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It’s eighty-seven days until the next extermination. It’s fifty-three days until the next extermination. It’s twenty-six days until the next extermination.
It is seven days until the next extermination. The seraphim hadn’t come back to them with news of any changes after the court spat.
“He’s just standin’ there,” Angel Dust said, peering from around the corner near the bar. “Menacingly.”
Husk hovers below him, little clawed paws wrapped around the same wall. Beneath them, Niffty squints. Sir Pentious curls near them on the couch.
Alastor stands by the door.
“He is not–” starts Charlie, then she stops and looks at Alastor.
There isn’t any other explanation. Charlie had seen it this morning when she woke up and headed down the stairs. She saw it again now – Alastor, hovering near the door.
She tried to greet him in the morning when he was standing at the bottom of the stairs and staring endlessly forward at what she now realises was the door the entire time.
He responded to her how he did every other day if she said ‘hi’ first: cheerful, chipper, confident. He acted as if there wasn’t a looming extermination hanging over the heads of everyone in hell, as though the next seven days weren’t the last moments of some – none if she could help it.
So, blame her for not realising. She’d been busy.
As she thought could happen, a clutch of sinners gathered outside the hotel: clawing, biting, hissing – fighting for the chance of redemption before it was too late to avoid Heaven’s most vicious hoard yet. Or, they were fighting in general. The latter was more likely.
While focusing on the chaos outside and trying to find a way to contact Heaven again, she didn’t notice Alastor stayed rooted in one or two places all day. At one point, she knew she heard the sound of a radio playing, twisting a tune thinly in the air, but she never dwelled on it.
Alastor didn’t even react to anything. He just stared forward at the door, rarely blinking, grinning ear to ear.
And now, as of an hour ago, he strode to the doorway and stood beside it, to the right, similar to the way he stood waiting for Lucifer.
After his radio played, the outside cleared completely of all sinners. Charlie didn’t recognise the song he played. It was vaguely familiar, very vaguely.
Now, there was no noise outside.
Charlie checked. Everyone was gone–but there wasn’t an angel in sight. Extermination didn’t start early.
She turned her attention back to Alastor, who, for once, didn’t even acknowledge her. She stared at him for a moment longer, thinking.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie ran a hand through her hair, pacing back to the rest of the crew, “I don’t have the time to – Angel, can you keep an eye on–”
“Sure, sure,” Angel Dust waved his hand, “don’t sweat it. I was gonna anyway.”
“I will, as well,” Husk said, not from concern.
“Mhm, mhm!” Niffty nodded.
Charlie sighed. Their one hundred sixty-nine days off and on together had worked miracles. Now was one of those times where it showed most vividly.
“Thanks,” she said, “let me know if–” He does anything weird? If something suddenly bursts into flames? If Heaven imploded? Who knows.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Vaggie wandered from her side, stroking her arm. “Where did everyone go?”
“I don't–I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking her head. “But, I think…”
She glanced behind her.
Vaggie followed her gaze. “Something–feels strange. That–”
Charlie paced away from her, stroking her arms. “You don't think they’re coming even earlier, do you? Adam said,” she gasped, “They were coming to the hotel first.”
The crew’s heads all whipped around to face her, excluding Alastor.
“Um, excuse me?” Angel Dust asked.
The tune returned from before, thrumming with radio static. Then, it stopped. Alastor’s expression didn’t change.
Vaggie followed her, “No–knowing Adam, that was only to scare us. Charlie, listen to me. We have seven days to–”
“What in the hot hell is that noise?” Husk asked, his ears turning.
Everything stopped. They turned their attention to the door. Besides it, Alastor stood as he had for the past few hours – stationary. His expression was unmoving.
But his ears perk. They twist to and fro like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, searching.
Charlie watched him. She went to move towards him but stopped.
After a moment, Husk whispers, “I thought I heard something above us.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Angel responded, blinking. He looked towards the ceiling, “But I believe you.”
Alastor spoke, “Charlie,” he turned his head to her. “How many days has it been?”
Charlie blinked. She scratched her cheek, “Um, since–?”
Alastor’s microphone beat against the floor as he walked, tapping it in a steady rhythm. He kept his back straight, his shoulders pushed back, the picture of the aristocracy he didn’t own and the image of respect to an invisible figure, “My calculations are rarely wrong.”
One, two, three, one two, three – his microphone knocked against the wood.
“No,” he continued to himself as they watched him, “I cannot be. I never forget a date–” He stopped at the staircase. “She said, the seventh day to the end, you will know when.”
Alastor stared at the staircase. Charlie lifted a finger to talk.
“I am sure,” he hummed, “that would be today.”
A beat passed.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” asked Husk, unable to stop himself.
Someone knocked on the door three times.
Charlie whipped around. Alastor’s entire body stiffened. His ears turned to the direction of the door.
“Oh, boy,” said Husk.
“A guest?” Niffty grinned.
Vaggie sighed, “I’ll go–”
“No,” Charlie said, “they’re – it’s probably some desperate soul. We have so much space, right? That’s what we’re here for!”
“It’s seven days until the extermination?” Vaggie reminded, watching Charlie stride away, “Who would be interested now?”
“Who knows?” Angel Dust asked, keeping one eye on Alastor as Charlie had asked. He turned to Vaggie and shrugged, “Sinners really could be desperate.”
Charlie rushed to the door, correcting her hair and straightening her suit. She expected another series of impatient knocks. They never came.
“I’m here!” She exclaimed, opening the door, “Welcome to the–”
She opened the door and looked up.
“Darling,” The figure threw her arms around Charlie’s shoulders, the door slamming shut behind her, “Oh, my girl.”
Charlie went still. A ripple ran through the room.
“Mom?” Charlie said. She took a step back.
Lilith followed her, cooing, burying her face into her hair. She spoke privately to her as though it were only them in the room. “My poor girl. I’m sorry I was away for so long.”
She broke away from her, straightening up. She cradled Charlie’s cheeks in her palms. Royalty carried her voice in a soft cadence. “I was away so suddenly. How have you been?”
As Charlie tried to find words, she turned her eyes to the right of the door. She stared at the nothing there, then looked over Charlie’s shoulder, addressing each person in the room with her eyes.
Lilith pins her gaze to the staircase and holds her look.
“What, where, why–” Charlie stuttered, wiping at her face, “where have you–”
She trembled against her mother. Lilith smelled of lavender. It overtook her.
“I know, I know,” Lilith soothes, guiding Charlie away from the door using her arm, slung around her shoulders. She kept her head low, resembling an owl tucking her chick under her wing, “It’s been so long, hasn’t it? I am so sorry, so much has happened, hasn’t it? Seven exterminations…”
“Where have you been–?!” Charlie gasped and interrupted herself, “The extermination–where have you seen, mother, have you heard, heaven, angels–”
“Of course,” Lilith whispered, “of course I’ve seen,” she paused for a moment, “regardless, please tell me all about it
“Seven days, in seven days, we need to do something!”
“We will,” responded Lilith.
“Your Majesty,” Sir Pentious says, suddenly attentive.
“Why does it feel like we’ve just done this?” Husk grumbled. “And she isn’t even fuckin’ talkin’ to us.”
“We will?” echoed Charlie, staring at her mother as she guided her to the staircase, one foot after the other. “Mom–?”
“But first,” Lilith smiled, holding her daughter by both shoulders. Her eyes flashed. “I have some business with one of your associates.”
Lilith removed her hands from Charlie.
The crew glanced at each other, straightening their backs instantly. Charlie blinked. She looked behind her and scanned them, from Vaggie – standing with a look of confusion sent over her shoulder – to Husk.
“Uh,” Vaggie said.
Charlie looked back to her mother. Her eyes went wide.
“Alastor,” Lilith said, soft-toned and delicate, as though she were speaking to a child, “why weren’t you by the door?”
Alastor looks up at Lilith, using only his eyes, not tilting his head back to expose the column of his throat. Lilith tilts her head down to look at him. She towers over him, casting a shadow over his body that jutted over the staircase steps.
One of the peanut gallery members sucks in a breath. The air stills, freezing over and heating all at once. Something explodes outside which screeches and then goes silent.
Alastor stares back at her, ever-grinning, “Your Majesty,” he says, the radio in his voice quiet as if he leaned over inside himself to turn down the volume for him to focus. His tone remains the same as they had ever known him.
He speaks after a moment passes, “I had been before you arrived.”
Lilith is quick. “And not when I did?”
They search each other’s faces – a thin, twitching smile to a grin.
Lilith’s eyebrows raise, “hm.”
Charlie stares with a loose jaw. She looks between the two, then goes to walk over in disbelief.
Vaggie’s hand slaps on her shoulder, and she stops, staring for longer. Vaggie stares at the sight, thinking. They all stay silent and watch the show, front-seat participants, most unwilling.
Husk beams from ear to ear.
And then, the guillotine drops, from all that tenseness, and Lilith’s executioner tongue decides the seventh day towards the end was time.
“Kneel,” she says.
The rest of the room has the compulsion to follow suit. But she didn’t direct her demand at them.
Alastor stares up at her. His fingers tighten over the eye on his microphone.
Charlie’s stomach churns. It only gets worse, it gets worse, that feeling of wrongness, of something forbidden coming to her attention (the image of Alastor, bowing, she hadn’t even considered it before) because–
Alastor looks away first, to the floor, slowly. His ears twitch.
The cane falls to the floor beside him, temporarily discarded.
His left knee touches the floor first. His right knee follows slower, but the movement is practised, in how he stares down, only down, and organises his clothes as a lady would tuck her skirt beneath her.
After a moment of assessment, and another, and another, Lilith speaks.
“Good,” she says, placing her hand on his head and flitting her fingers through his hair. She runs her fingers against his scalp, torn between figuring something out and playing with the strands – and then she extends a sigh.
“Good,” she repeats, keeping her hand fastened on top of his head, touching him, as if that was something anyone could, “you’ve been good for me. Haven’t you?”
It takes a moment. Alastor’s head is bowed so low – his spine, for once, was in a position that wasn’t straight perfection– that his hair covered his eyes. “As you wished, your Majesty.”
“Wait,” Vaggie muttered. “Hold on.”
Charlie made her way forward, staring at Alastor, “Uh–”
Lilith broke from her spell, “Ah, right,” she smiled as she looked back to her daughter, “That was rude of me to act before I explained. It’s just difficult, you see. Come, sit,” she turned, and, in an unknowingly similar manner to Alastor, tucks her dress beneath her, “sit here, on these steps.”
Numb, confused, and questioning everything she knew, Charlie followed her instructions without resistance.
Finally, someone spoke without a stutter.
“I knew it, and y’know, I can’t believe it,” Angel Dust whispered, “there’s no way I’m worse than him.”
“You have no idea,” Husk mumbled.
Charlie runs a hand through her hair. She couldn't look at her despite not seeing her mother for seven years.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Alastor.
“Ah, where do I begin?” Lilith asked, tapping her cheek with a finely pointed nail, “He’s been looking over you for me, so to speak. Alastor is of incredible value to me. I’m glad you’ve been getting along with him. He’s certainly better than your father in many ways.”
Lilith folded one leg over the other, “It may not appear so, but we get along quite well, Alastor and I. Our interests have aligned perfectly. What you see is – keep your head down – is mutually beneficial. He really is a doll.”
“Right,” Charlie responded.
“After all,” Lilith sighed, “it took us seven years.”
“It?” Charlie asked, staring still at Alastor, the cuts of his body and how they seemed ever sharper under the wrong wrong wrong position he was in.
The Hotel crew hung around the couch, to the side. Even Niffty appeared to feign disinterest in front of the Queen of Hell. She sat on the arm of the couch, staring. Husk leaned forward over the cushions, purring, with Angel Dust at his side.
Vaggie put the pieces together before any of them. She leaned against the wall, her back straight around authority, but worried her lip between her teeth. Sir Pencious was in a similar state.
As she speaks, Lilith places her heel on the back of Alastor’s head and pushes it down further. Charlie watches, unable to move, an observer paused in time.
“If only I could explain it all to you now, Charlie,” Lilith muses, rotating the bottom of her sharp heel at the back of Alastor’s head, “you will have to wait a week until this is all over–”
“He was near the door.”
Lilith pauses. Alastor remains motionless, head down, knees close together, back bent.
It’s the opposite of what she ever knew him as. Charlie couldn't bear to look at him, she can’t, she really can’t, he needs to stand, “He was near the door.”
Lilith smiled. She dropped her right heel from Alastor’s head after trailing it down his spine. It fell against the floor with a click.
“I know,” she said, holding her daughter’s look. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
Angel Dust whistled quietly. Husk nudged against his side with his elbow.
Charlie doesn’t know what does it: the questions about her mother’s absence, her executive director's behaviour, the ‘it’ her mother mentioned, she prepares to speak, to say something at the very least.
She throws a look at Vaggie, leaning against the wall, not daring to approach. She watches Vaggie dart look between the three of them.
Charlie stands. The lavender embrace of her mother’s perfume leaves her as she strides forward, one step after the other. She turns, building strength to ask – what? When? Why? – to throw out her arms towards their general direction and scream to speak to Alastor immediately. She wants to grab him by the shoulders and haul him up.
And she meets her mother’s gaze. Then immediately falters.
Before Alastor now, she tries to meet his eyes. She wonders what expression he’s making.
She wonders if he knows how small he looks before her mother.
“Explain,” Charlie says, “explain – everything, this,” she gestured, “disappearing for seven years. What is ‘it’?!”
After the swell of her voice, the room goes quiet. Alastor doesn’t even look at her.
Charlie wondered if he wanted to.
“You can’t, just–”
Lilith stared at Alastor. She reached out her hand towards his neck as though she were going to scruff him like he were a dog. But her palm hovers as if deciding something, and then.
It happens in a second. Alastor’s face whips around.
She grabbed the ears from his skull, pressing them together,l and turned him to face her in a yank.
“Sorry,” she said, like butter, “you don’t always have your antlers out.”
And Charlie stared. The look on Alastor’s face, it was–
like it always was, as though nothing was wrong. He grinned from ear to ear. His eyes shone.
Lilith’s hand combed over Alastor’s hair again. The movement was tender and careful like she was brushing something away from him that he couldn’t see. The look on her face, the smirk revealing her jagged canines, could kill souls at a glance.
Charlie watched them again, finding the words to speak. Somehow, she felt far away, in the back seat of a cinema to a film she thought she knew. She wanted to pull the characters right from the screen. She didn’t know who to start with.
“Alastor–”
“I have one more job for you,” Lilith said to Alastor, holding his gaze, “in seven days. Do you understand?”
Alastor held Lilith’s look. They seemed to understand each other in the silence.
Charlie stared at his hands, pressed flat against the floor like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.
The pinkie on his left hand pointed towards his microphone. Her mother’s voice, like music, drifted around the room.