and obtuse and filled with odd symbolism that left him with no specific memories, only an aching sense of cold dread as he was jarred into wakefulness. For a long moment, he had no idea where he was; his first thought was his own bed, with some bizarre siren going off somewhere in the hotel, and his second thought was that he was in— someone else’s.
But the first one didn’t feel right, and even in his hazy state, he knew the second was no longer possible.
The vague scent of smoke and static burn in the air, coupled with the electric blue accent lighting cutting through the darkness, immediately set Angel right. I’m in VoxTek. But he had known that, of course, because that was where he was always going to be now. At least he had been left to his slumber on the couch, a small mercy that he was more than willing to embrace at this point.
The alarm blared again, and Angel looked up, finally fully registering what it meant; something was attacking the building. “What the fuck…?” Far below, he heard the sounds of breaking glass and screaming, and it was getting steadily closer, like whatever was happening was climbing throughout the station.
Angel didn’t hesitate. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t stay put or go seek somewhere safe, but he vaulted off the couch and bolted from the room in nothing but the sweater he had been allowed to stave off the chill. The sounds were still below him, so he headed for the stairwell, jumping down a flight at a time until it sounded close enough that he headed through the doors into the hall and down towards one of the filming studios. Angel shoved his way inside and into the huge, darkened room, dodging equipment until he reached the center and looking around quickly.
Apparently, he had come into the main newsroom, Katie Killjoy’s very particular set preferences still in place from the filming likely done earlier that evening. There was no one there now, of course, but the room was set up for the next morning, cameras still in place and sound equipment ready to be fired up. But there was nothing else, no sign of anything that was causing that much noise and panic throughout the building. It was so close, though, so Angel knew it couldn’t be far. He saw the doors on the other side of the studio, and had just started moving when he heard a loud and heavy thud against the wall.
Angel gasped, staggering backwards as whatever it was crashed against the wall again, then again, cracks appearing and plaster raining down until the entire thing broke. Angel watched a large, spindly hand reach out and grab the broken edge of the wall, sharp claws digging gouges as the hand tightened its grip and leveraged the rest of the body inside.
It was something Angel had only seen once, when Mimzy had led her loan sharks to the hotel; but back then, Alastor had only grown as large as he felt he needed to, and he had been somewhat jubilant in his violence. But the figure that clawed its way into the studio was much larger, and so, so very angry.
“…Alastor…” Angel whispered, watching as the monstrous and savage form of the Radio Demon dragged itself out of the wall and swept a camera out of its way with an impatient hand. If he stood up to his full height, his antlers would have dug into the studio’s ceiling, said antlers grown sharp and tangled like an angry bramble plant. Blood dripped from his teeth and down his chin, staining his claws and spattered all over his face and coat. His eyes looked at once sharp and completely unfocused, radio dials twitching and flicking madly against the deep black of his sclera. Angel knew that Alastor could have killed him without a thought, but that wasn’t on his mind as he ran forward. “Alastor!!”
Instantly, that giant and terrifying face swiveled on a too-flexible neck to stare at him, eyes unblinking and furious grin stretched wide enough to show rows of brilliant green stitching at the corners. He didn’t immediately strike, however, dropping onto his hands and knees as Angel approached. An animalistic noise, something between a growl and a hiss, was the only sound he made as he lowered his head to stare at the spider demon.
If Angel was sane, he would have run. Alastor was one of the most dangerous entities in the entire Pride ring, an overlord infamous for the simple rumor of devouring other overlords. But Angel knew he couldn’t have possibly been sane, because he didn’t stop until he collapsed onto his own knees right in front of the Radio Demon, breathing hard from exertion and the still-present panic waking up to the blaring alarm had caused. Alastor’s growl was a low rumble deep in his chest that felt like it shook the studio floor, and Angel slowly looked up, staring into those terrifying eyes as their dials shivered in preparation to start spinning again.
Angel was good at not letting himself think, and that was what he did as he raised two of his hands and cupped Alastor’s monstrous face as best he could. “Alastor,” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. The Radio Demon’s skin felt oddly cold to the touch. “You weren’t supposed to come here.”
Alastor didn’t speak. Angel wasn’t positive he even could in his current state. His only answer was another growl, but even as the sound rumbled through the studio… slowly, gently, he leaned his head into Angel’s hand. His breath was labored and smelled like he might have eaten half of the employees downstairs, but Angel couldn’t make himself care. Tears fell freely as he stroked Alastor’s cheek, the growl turning into something closer to a purr.
Angel wanted to ask Alastor what the fuck he was doing there, what he was planning, what he was thinking, but he didn’t get the chance. Before he could open his mouth, he felt something familiar and hot and sharp around his throat just before his body was violently yanked backwards with a jerk hard enough to lift him entirely off the ground before he hit the concrete and began sliding across it as he was dragged. Immediately, the very little calm Alastor had found was gone, and he screamed, rearing up onto his feet again and flexing his claws.
Angel smelled Valentino before he felt him, the overlord seizing his hair and yanking him upwards without releasing his chain. “That worked better than I could have hoped,” Valentino said quietly, and he sounded much too smug and way too calm for someone who had the full attention of a furious Radio Demon. But Valentino didn’t run. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself.
Alastor began charging across the studio, knocking cameras and lights out of his way, sparks flying through the dark and casting brief, deep shadows across his face. Angel gasped sharply as Alastor reached out towards them, but he stopped, another scream escaping him… but this one was a shriek of pain. Beneath it, Angel heard the loud buzz of electricity and the hiss of burning flesh, and he saw flashes of electric blue light backlighting the Radio Demon in enormous flickering bursts. So strong was the surge that the sounds of electric thrumming throughout the building, always present at VoxTek, cut out with a dying whir as the entire building lost power. Angel screamed as best he could with the shackle still limiting his air intake, but he couldn’t do more than struggle against Valentino’s hold as Alastor collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud and the occasional bright spark of lingering static. Slowly, he began shrinking again, his body resuming its usual size and shape without his consciousness to maintain his shift. The emergency lights along the floors flickered and then came to life, casting their eerie blue glow across the scattered and ruined film equipment.
“Well,” Valentino said into the sudden empty silence, one that felt heavy and oppressive with the lack of any electronic noises at all around them. “That was certainly exciting.”
Footsteps echoed off the studio walls, and Angel tore his eyes from Alastor’s unresponsive form to the only source of illumination in the entire room besides the emergency lights. Vox’s face looked… passive, but annoyed, a sure sign that he was containing unbridled rage while in a public part of the building out of sheer force of habit. Behind him, Angel heard a soft and irritated murmur before a cell phone flashlight came on, Velvette following along behind him and casting around to examine the damage. “Good job on that, boys,” she observed. “So chuffed you decided to piss off the Radio Demon, we had far too much of the building intact for my liking.”
Vox didn’t look at her; his focus seemed split entirely between Alastor and Valentino. Between the glow from his face and from the floor lights, Angel could make out his arm as he reached up and flexed his hand, thick and heavy electrical cables pulling free from Alastor’s body with a sharp jerk that sent blood arcing through the air in their wake. Angel realized that must have been how Vox knocked him out; Alastor had been so enraged he hadn’t even noticed that Vox was there until the massive black cords had buried themselves into his flesh to deliver VoxTek’s entire electrical supply straight into him.
“Val,” Vox said, his voice clearly struggling to maintain its control. “What. The fuck. Did you do?”
Valentino didn’t seem bothered by Vox’s obvious rage. He released Angel’s hair, but not his chain, and the spider collapsed to the floor at Valentino’s feet as that chain kept him anchored in place. “Exactly what you wouldn’t,” he said easily. “And it worked, didn’t it? Something finally encouraged Alastor to enter VoxTek.”
Vox’s facial graphics glitched briefly as his lip curled. “We wanted him to come here,” he said, before he gestured around sharply with one thrown out hand. “We didn’t want him fucking destroying everything! We’re lucky the goddamn building didn’t collapse on top of us, Val!”
“You got what you wanted,” Valentino said with an odd air of coldness that Angel wasn’t used to hearing him use with Vox. “And look, he’s incapacitated and my pet is in one piece. Looks like we both win, doesn’t it?”
Vox looked at him, his left eye twitching a couple of times. “…you cannot comprehend how badly I want to kill you right now.”
“But you won’t,” Valentino said, yanking Angel back to his feet. “You never do.”
“Wait,” Angel pleaded, as Valentino grabbed him by the upper arm. “What are you going to do to him?!”
Vox looked at Angel as though only just registering his presence. “That isn’t your concern.”
“Fuck you!” Angel yelled, yanking against Valentino’s grip ineffectually. “I won’t let you hurt him!!”
Vox actually smirked. “I don’t think either of you are in any condition to dictate anything.”
“Alastor!!”
Valentino’s grip tightened and he pulled, throwing Angel across the room away from Alastor. He landed on his back with a sharp cry, cracking one eye open and shoving himself backwards as Valentino advanced on him. “I have been so incredibly lenient with you, amorcito,” he snarled. “But it seems you didn’t learn anything from your last punishment. I think it’s time to rectify that.”
Valentino struck him across the face so hard his lip split and his vision blurred, Angel hitting the concrete floor again. He could just see Vox using cables to lift Alastor’s body from the floor before Valentino filled his vision again, grabbing him and hauling him up, and Angel wondered if he was ever going to see Alastor again.
He wondered if he was going to see anything at all after Valentino was done with him.
•••
Vaggie had a very bad feeling.
When she had been alive, she’d tried to chalk up those bad feelings to simple Catholicism-induced superstition, always treating them like nothing even when she was well aware that ignoring those feelings always led to something terrible happening. Since dying, however, she had learned that those feelings… they weren’t something to ignore.
She had them in Hell not infrequently, of course, since… well. It was Hell. But she still knew that, even in a place like this, she couldn’t just ignore it.
Concentrating on Stolas’s book collection, fascinating as it was, proved more and more impossible as time crawled on. Vaggie turned to pacing and checking her phone at a rate of roughly twice per minute, knowing that wouldn’t help anything or make things go faster but unable to stop herself. She felt like she was about to go insane when Stolas’s voice finally broke the silence. “Miss Vaggie, was it?”
Vaggie’s head shot up and she pivoted on her heel, approaching the desk. “Yeah. Yes,” she corrected, reminding herself that she needed to be polite here no matter how impatient she was feeling.
Stolas didn’t look at her, his eyes still on the contract. “You said Angel Dust is a friend of yours, so I trust you know him quite well. You are a resident at the Hazbin Hotel, correct?” Vaggie made an affirmative noise. “And I remember hearing that Angel Dust, too, moved into that place. Your… resident celebrity.”
“Yeah,” Vaggie said with a frown. “Why?”
“How long has he lived there?”
“I… guess about… nine months, now?” Vaggie guessed. The change in the extermination schedule had thrown off everyone’s perception of time.
“And how long has it been since he was taken back to VoxTek?” Stolas asked.
“Less than two days.”
Stolas nodded, then turned the contract, pointing to part of it… particularly a word that Vaggie didn’t know. “Much of this contract contains some extremely archaic language,” Stolas said. “It seems as though, in a bid to make it as iron-clad as possible, Valentino pulled from old Goetian tradition rather than simply relying on sinner terminology.”
“What does that mean?” Vaggie asked, wishing (not for the first time) that she hadn’t dropped out of high school to work when she was a teenager.
“It means that this contract is non-standard, but this clause here is the relevant portion,” Stolas said. “The intention of this clause is that the one who holds Angel Dust’s soul contract, or Valentino himself, is the only one who can set the value of his soul. It also grants him sole right to change that value whenever he wishes. But the phrasing…” Stolas tapped the word Vaggie didn’t recognize. “This word here, aheydrun, doesn’t have a modern Hellish direct translation, but the closest approximation is ‘keeper’. However, an aheydrun is one who holds and controls a residence; its use in contracts is that it granted power, ultimately, to the master of the house in question. During the time Angel Dust lived at VoxTek, provided he resided within Valentino’s quarters, that would make Valentino the aheydrun as specified by the contract.”
Vaggie stared at him. “…but Angel is at VoxTek again.”
Stolas shook his head. “Irrelevant,” he said. “According to Goetian legal tradition, once the contracted soul has lived under a different master of the house for a period of seven black moons, the contracted power of aheydrun passes to them.”
Blitzø, who apparently had snuck up when Vaggie wasn’t looking, put his chin on Stolas’s desk. “What’s that mean in one dollar words, Stolas?”
“A black moon is another phrase for a new moon, which happens once per lunar cycle,” Stolas said. “It means that, per Angel Dust’s contract, if he has lived in the Hazbin Hotel for seven months or more, the power to determine the value of his soul has already passed from Valentino to Charlotte Morningstar. The fact that he’s no longer at the hotel won’t affect this for another seven months.”
Vaggie stared at him. “…but… but if that were true, wouldn’t… wouldn’t it already be broken? The contract, I mean.”
“If Princess Charlotte has not reevaluated his soul, no, it will have remained at whatever Valentino’s last determination was.”
Vaggie looked from Stolas to the contract. “…you mean… if Charlie says that the worth of Angel’s soul is lower than the amount of money he’s made for VoxTek through his movies…”
“The contract will end immediately.”
“…I have to go,” Vaggie said. “Can I—”
“Of course,” Stolas said, offering the contract out to her.
Vaggie reached out, but didn’t take it immediately, instead clasping Stolas’s hand in both of hers the way she had seen Charlie do to other people before. “Thank you so much,” she said to the surprised Goetia. “I have no idea how Charlie’s going to want to repay you for this, but she will. Thank you.”
“Oh, she doesn’t…!” Stolas began, but Vaggie wasn’t listening, taking the contract and bolting out of the room. She heard Blitzø yell something after her, but didn’t slow down, taking the same path back the way they had come.
She ran out onto the balcony just as Blitzø caught up with her. “Fuck, you are fast!” he complained.
“That’s nothing compared to what you’re about to see.” She looked at him. “I have to move quickly. You coming?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Then get on my back.”
“What—”
“Now, Blitzø, I don’t have time!”
The imp scrambled up onto her back; he wasn’t all that much shorter than her, being as tall as he was, but he was so light she barely felt it. “Okay, now what?”
“Now, we move,” Vaggie said. She crouched, and she barely registered Blitzø’s cry of surprise as her wings unfurled from her back and she ran for the balcony railing. She jumped, landed briefly on the stone, and launched herself up into the air.
Don’t do anything else stupid, Alastor, she thought. It isn’t just Angel. I’m doing this for you, too.
Not that she would ever say any of that to either, of course. Some lines just didn’t need crossing.
•••
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