Chapter Text
“That’s disgusting.”
“Why thank you, Your Majesty,” Alastor breezed, maintaining eye contact with Lucifer as he licked another finger clean of blood. It left red smeared across his teeth and lips, gleaming in the dim light when the demon smiled. “So good of you to hold back such a comment until we were alone. It wouldn’t do for us to present a divided front now, would it?”
Lucifer grimaced, then scrunched his nose in complete revulsion as he watched Alastor turn his head to ‘subtly’ cough into his hand, leaving behind a bit of soaked white fur.
The demon eyed the result with a bit of contempt himself before flicking it away into some unlit corner of the room and grabbing a napkin. “I must admit, that was a little messier than I prefer. I usually have more space to shift to my full form before devouring my victims. It has been some time since I partook of a meal the more… old-fashioned way.”
Lucifer shut his eyes, feeling bile rise in his gut at the image Alastor just put back in his head. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered, pinching the point between his eyes. “Why did I ever agree to this? Binding myself to some sinner with the diet of a monster.”
“Because, Majesty,” Alastor said, repeating the title he had been pressing on Lucifer every other sentence since they first shook hands, as if he hadn’t been denying Lucifer a single scrap of respect for the entire year. “You decided my help was, how did you put it? ‘Worth the risk?’ I must say, it is flattering to think I managed to persuade you to go against your own reservations so thoroughly—”
“Oooh-kay,” Lucifer interrupted, dropping his hand and opening his eyes to scowl at the smiling sinner. “Let’s get two things straight, Red: If we’re going to make this work, you’re gonna have to drop the twenty-four seven sarcasm—” The demon had the gall to smile wider. “And you can stop with that ‘Your Majesty’ crap right now. It’s giving me the chills.”
“Really? I would expect you to appreciate it.”
“Not when you say it like that I don’t.” Alastor just snickered, and he hadn’t agreed to either of Lucifer’s demands, but Lucifer ignored that for the moment as he glanced suspiciously around them. “More importantly, why did we come here?”
‘Here’ being the literal vintage speakeasy Alastor had led him to: Some little hole in the wall with badly lit tables and a grungy bar, and yet there was a full band and dance floor there, full of active dancers. The crowd had come to a complete standstill the second they showed up, but a few well-placed glowing looks and sweeps of a shadow tendril had made it clear they were not to be approached, nor even looked at for long.
Lucifer could feel the gazes itching on his shoulders and the back of his neck, but no one had been stupid enough to stare at them or come up to them again.
“I told you, Your Majesty,” Alastor said. “I wanted us to celebrate together—”
“Pull the other one.”
“And to discuss what happened,” he finished, seemingly completely unperturbed, and that was definitely Lucifer’s least favorite part of this whole deal so far: It was proving damn near impossible to get a rise out of Alastor anymore, and it was pissing him off. Hopefully that was just the flush of a fresh success making Alastor extra smug, or else this was going to be unbearable. “I imagine you might have some… concerns about how things went tonight.”
Lucifer flinched and looked away. Boy, that was an understatement. He had been uncertain about this entire trip ever since Alastor proposed it. But as Alastor had pointed out, they needed to set an example. Show the people that they could not cross the Morningstars or toy with their dear king with impunity. That Vox's little rebellion against him was an exception, not the rule. Make it clear to everyone, the overlords, the sinners, the people at the hotel, to Charlie… Lilith… that he was there. That he was watching. That he could do something.
And when Lucifer had asked how, Alastor had taken him to V Tower.
Earlier That Evening
“What the actual fuck, Alastor?!” The doll lady snapped, her voice sharp, incredulous, nearly hoarse from outrage as it bounced off the bright pink and red walls around them. She didn’t dare come closer. Not yet. But Lucifer could hear her heels scraping on the floor behind him as she shifted, or maybe stomped her feet, clear even beyond Angie’s hyperventilating against the wall. Beyond the grunts and crashes and cries happening in front of all of them.
Beyond the static screech.
“You can’t do this!” At that voice, Lucifer dared a glance sideways away from the action. The TV Head—or, was it just ‘TV’ period now?—was screaming on the floor where he had toppled over after the sofa that he had been perched on was split in half. It was a wonder his screen hadn’t cracked, but his flat face flickered with static all on its own, panic straining and glitching the image. He strained to see what was happening from his position, and his voice climbed, frantic, in the face of what he found. “Why are you both even here?! You know you can’t do anything to us, Lucifer! We both know it!!”
“I don’t recall doing anything,” Lucifer countered, his own volume conversational, and it was just his luck that there was enough of a quiet lull in the fight for him to be heard before the bug started screaming. Alastor had managed to pin the thing down with his tentacle things, the shadows sparking with shots of gold and green. The first color matched the glow coming from Lucifer’s own hands, clear even with his palms on the apple of his staff, while the second matched the stitches cobwebbed over Alastor’s body, the glow in the demon’s eyes, the energy coming off Alastor’s own staff… save for at the tip, where a touch of white gleamed, bright and lethal.
A tip aimed just below the moth’s chin.
“Shit!” Lucifer glanced to the side again but didn’t bother turning before raising a hand. It was an effortless bit of magic, but he still braced himself, only allowed the tension in his back and shoulders to relax when he heard the woman repeat the curse amid a loud thump and thud.
When he looked back, he found her sprawled on the floor, a witch’s broom of all things fallen beside her, she was clutching the back of her shoulder with a pained grimace.
Lucifer hissed in sympathy for her suffering, then advised, “I wouldn’t do that.” He used the knuckles of the hand he still had raised to knock on the wall of glass between them, extra thick, and there just now at his whim. “You’re not going to get very far.”
“What the fuck?!” The commentary was from the TV again, but it was the doll girl who moved, who picked herself up off the ground and glared at him and pulled out a weird glowing scroll of text from the air, clearly aiming to attack.
“Uh-uh! You try anything and I’ll just repair it instantly! Make some new—”
“On your right!”
Lucifer jumped, then looked about—startled to hear him talking to him, and while he was still struggling with the moth to boot—and it was just dumb luck that he happened to look right first, or Angie would have grabbed him. “Eep!” As it was, Lucifer transformed into a snake on reflex and slithered between the now tripping sinner’s feet until the devil was behind him again, could transform back to his usual self and scramble a second wall into place, this one curving from the first wall between Angie and himself and out across the room, putting the TV behind glass as well. “What’s the big idea?!”
Angie turned around, glared at Lucifer with teeth, and Lucifer’s confused outrage melted into alarm, seeing the look on the boy’s face. What—
“He is being controlled.” Lucifer looked back to the demon, and Alastor’s eyes were still on the bug—going by the sounds he was making and the angle of his shoulder, the guy had dislocated something trying to get away without touching that staff—but Alastor was definitely talking to him. “A contract isn’t the only thing Valentino has been using against Angel Dust: Vox was hypnotizing him, and Valentino is releasing a pheromone as we speak.”
That… was a lot of names.
A harsh impact and cracking sound came from behind him, and Lucifer turned to see the little witch back on her broom, her hands holding up a pole of glowing purple like she had just shot an arrow with it somehow. The cracks in the glass between them were barely anything, though, and Lucifer felt a grim satisfaction, seeing the dismay on her face.
It only got worse when Lucifer flicked a finger and the cracks disappeared.
“Stay out of it,” Lucifer drawled, lips curled in a taunting half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. That curdled completely when he realized what he was doing, how easily it had come to him… But, he could also feel the other eyes in the room on him, feel the cameras in the wall trained on him, so he pressed on. “…Unless you want to end up like him.”
The woman’s glare sharpened, focused on him. “We all know you can’t touch us, Your Highness. You’re just putting on a show.”
“That’s Your Majesty. And like I said, I’m not doing anything, am I? Not hurting you, at least. Not directly.” He kept his voice calm, almost bored, but tapped his cane once against the floor in warning. “That doesn’t change what I said. You three stay where you are until our business with the moth is complete.”
As if in answer, the moth screamed.
Lucifer turned to see Alastor’s grip on the man had tightened, shadow tendrils flexing with the effort to keep him still, keep his throat exposed to the staff tip pointed to it. Alastor himself had barely twitched since this began, and yet he was the one about to make the killing blow.
Killing, as in Lucifer had temporarily blessed Alastor’s staff with divine power, so if Alastor killed with it, that was it. The bug would be gone. And they’d already said as much minutes ago, when Vox first noticed the white glow.
They all knew.
The tension in the room was thick, every sinner holding their breath when Lucifer finally spoke, his tone cold and clear. “You already know why we’re here, Bug. Now it’s time to decide: Either you let Angel Dust go—” He paused, held the beat for emphasis, for dread, to cover his own disbelief, then spoke. “Or you die.”
“You—you can’t!” Valentino’s voice shook, desperation clawing at every syllable as he looked frantically between the radio demon, the angelic weapon tip hovering at his jugular, and the king looking on. “Contracts are sacred, you can’t undermine them—this isn’t how it works! There are rules, you can’t just—”
“Of course not,” Lucifer cut him off smoothly, still as calm as ever. Just as cold. “If I could, I’d snap it myself. But that’s impossible even for me. Only you can break that contract.” He smiled, the stretch feeling wrong across his face. Menacing.
Alastor was looking at him, his eyes glinting.
“By choice, or by death,” Lucifer continued, returning his attention to the bug, ignoring the shiver that went up his own back. “And we can make you regret not breaking it.”
Valentino stammered, words tumbling out of his mouth, but none landed. He was scrambling for an out that wasn’t there.
“Is this what you've degraded yourself to, Al?!” The TV. ‘Vox’. He was talking to Alastor, his flat body quivering on the ground like he was trying to stand. Or maybe just shaking with rage. “You got away from me, only to grovel to him?! So pathetic, lowering yourself to play attack dog for the ki—”
Lucifer snapped his fingers.
A small glass box manifested neatly around Vox’s form, muting his jeers to a dull, indignant buzz.
The satisfaction Lucifer felt was immediate and potent. Let Vox feel what it was like to be stuck in a box for a while; it was only fair.
The silence that followed was thick, sharp and unsettling, disrupted only by the faint vibration of the glass trembling with Vox’s muffled curses. The lady and Angel Dust weren’t saying a thing, and Alastor was still looking at him, his head angled, eyes piercing Lucifer with a silent inquiry. A question for what Lucifer had just done. What Alastor should do.
Lucifer held his stare, feeling the weight of what would happen if he said yes… and did it, giving a barely perceptible nod.
Alastor’s smile curled.
“Wait!” Valentino, desperate, cried out, hands raised and begging for mercy. “Wait—wait, please! I’ll do it! I’ll break the contract!”
Lucifer lifted a hand, and Alastor—in the middle of raising his staff like a spear to strike down—froze, his weapon lingering in the air like a caught guillotine. “That so?”
“Yes! I break it—it’s broken, alright?! It’s gone!”
And it was. A flash of red, and Lucifer glanced back to see Angel Dust doubled over, a spray of dust of the same red falling around him until it completely dissolved into the air. It left the lad hunched over, holding his own shoulders with eyes struck wide, pupils mere dots.
“That’s it then, right?!” Lucifer returned his attention to the bug, and found him gritting his teeth, glaring up at Alastor. Glaring at him. “You can… guh, you can take him.” He said it like it cost him an arm to do so. “So just take him and go!!”
He was right. They had what they had come there for. Their business was done. And yet, to leave like that, like dismissed pups by a foe clearly far more irritated than intimidated—
Alastor dropped his arm holding his staff to the side, and stepped closer.
Lucifer’s gaze rose to him, questioning, but for a long, silent breath, Alastor’s gaze was pinned on Valentino. On the man still caught on the floor between his legs. Valentino gave a jolt at his proximity, but didn't move. Too scared, perhaps, or too injured by the assault Alastor had put him through to get him on the floor in the first place. It didn’t matter.
Alastor stared down at the bug… then looked at him. At Lucifer.
This was not part of the plan. Alastor never laid out this possibility in any way. But he looked at Lucifer as though for permission all the same, and with no more insight into what he could expect than the scene before him, the look on the demon’s face? All Lucifer could do was consider the alternative.
Saying no. Tossing out some fumbling closer. Walking out—likely dragging out Angel Dust, by the look of him. Leaving with the heated, free curses of the three sinners at their backs.
Lucifer weighed that possibility and found it wanting. So, he met Alastor’s eye and gave him another nod instead.
Alastor grinned, all teeth, eyes sparking with delight and—if Lucifer was not mistaken—surprise, before hunger replaced it all, and he turned on Valentino.
Lucifer instantly regretted.
“No!!” the woman screamed, and there was retching behind Lucifer’s back, but he couldn’t turn to check. Couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was so quick, so savage, a train already off its tracks and plummeting out of reach, setting fire to all it touched, and it was all Lucifer could do to keep his hands from shaking, pressing his fingers to his staff to keep them still as he watched Alastor—his accomplice—eat his victim.
It was over in seconds.
“What the fuck?!” Vox’s voice was the first to break through the gruesome sounds filling the room, echoing in Lucifer’s ears. The TV was screaming so loud that his words were clear even through the muted glass, shrill and venomous, torn by tears. His face was glitching from the runs of color coming from his eyes, pinned solely on Alastor. “You lying bastard! Is this because I fucked him in front of you?! Are you so jealous you had to—”
What?!
Lucifer forgot all about the carnage in front of him, his eyes pinned unblinking and burning on the television that didn’t even notice him, while behind him— “You did what?!” The woman. She had sounded so torn open when she screamed seconds ago, but now? “Ugh, you’re disgusting, Vox!”
“Shut up, Velvette!!”
A pointed slurping noise drew Lucifer’s focus back to the slaughter, and he watched with a suddenly strong stomach as Alastor stood, leaving behind only scraps of a person as he wiped his mouth. It was still disgusting, but the layers of tension and loathing in Lucifer’s gut, unrelated to the butchery he had just witnessed, kept him steady as Alastor turned to look at him.
The demon had the gall to smile at him.
With bloody teeth.
The Present
“You know, you really did quite well.”
Lucifer tore his eyes off a speck of blood on Alastor’s cheek and met the demon’s satisfied little smirk with a stare. Then he broke the gaze with an eyeroll and a scoff. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“I mean it! No one would have guessed you didn’t have the slightest idea what you were doing.”
“Alright.” That did it: He was glaring at the demon again. “If you actually think I’ve never had to put sinners in their place before—”
“Oh?”
Lucifer caught the glint of Alastor’s smirk and, realizing the demon’s sudden intrigue, glared at the tabletop instead, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. Like he would share personal histories with him of all people…
Unfazed by his sudden reticence, Alastor chuckled—a low, knowing sound that made Lucifer gnash his teeth—but didn’t press. Instead, Alastor gave a wave, and Lucifer was dodging his eye too much to catch if the demon magicked the drinks up himself or pawned them off some staff person nearby, but either way he was suddenly sliding a glass his way. One full of a dark, clearly alcoholic liquid.
Lucifer eyed it with thin lips, not reaching for it. “…You really want to celebrate killing a man like that?”
“Why not? He was a fine meal.” Guh, he definitely did not have the stomach for this. But a shift in his periphery dragged Lucifer’s gaze reluctantly up, and he found Alastor still smiling at him, as nonchalant as ever, holding a matching drink in his hand as he leaned an elbow into the table. “And what does it matter? Valentino will respawn before long: It’s not like I used the power you granted me in the end.”
Yup, and boy was he glad he hadn’t permanently augmented the demon’s power. If Alastor wanted to use it, Lucifer would have to be there. And after today—
“Just give it some time. Nothing down here stays gone for long.”
“No.” And Lucifer grimaced at that thought, too. The truth was there was no outcome here that Lucifer was particularly keen to see. But the one they got? It haunted him. The words Velvette—as he now knew her to be—had said as they left? They haunted him. “And you don’t see any issues coming from us—me—interfering with a contract like that? ‘Attacking an overlord for doing what all of them do?’” Including Alastor, if Lucifer understood right. The angel certainly didn’t bother tracking what the sinners got up to, but he gathered that much at least.
“That’s why we’ll be doing a broadcast tonight! To clarify the truth and counter any lies the Vees try to spread.” Alastor waved away the concern with casual assurance, tapping his glass with a claw as he smirked. “We’ll make it clear that it was Valentino who undermined us first, by interfering in the redemption of a guest of the hotel! And not just any guest: Charlie’s very first. The one with a name everyone would know. If Valentino broke the poor lad in the end, what do you think people would say about Charlie? The hotel? That is what makes it different.” Alastor’s expression twisted, turned into a dark, glowing sneer fueled as much by wrath as clear satisfaction. “Every sinner needs to know that our guests can come and go as they please, but we will not abide anyone interfering with the hotel and its mission, contract or not. Anyone.”
Lucifer’s expression twisted as well, though not in the same way. The impulse to snap at Alastor’s use of ‘we’ and his general possessiveness, his clear intention to establish personal superiority via the hotel was so, so strong. But the bitter taste that came with it was also sour, spoiled by the fact that, for once? Alastor was not focusing that show of arrogance on Lucifer: He was including him in its shadow. And far stronger than Lucifer’s indignance was his worry. “What will Charlie think, though?” he asked, fidgeting in his seat before catching himself and shifting his unease to his drink instead, sliding the glass back and forth across the wood between two restless fingers. “Speaking on the hotel’s behalf like that? Doing that in the first place? If we say the wrong thing—”
“That’s why I didn’t broadcast live at the tower!” A hand sprung out of nowhere and stole Lucifer’s drink just as he was passing it from his right to his left. Lucifer was instantly all scowls pinned on the given culprit, but Alastor was all smiles: Amused, but reassuring as well as he grinned at the ruffled king. The demon took a sip of the neglected drink himself before continuing. “We can decide what to say ahead of time. Pin down exact lines, if you like, if you can memorize—” Alastor paused. Squinted at Lucifer.
Lucifer squinted back.
…Alastor grinned. “I can make you cue cards.”
“Screw you, Rudolph.”
“And we can decide on talking points together,” Alastor went on, flicking Lucifer’s still mostly-full drink in his direction. Lucifer ducked out of the way just before it hit him in the eye, then glared as glass shattered behind him. “Say something like, we were ‘collaborating as fellow supporters of the hotel’ or something like that.” One of the demon’s black tentacle things popped up and blocked the pan Lucifer just conjured to toss at his head. It blocked two more when Lucifer made them. Then a pot. Then a rubber duck. “And if you are that worried about it, we can always delay the broadcast until tomorrow so you can speak with Charlie first! Make certain she approves of the messaging.”
Lucifer stalled, a second duck that he’d conjured still in his hand. He lowered his arm and held the rubber fowl—a little guy with a black vest and bowler hat—between his palms, squeezing it until a comforting squeak was audible just above the dance music behind him. “You really think she’ll be okay with it?”
“Of course! Honestly, I don’t know why you are so worried: You did just rescue her friend, after all.”
That… was true. Lucifer hadn’t really considered it in that light. That is, he had in the moment, when Charlie first found out. But he had been somersaulting back and forth between regret and satisfaction for much of the evening. and getting away from the V Tower? That had only really made it worse.
Not Quite So Early That Evening
One moment, Lucifer was standing in the searing, red-lit chaos of those sinners’ headquarters—the shrieking cries of Velvette and Vox chasing him out of the space—and the next? He was tumbling through a portal into the far quieter, almost-too-normal lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.
He barely had time to orient himself to his surroundings—cooler air, the faint scent of new paint, cleaning solution—before confusion spiked, his mind racing as he realized he had come through the portal solo. Why was he alone? Where was—
Then a body came hurtling out after him. Angel Dust crashed unceremoniously to the floor, a tangle of fur and blood and ragged breaths.
Odd. Lucifer didn’t remember him getting hurt. Had he hit his nose on the glass wall or something?
The portal flickered again, and then a still bloody Alastor stepped through, looking quite satisfied with himself as he planted the tip of his staff on the floor and smirked down on the fallen sinner. Clearly, Angel Dust hadn’t come through the portal of his own volition: Alastor had tossed him.
Angel Dust scrambled upright, all four arms flailing, wide-eyed and gasping as if he could not get air into his lungs. He spun around to face the closed portal, horror dawning on his face and voice. “Wait—wait, no, I can’t—lemme back, you don’t—no, I gotta go back—” He dove for the portal, but it was already closing, and he missed it with a second fall and a sound. One broken, high, and panicked.
“Oh, do relax,” Alastor said, leaning into his staff with one hand as he dusted off a sleeve with the other: It just smeared more red. “No one’s following you here. Not unless they wish to test their luck against the both of us.” He shot a sharp smirk Lucifer’s way. He didn’t return it. Glared his refusal to be a part of this back at him. Alastor just ignored it and refocused on Angel Dust. “Or, perhaps you’re just worried about Valentino’s later retribution? Do not fret! Perhaps the gentleman will focus his ire on me now instead of you.”
Angel Dust twisted on the floor to stare up at Alastor, with his cutting assurance and cutting teeth. He looked terrified. “What—what the hell is wrong with you?!” His trembling hands knotted in his own shirt, tears spilling over and running down his furred cheeks. “You’re a nutcase, you know that?! I knews you did shit like that, but to actually see it—” He shuddered in revulsion, looked like he might vomit again.
Guilt churned deep in Lucifer’s gut watching, sour and insistent. Had… Had they really done the right thing? Was saving someone supposed to be this ugly?
Alastor did not respond to the insults, holding his smile and unblinking gaze upon the sinner, and Lucifer couldn’t tell if he was pissed or didn’t care at all. Angel Dust at least didn’t seem to care: He turned his back on Alastor without a lick of hesitance, staring instead at where the portal just was. “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice dangerously thin. “I—I’ve caused too much trouble. You shoulda just left me—”
He didn’t get to finish.
A rumble of heavy footsteps and a crash of glass came from overhead, and then? “Angel!!” It was the cat. Bat. Thing. The bartender. He was there, on his knees at Angel Dust’s side, tears in his eyes as he grabbed the spider-sinner's hands. Angel tried to jerk away a moment, say some protest, but then the next, the cat-bat was pulling him into his arms, and Angel just collapsed into his hold and sobbed.
It was all so shocking that Lucifer could only stare, and he completely missed others approaching, prompting him to jump quite sharply when someone else popped up and yelled. “Angel, you dumbass! How’d you get here?!” The bomb lady cyclops didn’t wait for an answer or even really break her stride. She just went right up to the pair and picked them both up in a bear hug that was awkward and instantly collapsing between long limbs and reluctant victims.
“Get OFF, Cherri! I’m—ow, watch the—!” The cat gave up his protests, muttering something about ‘damn drama queens’. But when he finally wiggled his way free, he watched the remaining pair hug it out while not-so-subtly wiping his eyes. “Shit, man. Where have you—”
“Angel?!”
Charlie.
Lucifer had fallen into a bit of a daze—pleased if lost—watching the little group, but he jolted to attention at that voice, an anxious smile stretching across his face as he watched his daughter stumbling down the stairs. Charlie, cheeks streaked with tears of joy, raced down the stairs with a shocked Vaggi at her heels to toss herself arms-wide into the ‘angel’ dogpile. “You’re safe! When did you— How did you—”
“Y-your dad, the king and Alastor, they—”
“Dad?!” Charlie dragged herself headfirst out of the tangled pile of arms and legs, hair sticking up wildly in all directions as her red-rimmed eyes sought him out. Lucifer flinched as Charlie’s gaze finally found him, but he managed a nervous, lopsided smile and a little wave.
“H-hey, Char-char! We got your friend back? Ah—” He barely choked out the words before Charlie broke loose from the crowd—her girlfriend filling her cleared spot as the tiny maid and lab coat guy tripped Vaggi into the fray—and sprinted straight at him. In a heartbeat, her arms were winding tight around his waist, and there was an instant wet spot on the front of his suit as Charlie knelt and pressed her face to his chest. It was so sudden, Lucifer couldn’t keep up with it, but the shock and fear inside him melted away as he heard his little girl sob.
“Thank you, Dad, thank you, thank you—” Charlie cried, clinging to him like she’d never let go, and Lucifer could do nothing else but hold her in return. The gratitude, the feeling of being needed, of doing right was almost enough to make him forget anyone else was in the room. “Thank you— You and Alastor, you really—”
Ah, right. Him.
“How—what happened?” Charlie pulled back, sniffling, and looked up at him with questions in her eyes. “Did you—how did you get him out? Was it dangerous? Are you okay?”
The words tumbled so fast that Lucifer couldn’t catch them all, and he tried to answer. But just as he started to stammer a reply, Alastor was there. “Completely understandable questions,” the demon said, all polite hands and sly insistence as he wrapped fingers around Lucifer’s forearm and coaxed him to let go of his daughter. “And I’m sure Angel Dust will be happy to answer them for all of us. But in the meantime, would it be alright if I borrowed your father, Charlie? I need to speak with him.”
What?
While Lucifer glared at Alastor without hesitance, Charlie just blinked at him, baffled. But as it turned out, willing enough to listen. “Oh! Uh, of course.” Her attention snapped back to Angel Dust, who was now hopelessly buried in friends. The guy would clearly not be escaping anytime soon: Not with so many there to hold on and fuss over him. “I’ll talk to you both later then!”
Lucifer watched his daughter go, heart clenching for the sweet moment he had found already gone, then turned his ire of that loss on Alastor with a look. “What do you want?”
Alastor’s eyes just glinted with mischief. “Just a little conversation, Your Majesty. Let’s find somewhere quiet to talk.”