Chapter Text
Pentagram was a dreadful sight. Pride as a whole caused trepidation in most of the low nobility, although few would dare—if anyone did—to say something upsetting within His Infernal Majesty’s hearing. The city stunk of death both recent and aged, and the roads were infested with sinners of different shapes and sizes. They were mostly violent and disrespectful, reaching beyond their means and believing their addiction to souls and vices would set them pair to pair with the nobles.
Powerful nobles found them annoying. A plague of cockroaches not worth of their time. The low-ranking nobility found them good allies and a source of money, a magical addition that presented a good partnership. The prince had been lectured extensively on the proper treatment of sinners: as long as they were useful and served a purpose, it was perfectly fine to keep them in his company. They were replaceable, like imps, no matter what Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte preached. The prince had his doubts, however. If they were so replaceable and unimportant, why did Princess Charlotte spend so much of her allotted free time to search their redemption? Why were some sinners elevated to the title of Overlords and given so much privilege? It wasn’t to have them work as spies on Heaven, this Stolas had asked the princess one of the few times he was left alone with her.
Stolas found Charlie’s redemption project fascinating. The princess was two centuries his senior and her project relatively new, something she had devoted herself into these last two decades of her life, nurturing it from the ground like the shy and delicate bud of a plant in need of careful, patient care. It hadn’t started with the hotel, its renovation had come later, when she had a baseline and a loyal companion who believed in her ideas. The hotel had come when she brought the subject of how souls could be reached to her father, who had brought it to Stolas’ father. The hotel came as a place of housing and conducting experiments, and as much as Stolas didn’t truly understand the complexity of the soul, he understood the importance of experimentation. As a treat, his father had allowed Stolas to accompany him in his several trips to work in the princess’ project.
The secrets of life and death were outside Stolas’ domains, yet he was still in charge of gathering the materials used in every sacred ritual in Hell. He had the knowledge of the future, knew the celestial maps by heart and could even modify them; he knew all the plants that grew above and under the soil, its properties and its secrets; he knew the properties of the precious gems’ that grew buried deep in bowels of the earth. The soul was an abstract, an immaterial thing, but the vessel that house it was easy to mould and replicate. Stolas’ intervention in the princess’ project was limited to his plants, and to whatever the princess wishes to share with him while he waited for her and his father’s direction.
Princess Charlie enjoyed talking about her project. She shared her dreams of getting sinners into Heaven with him, taking to Stolas’ sincere and curious questions like an excited teacher. Her infectious optimism and gentle nature were more than enough reason for Stolas to brave the trip from his father’s palace in the outskirts of Imp City to Pentagram in the dreadful company of his wife-to-be, with her cruel brother and Mr Butler’s as chaperons.
This time Stolas wasn’t travelling to help her set any ritual or to act as her dutiful student and listen to her (and her Vaggie’s) new ideas to make the hotel work. This trip was of a different kind, but Princess Charlie and he had exchanged letters, promises of sharing knowledge, and the thought of a kindred spirit reassured Stolas’ anxiousness.
The relativity of time was never felt as strong and heavy as in his betrothed’s company. Stella was… critical with a sharp tongue and little patience for anyone. Andrealphus was no better, only more incisive and calculating, with polite words that he used as barbed missiles. Their mutual interest in astronomy hadn’t eased their interactions, and Stolas had given up endearing himself into the Marquis’ graces a long time ago.
“How long will we have to wait? I have been stuck inside this place with this smelly creature long enough,” Stella whined to her brother in a pitiful voice. She fanned herself, lowering the window only a fraction and scrunching her nose. “Disgusting. It stenches of sinners.”
“Now, now, darling, we will arrive soon, and you can take advantage of His Majesty’s amenities.”
Stolas narrowed his eyes and pressed his beak in a tight line. Mr Butler was immutable as ever, sitting primly at his prince’s side and holding a few refreshments for the young royals. Stolas huffed and leaned closer to the imp, taking some solace from his resilience and indifference. He ignored if the words truly didn’t faze him or if they did and he simply ignored them as the whining of unruly hatchlings, not that dissimilar as he had done with Stolas as a child.
Wordlessly, Stolas was offered some tea. The offering was accompanied by a lingering touch to his side, a silent reprimand for slouching. He was the prince and had to conduct himself properly, keep his head high and let unsavoury words slide unless he was prepared to act and assume the consequences of his behaviour.
Stolas straightened his posture, grabbed the tea and muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ to the butler. His comfort was subtle and seldom in public, but it watered Stolas’ deserted heart.
“Imp, serve us refreshments. We are famished.”
“He has a name,” Stolas said louder than expected, boring reproachful eyes on Andrealphus.
Stella rolled her eyes. “He’s an imp. Whatever matters if it has a name or not? An imp is an imp.”
“He is my father’s butler. As your host, you should be gracious with his attentiveness.” Stolas pushed. His father could care less what Mr Butler was called, but it was good manners to show some courtesy towards the kind gesture of their king.
Andrealphus smiled indulgently. The hand he was using to hold a handkerchief to his beak remained stoically there, but his free hand patted his sister’s arm soothingly. “You are so endearingly unique as ever, Stolas. We do wish refreshments, and it is also gracious not to starve one’s guests.”
Mr Butler got to his feet and served the other two some refreshments as if they hadn’t called him an ‘it’ a few moments ago. The aloofness and professionalism in his actions and behaviour soon bored Stella, who return to talk to her brother and complain about sinners. Stolas wasn’t so easily pacified, but the silent reprimand in Mr Butler’s eyes when he refilled his cup felt chastising enough.
The three remained silent for the remaining of the trip. Stolas sipping his tea and ignoring Andrealphus and Stella, more concerned with the oncoming ceremony and the vows he would take. His father had remembered his name for once and made sure he had all his outfits prepared and fitted, and even if he hadn’t looked proud when Stolas showed him the mastery over his domains, he hadn’t commented negatively on them either.
The car parked outside Paimon’s residence in Pentagram at dinner time. Stella and her brother went to their rooms’ to refresh themselves, and Stolas followed Mr Butler to his own set of rooms. He undid is jacket and threw himself on the bed, huffing in true teenage fashion. Mr Butler chided him gently, settling Stolas’ belongings in their usual place. Most of his things had been sent ahead of time, with only a suitcase brought along with him.
“They are infuriating. I don’t understand why father insisted on their presence at the ceremony.”
“Lady Stella will be your wife, my prince. She must know and understand the weight of her responsibilities to you and to Hell. She is also an unmarried and underage lady; her brother’s presence is necessary.” Mr Butler explained patiently as he sorted Stolas’ vanity, setting the items in the order the prince liked.
“They could have travelled by different means or at a different day. The ceremony is in three days, there was plenty of time for them to get here on their own. Father should know by now that forcing us to spend time together will not make us fond of each other.”
Stella had made her displeasure towards Stolas and their fated nuptials very clear. They had only seen each other in photos before when they were ten and then when they were fourteen, and both photos were unflattering and undeceiving. Their first proper meeting was only two years ago, on Stella’s court debut party; Stolas had been forced to attend, dress up in something other than black, and be prepared to make conversation instead of burying his head in a book. Stella had been disappointed and stated her displeasure out loud, maybe too accustomed to have her way and be praised regardless. Stolas’ father, also used to have his way, was quick to inform her and her family that her feelings were very irrelevant in the matter and to limit herself to do her duty or she would be replaced with someone who did.
It was the only time Stolas saw Andrealphus snapping at his sister. This, however, only cemented the already brewing animosity between them. Stella was more careful of when and how she said things, but things she said, and Andrealphus only cared to reign her in when the king was close.
“The king’s decisions are not for us to question,” Mr Butler said primly. “You are no longer a young hatchling, my prince. Whining like one is unbefitting of your station.”
Stolas quickly scrambled up from his bed into a sitting position, a tinge of light pink dusting his cheeks in shame. The rebuke was softer coming from Mr Butler than it would be coming from his father; it was factual and blunt, not reproving and exasperated. Stolas still felt ashamed of himself and his behaviour.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The short imp stopped fussing over the vanity, grabbing a bottle. He approached the prince, his steps firm and his voice gentle. “You did no such thing, young prince. You are within your right to express your displeasure with your father’s decision but questioning him would be unwise.”
Stolas stared at the bottle in Mr Butler’s hands and felt slightly better. He lowered himself on the ground—much to the butler’s protests—and closed his eyes, positioning his head within the imp’s reach to be preened. The routine was a familiar, comforting one. Mr Butler wasn’t much for words despite being an understanding ear to his prince, and Stolas had grown to appreciate the silence between them in those agitated times.
“I am nervous,” Stolas said after several minutes of silence, when his hurt had been thoroughly soothed, and the nerves of the ceremony had come back in full. “I had expected father to wait one more year. He seemed content with just having me transcribing and translating the stored prophecies from the archives. Does this mean he thinks I am strong enough already? I have completed my magical training and have full mastery of my three domains, so it would make sense from a logical point of view. Have I pleased him? Is he proud of me?”
“You are an exemplary heir, my prince. I trust your father knows how talented and skilful you are, as he has moved your ceremony.” Mr Butler said as primly as ever, but there was a tinge of pride colouring his words. Stolas preened at the praise, his feathers fluffing slightly. “I will have the kitchen staff know to bring your favourite snack.”
Oh. Stolas almost trilled, barely containing his excitement. It wasn’t often when he got spoiled before dinner. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I will take a short nap.”
“Very well. When do you wish to be woken up?”
“Twenty minutes should be more than enough. I have some reading to catch up with before meeting father.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Dinner was a quiet affair. Paimon hadn’t been interested in making small talk and his dismissal of Andrealphus when the marquis tried to talk about their trip submerged the table in an awkward silence. Stella seemed displeased but cowed in front of the king. Andrealphus tried to keep a polite and charming smile, pretending he wasn’t at all embarrassed at being dismissed so quickly. Stolas, who was used to his father’s moods, was idly flicking through the pages of his book, ignoring the present company.
Only after dessert was plated and tea or wine was served, Paimon decided to initiate conversation, as if only then he realised he had company.
“Tomorrow, I will meet with Princess Charlotte for lunch at her hotel. She has gathered a quaint group of subjects for her pet project that His Infernal Majesty insists I must see. You are coming with me, Stolos. This promises to be quite the educational experience.”
Quite the ‘educational experience’ meant Paimon refused to sit through another musical episode alone. Stolas had no problem listening to Princess Charlie break into a song in the middle of normal conversation. She had a beautiful voice and in more than one occasion had pulled him into a song as well. He enjoyed her upbeat attitude, and her songs were always soothing and encouraging. Her behaviour was refreshing compared to half the Goetia family. He was also interested in this group of sinners if they caught Princess Charlotte’s attention.
“Yes, father. Thank you for considering me,” he said politely to hide the underlined excitement. He lowered his book, marking the page. “Should I take notes, father? Last time was an enlightening experience.”
Paimon considered it for a moment, his piercing eyes studying Stolas’ face, only then actually paying attention to his son and his book. “If that pleases you,” the king said with a bit of fondness.
Stolas straightened in his seat. His father had to be in high spirits. “Thank you, father,” he said and dipped his head. He could act giddy and tell Mr Butler all about it once he was back in his room.
Andrealphus and Stella had exchanged curious and confused glances during the conversation between father and son. Neither was used to be ignored so rudely, especially not by Stolas, but since the king seemed uninterested in chastising the prince for being a poor host there was little to complain about without being scolded themselves.
“Apologies for interrupting, Your Majesty,” Andrealphus said when the conversation lulled, “I was wondering if we would be accompanying you in this visit or there were other engagements for us.”
“I have never been to Pentagram before,” Stella added with a glint in her eyes. She had never talked to Princess Charlotte either, and despite all the rumours surrounding the princess, she was Lucifer’s daughter and that meant something in the social ladder. “I was hoping to spend some time with Stolas as well,” she added with a hopeful expression that fooled no one.
“This would be a marvellous opportunity for my sister and the prince to bond,” Andrealphus was quick to add to his sister’s comment. After the long travel, he was unwilling to be relegated to a mere spectator until the ceremony.
Stolas almost reeled at the blatant lie. Stella hated him and Andrealphus was an opportunistic twit, of that he had no doubt, but he didn’t know how to phrase his refusal politely.
Paimon had a pensive face. He had clearly not thought about that when he dragged Andrealphus and Stella along with Stolas. Stella’s only purpose was to attend the ceremony and give a vow, what she did the rest of her time in Pentagram was of no concern to him. Stolas, however, had duties that required his focus.
“Stolos won’t have time to entertain your sister,” he finally dismissed, ignoring the embarrassed blush in Stella’s face. “Take her to visit the city or whatever, I have no business with either of you until the ceremony.”
Stolas let out a discrete sigh of relief.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Andrealphus gritted out.
The king stood up and everyone followed, leaving the remaining of their desserts. “Stolos, follow me, we still have a few things to discuss. Andrealphus, take security with you when you leave with your sister, Pentagram isn’t the safest place to be.”
Stolas followed his father to his study. He was breathing in an out, keeping himself calm as they walked. As much as it was rare to see his father angry, it was also an oddity to be given so much attention. Paimon was one of the few demons outside the Sins that Lucifer trusted with duties outside Hell, so more often than not his father was absent on business for the king. Stolas had been told several times that he was lucky to be working on a project with his father before being officially given a position in court or the council. He was just glad that his father seemed pleased with him.
They entered the brightly illuminated room that wasn’t much different from Stolas’ own study in the estate outside Imp City. The room had a small entertaining area, two chaises with a table in front of them, a liquor cabinet next to the door, tall windows and a desk made of obsidian. Behind the desk was a staircase that led to a second floor with several bookshelves and a workshop desk.
They went upstairs and Paimon grabbed a book bound in red leather. Written in gold was the title “Rites of Calling: the binding, forging and splitting of souls and grace” by Unknown. The king handed Stolas the book, who took it with grabby hands and widen eyes. A book from his father’s private library?
“How old are you, child?”
Stolas committed the mistake of squeaking in front of his father. He flushed in shame, but for once his father seemed amused by his ‘childish noises’. The question was simply out of the blue. His age had never seemed important to his father, and right now it was unrelated to the book in his hands…unless it was another stepping stone as the grimoire had been, an heirloom inherited when he was ready.
“I’m seventeen, father.”
“You are still so young,” Paimon said in a quiet voice, as if it was more a thought than something to share with Stolas.
Stolas hadn’t felt young since he was ten and his father placed the grimoire in his hands. He had felt important, trusted, and as if his existence finally had a purposed. He had felt eager to show his father he wasn’t wrong for considering Stolas and, perhaps, if he did really well, he would be allowed out of the palace. He ha poured all his energy and his waking hours to study the grimoire, to master its content, to repeat over and over every sigil until he could draw them in his sleep, until his body couldn’t move from exhaustion and Mr Butler had to carry him to bed and force food down his throat. It had been rewarding, but Stolas hadn’t felt young.
His betrothal had been the last nail in his proverbial coffin. The hours of intense magical study were rewarding—they got him closer to his father every day, slowly, but surely—while the prospect of marrying someone, of having a baby…of letting someone touch him and touching someone was unbearable. It made his skin crawl. It had made him feel less young, like on a deadline he didn’t want to reach no matter how much he wanted to show his father his usefulness.
“Come, let’s sit.”
Stolas followed father to the ground level, half-expecting to sit at the desk. His father walked past the desk and pointed at one of the cushioned chairs on the entertaining area, but he didn’t sit straight away. Paimon opened the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle with a pale pink content and two glasses. He poured them, sat a glass in front of Stolas—only half filled—and one for himself as he sat across the prince.
“It’s sweet and not too strong. You will be expected to drink at social events from now on. Politics are made with a drink on your hand, Stolas, and you will be right at the centre of them. Build up your resistance, you can’t afford getting drunk easily, and they will try to tamper your drinks, your food, to make you pliant and bend to their way. You can’t allow it.”
Stolas blinked owlishly at the advice. His father had never advised him before—not on the grimoire, not on anything—and it felt, suddenly, as if this lesson was far more important than any other conversation they had had. His father was talking with him, not to him. It gave him the courage to ask questions, to answer beyond a ‘yes, father’.
“They? Who are they?” Stolas stared at the glistening drink under the light of the chimney’s fire. It looked enticing. It smelled sweet, like a mix of fruits and flowers, but it was hard to pin-point the exact type even for someone like him. “I’m only a prince.”
“He is only a prince.” Those were his siblings’ exact words in the two occasions they had met him. Stolas had learnt their titles before that meeting, eager to please as usual, but also wanting to show them how much he cared even if he had never seen them. “He is only a prince.” It was said dismissively. There had been a mocking undertone, an implication that Stolas could have been more—should have been, in fact—but was only a prince and that was disappointing. Father hadn’t corrected them, but he hadn’t made Stolas bow to his much more important siblings.
Father stared at him with a known look. His calculating look. It was intimidating to be at the centre of his full attention.
“You must learn how jealousy sounds, Stolas,” Father said and picked up his drink, sipping lazily from it. “What is the first thought that comes to mind when you think of Princess Charlotte?”
Stolas tilted his head. The question seemed like a distraction, but his father was staring intently at him. “Kindness. She is very kind.”
“Yes. She has big dreams, not unlike her father. Would you say she is powerful?”
“I suppose she must be. She is the princess.”
“Yes, but would you say she is upon first meeting her? Would you assume she is the second most powerful being in all of hell?”
Ah. He understood his father’s question now. When Stolas thought of Charlie, he thought of the princess who patiently listened to him, who soothed his fears, who jumped into a musical and was always laughing, dreaming, pushing Hell forward. He thought of someone who brought light to a darkened, forgotten world. Someone who forgave easily and loved too strongly.
“She is charismatic. That is a type of strength, isn’t it? But her power is not the first thing that comes to mind even when I know she is.”
“Would you say Haborym is powerful?”
Stolas thought of his older brother and the only time he had seen him. He was three hundred years his senior and his reception of a five-year-old nestling following with his eyes had been a tad disproportionate. It had left an impression on Stolas—why wouldn’t it? The small plant in his hands had burst in fearsome flams, and the fire had been so intense Stolas had been left with blisters even when it had barely licked his skin—that carried to this day, both the derision in his brother’s face—“He is only a prince.”—and the physical response from his father.
“Yes,” the answer came immediately in a hushed voice. If his father hadn’t intervened and thrown back the flames to Haborym, Stolas would have not survived it. “He said it was a harmless prank.” Stolas’ plant hadn’t survived, or the pot, and Haborym had a scar where the fire hat him back courtesy of their father.
“There are two types of power, Stolas, and only one that truly matters. Lucifer is powerful, whether he uses that power, it changes not the fact that he is and will always be. He doesn’t need to flaunt it. It becomes unassuming and let others forget, underestimate you, until they are reminded of that power. Haborym has power, but he isn’t powerful. He makes loud displays to cower others, to make himself look more fearsome than he actually is. The fire he threw at you then would be harmless to you now that you are master of your three domains. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?”
Was he stronger than Haborym? His brother was a Great Duke of Hell. They had the same number of legions--or would have, after the ceremony in three days—but Stolas was only a prince. There were other princes out there, even marquises, with more legions than him. How could he compare?
Father laughed, merrily, and it didn’t feel like he was laughing at Stolas. He saw him sip from his glass again, the glistening pink slowly disappearing.
“Fire can be suffocated to death, Stolas. It can be prevented, too,” Father stared at him, voice soft, as if they were sharing a secret. “The universe was written in the light of the stars. The stars were sung into existence.”
“I don’t understand,” the confessed.
“You will. You have mastered your three domains already and in three days you will be officially appointed a position in two courts; after the ceremony, you will be a Great Prince of Hell, but that is not all you will be. I think you are old enough to read this book and understand its content. Read it, learnt it well, and when time comes, pass it down to your chosen heir in case you have more than one. The knowledge the book stores is not for the weak, Stolas.”
A chosen heir. Is that what he was? Chosen? Over his powerful brothers and sisters? Over dukes and duchesses?
“Take a sip of that drink and throw the rest to the fire if it is too strong. You are free to leave.”
Stolas took a sip, the flavour fruity yet strong on his tongue. He took another sip before his stomach protested; his blood was boiling inside him. He threw the rest to the fire and set the glass on its original position. He dipped his head to his father, who waved at him in dismissal.
“Thank you for the advice, father.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“I think we should take a break if that’s all right with you. Lunch sounds nice, right?” Charlie laughed nervously as she stared at the owl king and the prince. She had been working shoulder to shoulder with Paimon for the past eight five years and she had grown used to him. It was the child who made Charlie nervous. Stolas took everything so seriously and to heart, and she was afraid that if she didn’t ask for a break he would work himself to the bone.
They had made some progress. Vaggie would argue that it was little, that the sinners who volunteered were uninterested in what they were trying to achieve, and she would be right to some extent. The only consistent presence was Angel Dust, and even that was self-serving, however, Charlie knew how hard it was to harbour hope in a place like Hell. They didn’t even have solid proof, only the hope that it would work—because it had to work—and that would deter Heaven from coming down and exterminate the sinners. At least now her father supported her and had lent her one of his closest advisors.
They didn’t have concrete evidence, but they had a Goetic King on their team. They had funds and a place to host their candidates. Fuck, his father had even agreed to review Angel’s contract after she said it was detrimental for Angel's progress. It was more than she had had ten years ago.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“We have food at the hotel if you want to stay,” Vaggie offered from the side, looking specifically at the young prince.
Paimon followed Vaggie’s line of sight. Stolas was still counting the samples they had extracted that they, jotting the information down on his notebook and muttering to himself. Charlie was looking at him, however, almost shy of asking him to let Stolas stay. Paimon would have laughed at the princess’ courtesy if he didn’t know better. She was genuine in her behaviour. She didn’t ask to give him the pretence of agency. She asked because she saw Stolas as his child, not a tool for her future reign, and if Paimon said no and took his owlet with him she would allow it.
“I have a meeting to attend with your father, Your Highness, but Stolas can stay if that is what you wanted to ask. Although you will have to pry him from those plants yourself if you want him to eat, I’m afraid.”
Charlie beamed at the positive answer. It was always positive, but she didn’t want to assume it would always be. She saw Vaggie approach Stolas then, her body relaxed and a less stern expression on her face when she talked to the prince. Vaggie hadn’t warmed up to Paimon yet, but Stolas had been a known presence since he was twelve and a child was far easier to talk to and to understand.
“Thank you. We will drive him home safely; you can trust me on that.”
Princess Charlotte didn’t see Stolas as a gift from her father and that eased Paimon a little. She was still sweet and naïve, undeterred by Heaven’s demands and unburdened by the weight of self-perceived failures. If this project of hers worked, if it managed to redeem sinners into to Heaven, then perhaps that would bring some life back to Lucifer as well. Paimon could only hope.
What a funny little thing. Hope in hell.
“Of course. I will take my leave, Your Highness.”
Charlie grabbed Paimon’s talons in a bold movement—she was unrestrained, always so eager and filling every room with her presence—and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
Charlie saw the startled king leave the hotel before she turned back to where Vaggie had finally pried the notebook from Stolas’ hands. Her girlfriend was lecturing on the importance of self-care. Charlie joined them, clapping her hands excitedly.
“What do you think about lunch and a tour around the hotel? I bet you will like the gardens. Although they need a little help, neither Vaggie nor I have a green thumb. Our shrubs are a little sad.”
“Oh!” Stolas hooted, looking away from Vaggie. “I would like that very much.”
“It’s decided, then. We’ll start with the gardens, and you can tell us how to fix them,” Charlie said as she joined one arm with Stolas’. “Vaggie and I wanted to bring in some flora from other rings to make it more appealing to sinners who come from different weathers. We just need a way not to kill them.”
Vaggie wasn’t much for physical contact with anyone who wasn’t Charlie, but it was hard to keep her distance from the owl prince when she'd met him as a cotton fluffy ball who barely reached her waist. He was now only a head shorter than Charlie and his feathers were now darker in colour and longer, but he still spoke as softly as he did when they first met. It was hard to see him as a full-fledged prince of hell and master of prophecy when she still saw him as a child.
“We killed our current plants too. I think we watered too much,” Vaggie confessed with a smile. She didn’t link her arm with his, but she walked to his other side, keeping him between her and Charlie as they did when he was smaller.
“Oh. I hope I can do something for them. I think your idea is very kind. Father brought me plants from his trips as well. It helped me dimension how things were outside Pride.”
Charlie exchanged a quick look with Vaggie, who was leaning forward. Charlie understood Goetic politics were a monster of their own, her own father rarely meddled because of how convoluted they were. Charlie herself didn’t leave Pride as often, too preoccupied with her project, but what she had seen of the other citizens of hell had broken her heart a little. There was just so much to do, and it felt like her efforts weren’t enough, her priorities weren’t ever enough.
She couldn’t even protect those closest to her. They had discussed Stolas’ nuptials and what—because there was no way she was leaving it alone—to do when the announcement came. Stolas and Stella were only seventeen; Charlie didn’t know her, but she didn’t need to, because no child should have the need to raise children. They were too young, not even into their first century, to bear that burden. Vaggie had reminded her that kidnapping a goetic prince under his father’s very nose wasn’t exactly wise, but within the same breath she had assured Charlie that if she went through with that plan she would be right beside her, ready to defend their home and all people within.
Charlie knew it rubbed Vaggie the wrong way as well.
They arrived at the sad excuse of a garden that was more wilted weeds than anything else. Stolas let out a saddened hoot, confirming their suspicions that it was beyond all hope, before pushing up the sleeves of his shirt and square his shoulders in determination as he marched towards the carnage on the garden.
Vaggie startled when the notebook she had confiscated flew from her pocket into the prince’s hands. She frowned, because he was only supposed to watch before they out for lunch but didn’t stop him when Charlie leaned her head against her. They watched him assess their garden in silence, never once voicing what they all knew: it was a hopeless endeavour with nothing to save. They watched him get down on his knees, ruining the pristine clothes he was wearing, and digging on the flowerbeds for a sign of life.
“It is hopeless, isn’t it?”
“It is…bad, not hopeless,” Stolas said gently. “You want people to feel welcomed here, right? I think…even if we can’t save all of them, there is something to be done,” he turned around with a wide, victorious smile, holding something in his hands. “She’s so tired, but she is a survivor. I think she will make it. I will do my best to help her and to make this a place people want to visit. You can trust me, Your Highness.”
Stolas had that look of purpose only youth could give. Every seventeen year old believed they could change the world, and the world had a bone to pick with them, a need to kick them down and keep them there. Charlie hadn’t outgrown that stage. She had refused to let the world make her brittle and bitter. She didn’t want Stolas to grow into a bitter prince or, worse, to wilt like the flowers in their unattended garden. He deserved to bloom.
“Charlie,” Charlie corrected him sweetly. She reminded him every time they saw each other, and every time it was easier for him to accept the correction without looking over his shoulders, as if afraid someone would come and scold him. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Stolas, and I consider you a friend. Friends call each other by their names, remember? You don’t have to address us formally, especially not here.”
“Right. Sorry, Charlie…I just wanted to show you how serious I take making your hotel a welcoming place. I can’t do anything else. I’m not as strong and resourceful as my father, but I want…I want to see your Hotel work. I like the world you talk about.”
Charlie smiled. Vaggie did too. Few people believed in their dream. Charlie knew her father didn’t believe redemption was possible, but he didn’t want to lose her like he lose mum. He would give her anything she asked. Paimon believed there was a slim chance, but he didn’t care what it meant for the sinners whose lives had been lost. He looked at it as a means to help her father and, even if their goals were different, Charlie couldn’t be too upset. But Stolas, like Vaggie, believed in her. They believed her dream could work.
“Thank you, Stolas,” she said with a voice full of emotion. “Vaggie and I wish to build a home for anyone who needs it and for however long they do; a haven for weary souls, for those who want to do better, be better; for those who think there is no forgiveness, because there is. And you are welcomed here. Our door will always be open for you, sweetling. Please come to us if you ever need us.”
Vaggie was holding her now, being the strength Charlie lacked, because as much as she wished Hell to be a better place she knew the reality of it. She didn’t dream because she was ignorant. She dreamed because refused to give into despair.
Stolas’ smile faded as he turned his head back, facing the garden again. The small sapling in his hands tenderly placed in a different flowerbed with tenderness.
“Thank you, Charlie.”
It sounded so polite. Charlie felt her heart break.
“Sto—”
Vaggie squeezed her hand and shook her head, whispering to her. “He knows. You have to trust he will come to us if he needs us.”
Charlie nodded.
“Do you need another pair of hands? We weren’t kidding about lunch,” Vaggie said as she approached the prince with a light frown. “You two have been working all day. Let’s finish here so we can eat.”
“Oh, apologies, Ms…Apologies, Vaggie.”
“Oh, she knew we would get derailed if we came to the garden first. But I agree, let’s get to work and save all the plants!” Charlie jumped in her place, giddy, and ready to do what Stolas asked as their current plant expert.
It took them another hour to finish with the garden and leave it in a decent shape to have plants brought from other parts of Pride. Little had been salvaged, but the couple of saplings Stolas had declared survivors were already secured and cooing at the young prince.
They left the garden sweaty and dirty, so Vaggie insisted on them taking a shower before lunch. Half an hour later, they were on the lounge having their share of finger sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade while Charlie talked about her plans to redecorate the hotel and adapt certain areas for group activities. Vaggie nodded every now and then, happy to listen to Charlie’s voice. Stolas made attentive bird noises, blinking owlishly from time to time, and asking questions for further clarification on some of Charlie’s ideas. He didn’t mock her, even as kid, he hadn’t mocked Charlie, and Vaggie had relaxed in the face of his genuine acceptance and curiosity.
She never understood how he and Paimon were related, honestly, but Charlie had said that her father thought really high of Paimon, so there might be some resemblance somewhere.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Stolas burrowed his eyes, curious, while Vaggie quickly scrambled up.
“It must be the performers.”
“Performers?”
“Vaggie!” Charlie pouted. “Oh, well. Dad wanted to have some entertainment after the ceremony and, since you apparently like the circus, he got this idea of asking Mammon to put up a show. Apparently there weren’t enough accommodations close to the palace,” she frowned, obviously unconvinced by the words, “and they were being pushed across the city, so I offered up the hotel. We have enough rooms.”
“I’ll get them settled,” Vaggie said before Charlie could panic. “You two can cook something.”
“Thanks! Let’s fix some more sandwiches, Stolas. I think there’s another lemonade pitcher in the fridge, or maybe some fizzy drinks.”
“Huh, of course,” Stolas agreed unsurely. He had never cooked before, but he had helped chopping the fillers for the sandwiches.
While Stolas and Charlie went back into the hotel’s kitchen for more refreshments, Vaggie let the performers into the lobby. It was a small group of only four imps, three looked like teens and an adult woman. Vaggie looked outside the door as if expecting more people, but no one else was there.
“Huh, is it just you?”
“Yeah,” said the only teen girl. “Why? Do you think we’re not enough?”
Vaggie arched an eyebrow, shrugged, and closed the door. “Mammon made it sound like he expected Charlie to host a full troupe. I’m Vaggie and this is the Happy Hotel, we’re happy to welcome you. Charlie and the kiddo are fixing food, so let me take you to your rooms. You can introduce yourselves when we’re all together—there may be a song.” Charlie had been practising, after all.
“Thank you, Miss Vaggie. You are very kind,” the woman said, placing a hand on the teen girl’s head.
The rooms were on the first floor and all of them next to one another. They had a bed, a closet, and a full bathroom included. The walls were painted in bright colours and a few motivational phrases, a standard decoration until they had full occupants. Vaggie pointed at one of the rooms near the stairs and said:
“That room is already occupied, so stay away from it. These are your keys,” she handed over the black keys to each of them, “the outside is keyed to the permanent residents, so currently only four people can come and go without problem. If you go out just tell me when you’re coming back so I can let you in. Now, do you want to freshen up or coming down for food?”
Imps were around everywhere, although they weren’t the main population in Pentagram. Most of the imps living in Pride congregated in Imp City or Agalmatis. Vaggie still had seen her fair share not to gawk at them, especially when she was acting as hostess. The teenagers stared at her while the adult woman nodded her understanding.
“We would like a moment to refresh. We’ll go down shortly, thank you.”
“Sure…huh, are you allergic to anything? We currently don’t have much meat, but we’ll get go to the grocers for dinner. Any requests?”
“Hot sauce and cheese,” the tallest boy said. “Any brand’s fine.”
“We don’t have any allergies either,” the woman said. “Thank you, Miss Vaggie.”
“Got it,” Vaggie said and wrote the request on her phone. They had planned on taking Stolas’ out for some greasy food at Charlie’s insistence of keeping the prince with them for as long as possible without it being considered a kidnapping.
Downstairs, Charlie and Stolas had finished whipping out two plates of finger sandwiches, had several snacks consisted of pretzels and crisps on bowls, and a few cans of fizzy drinks. Charlie looked proud of their work when Vaggie wandered in, smiling at the uncharred kitchen.
“Very proud of you babe,” Vaggie said as she cupped Charlie’s face and kissed her softly. “I let them settle upstairs. They’re a small troupe of four people, an adult woman and three teenagers, so we don’t need all this food, but we should still go shopping for dinner. Charlie wants to have a movie marathon for dinner; the teens look around your age,” she said the last bit to Stolas, who despite not being a kid anymore seemed really interested in the idea.
“Oh, I don’t know if Father will be happy with me coming after dinner.”
“I can call and ask!” Charlie volunteered. “I did say I would drive you home, so we can stretch things a tiny-itty-bit. You don’t have anything to do at home, right?”
Stolas shook his head too fast.
Vaggie and Charlie exchanged another look. They knew about Lady Stella being invited to the ceremony from the long conversations between Charlie and her father, so it was said something that Stolas hadn’t mentioned anything. Charlie had promised herself she would find the time to talk to Stella later on, to get her side of the whole story, but for now she could keep Stolas entertained and happy.
“It’s settled then. Now let’s take this out.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Barbie threw her backpack onto the bedroom. They were taller than the ones in their two-bedroom flat in Greed and the space made her feel self-conscious, but it was the first time she would sleep on her own room without a Blitz belching and farting in the middle of the night just to get a reaction out of her and Fizz. They were just down the hallway, literally next to her door, and Momma was on the door across from hers.
She freshened up and changed into comfier clothes, something that allowed her mobility. She opened the door to Blitz’s raised hand about to knock, he was dressed in clothes that had more holes than fabric he insisted on calling aesthetic.
“Took you long enough.”
Barbie rolled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t want to stink like a hellhog,” she pushed him away and joined Momma and Fizz. Momma was wearing a summer dress and white sandals instead of her usual travel cloak. She looked healthy, healthier than she had ever looked while they lived in the circus, but Barbie still worried about her.
“Remember to be polite, children.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Barbie said.
“I had never seen a sinner before,” Blitz said conversationally. “I thought they were taller.”
“They come in different shapes,” Fizz corrected. He was the only one who had performed out of Greed before. “She was nice.”
Barbie shrugged. The sinner had been polite, yes, and no-nonsense. Blitz agreed with her when she said it, while Fizz gave rolled his eyes and helped Momma down the stairs. He wasn’t as on edge as the twins, again, being the one with more experience outside Greed. He had performed for all sort of audiences before. Barbie and Blitz were only the tag-alongs, pulled out for specific routines and then shoved back into other jobs. They didn’t know why they were in Pride, why King Lucifer had insisted on an imp spectacle for whatever thing he wanted.
But they were being paid, all three of them, which wasn’t as common as it should be. Mammon had paid off Fizz’s and Momma’s health bills so, normally, their salaries would go to him. He hadn’t been happy about this, but you can’t tell the King of hell to fuck off. Now they were staying at Lucifer’s daughter hotel for free instead of spending their salaries on overpriced rooms somewhere in Pentagram.
Luck rarely went their way. Barbie was anxious and when she was anxious so was Blitz. Neither realised they were back at the lobby until Fizz called their names whipping his tail against the floor.
The hotel was rundown and had seen better days. The pain was peeling on some places and it smelled strongly of herbs and death. The dining room was a big room with a long table that was barely less ratty than the rest of the hotel. A blond woman with red eyes was at the top of the table, settling some places that a tall and lanky owl was holding in his arms. The sinner that had welcomed them was pouring drinks.
“Oh! You’re here! Ah, that’s great! Dad didn’t say how many people would stay so we prepared a lot of rooms and brought out the big dinning table, but our next meals can be at the kitchen island, right Vaggie?”
The sinner nodded with an indulgent smile. “Yes,” turning to them, she said: “This is Princess Charlie Morningstar, the owner of the Happy Hotel. And this is Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.”
Princess Charlie Morningstar laughed loudly, as if she wanted to cover her nerves, and waved her hands anxiously before her. “Just Charlie is fine! We don’t do titles here! I’m Charlie, this is Stolas,” the bird squeaked and waved shyly in their direction, “and this is Vaggie. We are very happy to have you here!”
“Thank you so much for hosting us, Your Highness. I’m Tilla and these are my children: Barbie, Blitz and Fizz.”
“Nice to meet you! Please—”
“Blitzo?” the bird asked in a small, curious voice. Barbie had immediately fixed him with a piercing glare. No one used that name anymore. Not after the fire. Blitz had buried it along with their dad.
Barbie half expected her brother to bristle at the bird. Instead, his brother was staring at the Goetia as he did when they went back to grab the last of their belongings after the circus burnt down, like he was taking in all the changes on something he used to know well. Fizz and she exchanged a look that turned into a look when they caught Momma’s expression.
“Do you know each other?” the princess asked. “That’s splendid!”
“Oh, hey, Stolas…It’s Blitz now,” Blitz said pragmatically, but his eyes were fixed on the bird. “Huh, you’re no longer a fluffy cotton ball, heh? You’re tall”
The bird blushed and hooted. “Blitz, of course. You’ve got quite taller yourself.”
“Yeah.”
Barbie tensed at the exchange. It was their luck that Blitz’s stomach rumbled then, reminding them of their long trip without food. The princess laughed again and invited them to sit and eat. They all sat, the sinner to the princess’ right and the bird to the princess’ left. There was enough space to sit away from them, but Blitz, the idiot, sat right next to the prince, forcing Barbie and Fizz to sit close by. Momma sat at the end, right after Barbie.
The sinner stared at them unblinkingly and didn’t speak the rest of the meal, letting the princess ask questions.
The feeling of dread settled nicely in Barbie’s stomach like an old friend. She never wanted to go back to Greed, but right then, she wanted to be anywhere else but close to that sinner who watched over the princess like a soldier.
Lunch passed in that tense environment where Barbie felt like bolting and rooted in her place. When it was done, the princess helped gathering the dishes and insisted on doing the chores herself.
“You’ve travelled all day and must be tired. Vaggie and I can do the dishes. Stolas can show you…”
“Stolas hasn’t been here since for long either, babe. Why don’t you show the kiddo how to use the dishwasher and I’ll take them back upstairs?”
Oh. So, the bird was the kiddo. Neither Barbie nor Fizz missed the intention behind the word, but the princess seemed completely unaware. Blitz too.
“Oh, huh,” the princess turned to the bird and then back to the sinner. “Okay, you’re right. We didn’t finish giving Stolas the tour. We should give them all a tour!”
“That’s a great idea, love. We should do it after dinner, so they have time to rest and recover from the trip.”
“Right!” the princess clapped her hands.
They walked back upstairs in silence. Momma only broke it when the sinner stayed looking a Blitz.
“I don’t know what we did to cause such sudden hostility, but I can reassure you my son didn’t do anything wrong to the prince.”
The sinner shook her head and with that her stern aura lessened. “Look, your son obviously knows the kiddo and the kiddo seems fond of him. I believe that nothing bad happened between them. What Charlie said about titles not mattering only applies here. Only Lucifer has jurisdiction over the hotel, so it is safe. But out there…you must be careful not to show that much friendliness towards each other, it can be dangerous.”
“Of course. We will keep that in mind.”
“It’s not just you… the kiddo also calls Charlie ‘Her Highness’ when she’s at court. So, it isn’t personal, just… Charlie will blame herself if something happens. Please be careful.”
“Do you give this speech to everyone who stays here? Is it part of the service?” Barbie inquired.
The sinner snorted. “No. I wouldn’t give you this speech if that one and fluffy cotton ball weren’t on first name with each other. I’ll leave you to rest, dinner will be around six or seven. You’re free to roam anywhere and if you get lost ask Razzle or Dazzle, the goats, to bring you back. They’re helpful.”
Without another word, the sinner left them to their thoughts.
“What the fuck Blitz?” Barbie was the first to yell, determined to get an answer out of her brother.