Secrets Among Us
“Focus, ma petite renarde,” Alastor admonished, bonking Stitches on the head with his microphone staff. Stitches winces and glares at him while rubbing her head, then turns back to the parasol in her hand.
“I am trying,” she groaned. “But how am I supposed to tap into ‘the energy inside’ when I can’t even sense it? It’s not like I had access to magic when I was alive. I am pretty sure my world didn’t even have magic, especially not like this!”
Alastor tutted and gave her a taunting grin. “My dear, this defeatest attitude does not suit you at all. The Stitches that I know would not back down from a challenge; she would find another way to achieve it.”
Stitches growled, her temper flaring. “Yeah, well, what kind of mentor doesn’t give their student proper directions!? I have been trying for over two weeks to use this thing as a wand, and I can’t even get a spark out of it!”
“Ah, there she is!” Alastor purred. “I knew my Little Vixen was hidden somewhere in that mess of burlap and yarn. Now!-” he clapped his hands “-Use that passionate anger of yours and channel it into solving the puzzle. I gave you all the information you need, but let’s run through it once more. What are the three categories of magic?”
Stitches frowned. “First, there are the Innate Powers, abilities that you are born with or that come to you after you die, like your control over the radio waves or Dad’s ability to shapeshift. Then there is Sorcery, the ability to learn spells and use them, often with the help of wands or other conduits. The third is Confers, magical abilities or items usually given to someone by a third party.” Stitches thought for a moment. “So, basically, you could sum up the three as natural, learned, and gifted.”
Alastor nodded, leaning on his cane with both hands. “And what are the five groups of energy that powers those magics?”
Stitches counted them off slowly with her free hand as she listed them. “Demonic, Angelic, Body, Soul, and Mind.” Alastor gestured for her to expound on this and it took everything in her not to roll her eyes. “Demonic is produced by Hell, Angelic is of Heaven, Body is physical, Soul is life-force, and Mind is…” Fuck, what was the last one? Wisdom? Determination?
“Intention,” Alastor answered, his smile turning mischievous. “Now, what combinations of categories and energy would apply here?” he coaxed, pointing to her parasol.
Stitches didn’t answer, slowly turning the parasol as she thought carefully. The parasol was a gift, so obviously, it was a Confer, though its use as a wand was only one of its features. But in this case, she could ignore the other more physical aspects, such as it being an actual umbrella, cane, and multi-tool. A swiss army knife in the shape of a stylish accessory. But, as far as this training session went, it was a wand, a conduit, a Confer…
Stitches gasped as it hit her. It was a Confer! She had been treating it as a tool, something with no magic of its own, but that wasn’t true at all, was it? Alastor’s microphone staff was the perfect example; he wielded it like a wand, a staff, but at the end of the day, it held its own energy that Alastor could tap into or utilize as he needed. He had gifted her the parasol, so of course it would only make sense it functioned along the same concept!
She held it by the handle and pointed it ahead of her. If it had its own energy, and it was made in Hell, then it was utilizing Demonic energy. Stitches had assumed that when Alastor had told her to use “the energy inside”, he meant her own Body energy. But, if the parasol had it’s own energy, then pushing physical energy into it would only be like two sumo wrestlers, trying to fight each other for dominance. So she needed to use Mind, letting her intentions guide the parasol magic into-
“SPILT TEA!” she shouted, and a geyser burst of scalding hot liquid shot out of the parasol tip with enough force to knock her back with a yelp. She felt Shade catch her in its mostly solid form, but the sudden movements had left her with a serious case of vertigo, so she just closed her eyes and whimpered, her parasol slipping from her grasp. Or maybe it was the unfamiliar draining of energy that made her head spin. She wasn’t sure, and until the world decided to become still once more, she couldn’t find the will to care.
“Incredible show of power, my dear!” Alastor congratulated her, a note of humor laced through it. “However, quite the, ah, unorthodox application of it. Whatever possessed you to weaponize herbal refreshments?”
Stitches chuckled breathlessly, the world still spinning, but not as violently. “There was this other show back in my world about a princess with a wand that shot weird things out of it like narwals and unicorns. I mixed that with the whole ‘doll-theme’ I have going on since everyone keeps describing me as the Doll Demon anyway. Dolls and tea parties go together, so-”
“A blast of boiling tea,” Alastor huffed, and she opened her eyes just in time to see him roll his eyes fondly. “I remember a time when you would give anything to step away from your doll-like visage. What has changed your mind?”
“Oh, some weird prey-animal demon told me that its not what form we are stuck in that defines us, but how we utilize it.” She grinned at his knowing look because, yeah, he had said that a long time ago. “I realized I was looking at it all wrong. A doll may be most widely associated with innocence and naivety, but they are also seen as creepy and downright horrifying when put into the right context. I may not have chosen this body but I choose how others see me. Instead of running from it, I am embracing it.”
Alastor gave a cheshire grin. “I see. I suppose you are going to go back to frocks and mary-jane’s?”
“Ew!” Stitches made a disgusted face and shoved him away as Shade helped her stand. “Don’t even joke about that!”
Alastor cackled. “Come along, Little Vixen, your father is making dinner today. Let’s go see what he has prepared for us, shall we?”
“He’s making tacos!” Stitches grinned, grabbing her parasol and whistling for Aria, who immediately swooped down from where she had been flying around above them, keeping a watch out for any drones or other threats as they trained on the roof. The little amphithere fluidly shifted to shoulder-draping size and nuzzled into her cheek while Shade pouted and became incorporeal once more. She giggled at its jealousy, watching it melt with the other shadows and disappear. “Dad told me this morning that he was making them, and told me I better plan on making more salsa soon. I guess there are only a couple of jars left.”
“Well, then,” Alastor offered his elbow, and she quickly took it. “Let us hurry! Not a soul can resist your spicy concoctions, so I imagine the salsa won’t last long at all. Hopefully the others haven’t started without us or you may have to eat tacos without any!”
Stitches gave a horrified look. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
____________________________________________________________________________
Stitches was lounging in front of the fireplace in the lobby, sprawled on her favorite couch, belly full of tacos, texting Verosika. The last couple of weeks had been some of the best in her time in Hell. While both of them had agreed to keep their relationship more casual for the time being, they were still talking every day and hanging out whenever their schedules allowed for it. The sex was amazing, but that was just a bonus. It all felt… freeing. Safe. Comfortable.
“So, ya hookin’ up wit’ Mayday, huh?”
Stitches yelped and dropped her phone, though Angel, agile and sneaky bastard that he was, caught it before it hit the floor. She snatched it away, turning off the screen and clutching it to her chest as she glared at her snickering brother. “It’s rude to look over someone’s shoulder, idiot!” she seethed, eyes narrowed.
He just shrugged his shoulders and strode to the other end of the couch, plopping down. She vaguely remembered her first day at the hotel, when they had sat on this same couch, watching the fire dance. Simpler times, lots of nostalgia. Begrudgingly, the memory softened her anger and anxiety against him, though she wasn’t admitting it out loud.
Angel gave her a smug look. “Relax, I figured ya was sweet on someone. Ya been walkin’ on cloud nine fo’ almost two weeks now.”
“Wha- have not!” she hissed, scanning the room to make sure no one was listening in. It was almost midnight, so most of the staff and guests were already in bed or were out on the town. “I have been acting perfectly normal!”
“Oh really?” Angel rolled his eyes. “Sorry t’break it to ya toots, but while ya could probably secretly plan a coup without anyone bein’ none the wiser, ya obviously can’t hide the heart eyes. Everyone is takin’ bets.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, I know you are lying about the betting pool. If that was the case, Charlie would be giving me not-to-subtle safe sex seminars while Dad would be dropping not-so-subtle hints about how I ‘can tell him anything’.”
“Oh?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “Ya don’t think Smiles would be tryin’ to subtly tell ya somethin’?”
Stitches scoffed. “No, if he had any suspicions, he would lull me into a false sense of security and then corner me about it directly.” Angel looked surprised. “Just because he softened his approach doesn’t mean he’s any less of an asshole. It basically just means that he has moments where he is gentle and doting, usually when it’s a situation that I need it or he feels like it won’t mess with my training. But when it comes to my focus and his guidance? He is strict and presses all the buttons I have. Not to mention his obsessive and possessive nature when it comes to those he cares about.” She chuckled. “Ever since he added me to his herd, I have been thinking about what he would do if someone tried to date me. I give it a 50/50 chance he would eat whoever he doesn’t approve of.”
Angel gulped, then frowned. “Wait, herd?”
She smirked. “He’s a deer, bro.”
“Oh!” Angel smacked his head. “You made a joke!”
Sure, Alastor would be happier knowing you think that. No need for you to know his buck traits are much more literal beyond the looks.
“You going to tell on me?” Stitches asked instead. “Keep in mind, Alastor might try to eat her if he finds out, since I doubt he would approve.”
Angel grimaced. “Nah, I figure that’s ya own business. You're grown, ya don’t need need anyone judgin’ ya, especially if it is consentin’ and ya both are bein’ safe. I’ve worked wit’ her, she’s a good egg, long as ya are equally respectful.” He smiled softly. “S’long as ya are safe and happy, I got ya back!”
Stitches smiled back, crawling over to him to cuddle. She nuzzled into his furry chest and he wrapped his arms around her. “Thanks, Tony,” she whispered. Stitches yawned as he started rubbing her back and carding fingers through her hair. She wasn’t worried about falling asleep there; it wouldn’t be the frist time he had carried her to bed. So, she let herself drift off to sleep, glad she had someone in her corner.
What a good way to end the weekend!
____________________________________________________________________________
Charlie stared at the young Seraphim’s hologram like she had sprouted a second head. They had just concluded their meeting about the hotel’s progress in the Heaven Embassy, and what each realm had discovered about redemption so far. Both felt they were close to unraveling the mystery of redemption, and Charlie had felt confident and happy with how it had gone. But then Emily had asked to speak privately for a moment, and all of those good feelings had flown right out of the window.
“Lute asked what?” Charlie hissed, struggling to keep her demon farm from coming out at the mention of the Exorcist. She could forgive a lot, but Lute had already been on thin ice for making Vaggie Fall. Then she had tried to kill Vaggie on Extermination Day, but even that she could justify, from a strictly “war is ugly” point of view. But then Lute broke into her hotel, had held Stitches hostage for hours, and nearly made her lose her sister forever!
No, even Charlie was kind enough to forgive that.
Emily gave her a sympathetic look. “I know it is a lot to ask. She attacked your hotel with the intent to kill one of your staff, and then she hurt an innocent woman. You don’t owe her anything, I just-”
“You’re damn right I don’t owe her shit!” Charlie shouted. “Why should Lute be able to get closure and sleep better at night!? She’s an awful person, and that incident was the third time she hurt people I care about. I try to see the good in everyone, and believe me, that is a tall order in Hell, but Lute? She may be in Heaven, but she doesn’t have any good in her!”
Emily winced and worried on her bottom lip. “I can understand how you feel. I can’t imagine all the pain you have been through. That Heaven put your people through.” She gave a small smile, and Charlie couldn’t help but to calm a little at her friend’s words. “But I am not asking strictly for Lute’s benefit.”
“What?” Now it was Charlie’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“Lute was brainwashed,” Emily said hesitantly. “I have been looking into things since I found out Sera kept the Exterminations from me. The Exorcist Army is a cult, and while that is no excuse for her behavior, I can see her starting to question everything. If I can give her some hope, feed that small humanity that sparked when she met that Sinner… Well, I am hoping it will be the boost she needs to finally break free from the control. This could be the catalyst for change. If I can convince her that what what she was taught about Sinners and Hell is wrong, then maybe her changing will lead others in her group to also leave-”
“-And that may be enough to permanently dissuade the Exterminations…” Charlie mused, thinking it over. She couldn’t forgive Lute for what she had done, certainly not until until the woman showed she was willing and trying to change, but for the sake of the future…
She looked at Emily, who just waited quietly for her to make her decision, her eyes full of hope. Out of everyone they had dealt with so far in Heaven, Emily was the kindest and most sincere, the first to even hear her out. It was obvious that she may be one of the highest in their hierarchy, but she had been kept out of the loop on anything important. In a lot of ways, they were both trying to catch up on all the things about their realms that they had been too sheltered from, undoing the mistakes of the past.
But unlike Charlie, whose Dad, the King of Hell, was giving her his full backing and trying to repair the eons of neglect in his kingdom, Emily didn’t have that kind of support. She was fighting to fix things on her own, because the ones who made the mistakes were fighting the changes, and those in the dark about it saw nothing out of place. The Seraphim of Joy was asking for one favor: confirm whether the woman Lute had taken hostage had lived or not.
If Emily thought it would lead to change…
Charlie took a deep breath. “I will not reveal anything about the Sinner in question, for her own safety. She has been through enough; Lute doesn’t need to know anything else about her.” She looked down and squeezed her fists, hoping she wouldn’t regret her next words. “But I can confirm that she is alive and recovering.” She looked up at Emily. “Is that enough for Lute?”
Emily beamed. “Yes! That is perfect! Thank you so much for trusting me on this, Charlie. I promise to do my best to ensure that Lute and the rest of Heaven do not interfere in your mission or with your people again!”
Charlie kept her face smiling while they said their goodbyes, but as soon as the the call ended, she slumped into her chair. If she had had her way, she would have never heard or seen Lute again. Dad had threatened her, told her never to come back to Hell, so barring the Exterminations being reinstated, which they were avoiding fairly successfully so far, she had thought Lute would never come up again. Yet, here she was, like an annoying fly, back in Charlie’s mind yet again.
When she went home, she should tell the others about this, right? Charlie didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it. This could be the end of it; Lute had only wanted to know whether the woman she hurt was alive or not. Emily would tell her, and then Lute could forget all about Stitches forever.
Charlie groaned and stood up, collecting her files and papers and shoving them back into her bag. No, she would at least talk to Alastor and Lucifer about this. Keeping secrets from her hotelier (and kinda-step-dad) and from the King of Hell (who was her actual dad) was just not something she was going to risk. There were too many secrets around everyone and everything already, and way more than she was comfortable with all connected back to her little sister. Or were because of her, more like, and Stitches was no closer to revealing them all than she had been months ago.
“No more secrets,” Charlie decided, heading back to the hotel. “Certainly not from me.”
What an awful way to start the week.