The next day, Grace went on a solo excursion. She had no specific purpose other than to not be around the usual group of sinners, nor any specific destination in mind other than ‘not-the-Hazbin-Hotel.’ What Grace was aware of was that at this point, there was nobody related to the hotel that she wanted to be around.

Aimless wandering through the streets of Pentagram City took her by her old apartment building. Since it had gone up in flames shortly after she joined the residents at Charlie Morningstar’s hotel, it remained condemned. The authorities—for whatever good ‘authorities’ were in Hell—never did find the culprit once arson had been declared the cause.

The yellow CAUTION tape, of course, did little to deter some residents from returning to its ruins, or other sinners from moving into them for the first time. Probably the landlord abandoned the property so it was free, literally, for the taking.

Looking at the overall state of the charred, dilapidated building, Grace realized how much the hotel had spoiled her for any other living arrangements. Even before the slums had been set aflame, the hotel was leaps and bounds nicer.

From there, Grace visited the mall she used to frequent, whether or not she could afford to buy anything there—which she never could. Every once in a while, when desperation overwhelmed her conscience, she would leave a mall store with items she hadn’t paid for. Such was her afterlife prior to the hotel. 

Prior to him.

The only restaurant in this mall’s food court that had offerings Grace could eat was a small bakery. She got herself a plain soft pretzel with what little Hell cash she had on hand and settled at an uncomfortable wrought iron table nearby in a seat with a cushion that had as much padding as a bedsheet. She broke the pretzel up into tiny pieces she popped into her mouth one at a time to help stretch out the amount of food she’d been able to afford; Grace was not planning on returning to the hotel until it was time to sleep, so this single meal was going to have to last her.

“Grace? Bedgood? Is that you?”

Grace blinked. That choked-down bite of pretzel settled in her stomach like her mother’s pancakes always did—in a blistering, painful lump of leaden, half-baked batter. She glanced up only to find the Demon Overlord of social media, Velvette, approaching her table. Why in Hell, Heaven, and Earth did she greet me like we’re old friends?

So Grace replied to Velvette’s greeting accordingly: “What do you want?”

Velvette slowed, then stopped and pressed a hand against the back of another chair at Grace’s sad little loner table. “You’re not happy to see me?” the Overlord asked with a pout.

What is this? Grace eyed her warily. “No, can’t say that I am.”

“Can’t say I don’t deserve that.”

Grace blinked; that response was unexpected.

“Hey, listen. I’m so sorry about the things I said when you came to see me at Vee Tower.”

Sure you are.

“Honest!”

Grace realized her face must have said that last thought aloud.

“Vox and Val put me up to it; they didn’t want me working with you because they had their own plans for you and I would just get in their way.”

Grace stared silently, her mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. That actually could have been what happened, as unlikely as that seemed.

“Truth is, though, I’ve been wanting to expand my fashion line. Plus-sized sinners are wildly underserved here and I genuinely think you’d make the perfect model for the launch of my new endeavor. I’ve had it planned out for months. It’s called Curvaceous Couture.”

Grace turned her focus downward. She’d starved herself to stay out of plus-sized stores when she was alive. She came from hefty stock and was just naturally shapely, whether or not she appreciated the shape she got, regardless of how little she ate and how often she purged what little she allowed herself.

She set the remainder of her pretzel on a napkin she’d unfolded on the table, having effectively lost her appetite thanks to her reminiscing.

“I can see you closing out my runway shows. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after we met and I’ve even designed some outfits with you in mind. Here, look.” Velvette dragged the other seat around the table and settled in it beside Grace, opening an album titled, simply, GB CC. 

There were sketches upon sketches of outfits on a figure that did, indeed, resemble Grace’s proportions and on a faceless model whose coloring did, indeed, match Grace’s. She glanced at Velvette wordlessly.

“I meant what I said. I’m sorry about the things I told you when we first met. I didn’t mean any of them and the guilt has been awful. I’d say it’s been eating me alive, but—well … that wouldn’t be entirely accurate.”

Grace finally responded—more or less. “Mmm.”

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna forgive me. I understand. But just know that I compensate my models very well. Only the best for the best and I pick only the best to represent my brands!” Velvette tucked her phone into her purse and traded it for a small, rectangular piece of card stock that she slid over to Grace. “Here. Think about it?” She stood, offering Grace a cocky-as-all-fuck smile. “I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon. My first show is scheduled for two weeks from this Saturday. It’s not a whole lot of time to prepare you but I have no doubt you’ll fit right into place with little trouble at all.”

Once Velvette excused herself from the table, Grace picked up the business card, studied it for a few moments and crushed it into a tiny ball of card stock that she shoved into her purse to be forgotten, as was the fate of most business cards.

She supposed that apology had to be very difficult for an Overlord like Velvette. As best Grace could tell, it was even sincere.

If Velvette could apologize, Grace realized she could—and should—too.

Grace found Charlie watching TV, sipping on something that smelled like hot chocolate from a mug she cupped in both hands.

Thankfully, Charlie was in the alcove by herself.

“Hey,” Grace greeted her reluctantly.

“Hi, Grace,” said Charlie with a warm smile. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Grace took halting steps into the room and settled in the armchair to Charlie’s right. “I wanna apologize for my behavior during your lesson yesterday. You didn’t deserve for me to be such a buttmunch about everything.”

“I need to apologize, too. That wasn’t my place to interfere with your relationship.”

“You were just trying to help, and your heart is in the right place.”

“I get too nosy, sometimes. It’s just—he—” Charlie paused, pink creeping into her cheeks.

Grace’s heart slammed against her ribcage. “He. What.”

“He … he proposed the topic. And promised he’d actually participate if I did it. I couldn’t well pass up such a rare opportunity, but … you’re mad. I get it! Whatever he did, he obviously hurt you pretty badly.”

“This isn’t about him,” Grace said through clenched teeth. No matter how much he wants every fucking thing to be about him. “This is about my behavior toward you yesterday.”

Charlie waved it off. “I totally understand.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re letting me off way too easily and I don’t deserve it.”

“I get to decide whether or not you’re deserving of my forgiveness.” Charlie leveled a hard stare at Grace. “Do you remember anything from the exercise?”

Her tone had struck true to Grace’s heart. She deserved that. “I—” She bowed her head with a sigh. “No. I don’t remember anything but being angry. Feeling unbridled fury. I’m sorry … I guess I didn’t retain much of anything.”

“You’re being harder on yourself than you are on probably anyone else and I can see you’re struggling to love yourself right now. That’s gonna make it hard to forgive yourself, and accept my forgiveness. You’re imperfect, and that’s okay! We all are. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. Right?”

Grace nodded slightly.

“I forgive you, Grace. You’re hurt.” She paused, dropping her gaze to the mug in her grasp. “I understand all too well how it feels to be betrayed by someone you trusted with your soul.”

“Not like this, you don’t!”

Charlie’s eyebrows darted upward. “Oh? You know Vaggie’s an Angel, right?”

“I’ve surmised as much,” Grace replied with a nod.

“Well … she wasn’t just any old Angel. She was an exorcist. I found her lying wounded in an alley on Extermination Day about four years ago. Another exorcist had gouged out her eye and torn off her wings, leaving her trapped in Hell.”

Grace’s mouth fell open with a quiet gasp.

“And for three years, while she was my partner in every meaning of the word, she never once mentioned her past to me.”

“You seem—you’re both so happy together now. How did you get past her keeping a secret like that from you?”

“Well …” Charlie drew the word out and let it just dangle there momentarily. “When you truly love someone, your heart will find a way to work through these things. I’m sure with time, you’ll find a way to forgive Alastor. You love him, don’t you?”

Of course I do. Grace closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek in silence. If I didn’t, this wouldn’t be killing me all over again.

The next evening, Grace’s solitude was broken by a knock on her bedroom door and a rich, bass voice asking, “A word?”

Something about Husker’s tone through the door made Grace feel like this word wouldn’t be one she’d want to hear and so she stalked over to the door, whipped it open, and greeted him, “You get one word.”

“Grace—”

“One!” She attempted to slam the door in his face but he stopped it with a well-placed foot.

“Hey!” Husk cried. “What the fuck! You’re mad at him, not me! Remember?”

Grace took a deep breath through her nostrils and against her better judgment, not-quite-so-welcomed him into her bedroom.

Husker brought with him a dark bottle in one hand and a couple glasses in the other. 

Grace sat on the edge of her bed and watched him fill the glasses with liquid from said bottle. 

They drank in silence. 

Grace was aware he was trying to get her at least a little tipsy before conversing with her, so she tried thinking undrunk thoughts.

Husk set his glass on the table near the window before settling in the armchair beside it. He ran both hands down his face and hesitantly met Grace’s gaze. “I hate myself so much right now for telling you this, but … I think I’d hate myself more if I stood by in silence.”

The words made Grace’s stomach turn. She knew what was coming although she hoped desperately that she was assuming incorrectly. “Oh, seriously? You, Husk? What. Spit it out.”

“You know well enough by now that I’m the last soul who’d defend that demon but … he’s softened because of you. He’s changed. I fear you can’t see it, but I can. And I’ve known him longer than I wish to admit. We can all see it. This is the first time anyone’s gotten through to him. Maybe … maybe he’s worth forgiving?”

It was, unfortunately, exactly what Grace assumed, give or take some alternative phrasing. “Don’t you get it, Husk? I’m in love with him and I trusted him and he decimated my heart!”

“Have you told him that?”

“Why the fuck would I? Like he’d care or even understand. Everything boils down to power and control with him.” And boredom! Don’t forget boredom! “What difference would it make, anyway? You said so yourself: he isn’t capable of feeling feelings even akin to love. Remember that?”

With a visible cringe, he said, “I stand corrected and I’m not above admitting when I’m wrong. I said that just because I hadn’t seen it from him before. I suppose it’s true that there’s a first time for everything.”

Grace scoffed, rolled her eyes, and tossed back the remainder of the drink in her glass.

Husker studied her in silence for a few moments before surmising, “I think you’re more like him than he realizes … and that you want to admit to yourself.”

She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath through her nostrils. “Are you telling me this because you think he truly deserves my forgiveness or because with me out of the picture, there’s nothing and nobody to distract him from making your afterlife miserable again?”

“Grace! Fuckin’ Christ!” Husk cried with a flail, his wings flaring out behind him.

“And yet you don’t deny it.” In a livid haze, she snatched her purse from beside her bed and flipped him off over her shoulder as she stalked out of her bedroom. “Get bent, Husker!”

One shell-shocked Grace Bedgood found herself the sudden center of attention amid a flurry of activity.

Velvette had been the Vee to greet her in the lobby of their high rise and had escorted her upstairs without a moment’s hesitation.

From there, it was hair, makeup, and clothing fittings, then outfit alterations. Nip here, tuck there, let out the bustline and add an inch of ease around each thigh.

Judging by the level of preparation completed prior to Grace’s arrival, prior even to Grace giving any indication of the most minute interest in accepting Velvette’s offer, this Curvaceous Couture fashion line was a real endeavor.

Or perhaps Velvette was just that confident that her offer was too good to refuse.

In reality, Grace felt that the Hazbin Hotel was no longer a safe space for her. She was also buzzed from Husk’s drinks and self-destructing something fierce.

And whether or not she wanted to admit it, it was easier to forgive these three monsters so longer after their discretions against her than it was to forgive Alastor this soon after his.

She was shuttled from room to room, and then found herself standing on a round platform before Velvette, who conjured outfit after outfit on Grace as if she were Velvette’s personal dress-up paper doll. With each outfit, Velvette made remarks to one of her assistants who scowled while scribbling notes onto a tablet.

Velvette was not one to sugarcoat her opinions; the worst assessment of Grace as a model—or the outfit she’d been put in—was ‘dreadful.’ 

And yet somehow Grace expected she’d be far more cruel.

Actually, Grace expected nothing about how Velvette was treating her. Was it possible the apology at the food court had been sincere? Grace had, of course, hoped it was even if it seemed wildly out of character.

It wasn’t as if Grace knew very much at all about Velvette but if she associated with Vox and Valentino—which she did—it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to imagine Velvette was at least as awful as her colleagues.

But it turned out, Velvette was the quintessential Girl Boss. On steroids. In Hell.

Now, Velvette’s note-taking, scowling assistant was another story altogether; at the first opportunity, she got close enough to Grace with a cup of coffee and splashed it across her face, chest, and stomach.

Thankfully it wasn’t at McDonald’s coffee temperature, but Grace’s makeup was ruined and her outfit in need of immediate cleaning before staining set in.

Velvette sent Grace to shower in a nearby bedroom that she hoped wasn’t Velvette’s if not for any particular reason except that the mere thought of it seemed weird and made her uncomfortable. Like she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been.

The same could be said for Grace being in Vee Tower at all.

Shockingly, she had yet to encounter the other two legs of the troublesome triad and that was just as well.

It made Grace a bit sick when she realized this was probably the most relaxing shower she’d taken since manifesting in Hell. Showering in her apartment back in the slums was accompanied by a constant fear of intruders encountering her in a state of vulnerability.

Showering at the Hazbin Hotel was rife with unwelcome trespassing Alastors. And then the lack of trespassing Alastors when he was wanted.

This?

This was peaceful. Nobody but Velvette and her assistants even knew she was there.

What an odd place in which to feel completely safe.

The more consideration she gave it, the more comfortable she got, and the less Grace wished to return to the hotel. Vee Tower in Velvette’s care could actually suit her just fine.

She’d been made to feel sexy in the outfits Velvette created with her in mind. It had been so long since she felt others saw her as sexy that she’d forgotten what that felt like, how good it felt, not to mention how very much she’d missed it.

Velvette’s scowling, coffee-spilling assistant had been made to lay out a change of clothing for her to wear after her shower: a pair of skimpy, lacy lilac tanga underwear and matching padded bra—not that Grace’s rack needed the assist. 

Beside the undergarments: a long-sleeved, white v-neck cable knit shirt, a mostly red mini skirt with thin vertical stripes, and a short-sleeved red bolero top with puffy white heart details.

Although she didn’t need the padded bra, the pads gave her some crazy lift. Once dressed again in an outfit that screamed Velvette was here, Grace did a little spin in front of a full-length mirror positioned in the corner of the room.

Maybe I could even make a name for myself as a model here. Angel Dust is the Porn Demon. I can be the Curvaceous Couture Model Demon.

And then Grace laughed at herself for being so stupid.

She hadn’t been given any directives for after her shower so she settled in a plush chair and absentmindedly switched on the television.

Am I staying here now? Should I leave? Ideally she’d ask Velvette ‘what now?’ but hadn’t the first clue how to find her in Vee Tower, nor did Grace relish searching for her if it meant the possibility of encountering the male Vee Overlords.

She figured that if Velvette needed her, she knew where to find her. And if Velvette wanted her out, she’d tell her so.

The television was tuned into Vox 2 Nite. 

“Yeah. I think very not.” Grace changed the station.

Vox 2 Nite. Again.

Grace changed the station. Again.

Vox 2 Nite. Again again.

“Aight, this is getting an obnoxious Twilight Zone-ish quality to it,” Grace mumbled.

“Why?” Vox asked, staring directly into the camera.

She froze. That was a coincidence. It had to be. Grace refused to entertain any other possibility. There was no way he was responding to her; she just happened to interrupt a conversation on his show that resulted in an eerily well-timed question.

He kept staring, unblinking, directly into the camera.

Grace swallowed and switched the channel.

Vox still watched in silence. 

Maybe the image froze?

Then the screen flashed a brief but blinding white.

Grace rubbed her eyes to clear her vision and then rubbed them again hoping what she saw in the room before her was a figment of her imagination but knowing deep into her marrow that it was not.

“Hello, Grace Bedgood. Do you have any doubt I’m addressing you now?”

Grace blurted the only thing that came to mind: “I’m here for Velvette!” Wow, weird déjà vu. 

Vox snorted. “Seems to me you’re stuck on repeat.”

“Seems to me you don’t know when you’re not wanted.”

“Sassy little bitch, aren’t you.” He circled Grace where she sat in the chair with an appraising sweep of his gaze and then smirked. “I just aired a documentary about lake eruptions and it brought you to mind.” 

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned over, encroaching well into her personal space, pressing his hands into the armrest beside her thigh, the tip of several claws grazing the exposed skin. “Tell me: is this the real Grace Bedgood I see before me? Or just what’s left of her after the Radio Demon did what the Radio Demon does so well?”

“You’d know what it’s like to be the aftermath of what the Radio Demon does so well,” Grace spat.

Vox snatched her face between his fingertips, pinching them painfully and jerking her face toward his. She kept her gaze trained downward.

In the periphery of her vision, she could see him grinning at her; pure, rabid predator and not a shred of humanity left in that dark soul. He grinned in such a way that Grace had immediate regrets about every decision she’d ever made—in life and afterward.

“Look at me,” Vox warned.

“Go choke on a bag of blue whale dicks.” Grace set her jaw painfully between his fingertips. “No.”

“Oh … I really think you should look into my eyes.”

“I said ‘no!’ How stupid do you think I am?”

His voice now a disgustingly seductive purr, Vox replied, “I know you’re not stupid. But you’re heartbroken, scared, and desperate … which is so much worse than being stupid. You’d be lucky to just be stupid.”

“And neither of those things is reason enough to let you hypnotize me into whatever it is you want from me this time.”

“Perhaps not.” Vox seemed to savor the silence between them before saying, “But I also know that Alastor is vulnerable right now. And I know you know that.”

“What makes you think I give a shit?”

Vox laughed. A real, genuine laugh. Wow, how it grated on Grace’s ears. “Because,” he explained in the most pandering tone ever, “I hear it in your voice. I see it in your face. And I know all too well how it is for that piece of shit to get under your skin. He’s like a fucking tick. A bamboo shoot shoved beneath your fingernails.” Vox paused, glancing with a wry laugh at the bolero jacket she was wearing. “Not to mention that you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.” Before she could interject—not that she would—Vox added, “And you’re so mad at him that you fled his arms in favor of his sworn enemy’s.”

Grace set her jaw, refusing to acknowledge any of that.

“And I think you will look at me because I have a cache of Angelic Steel and I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to stab that obsolete motherfucker through his heart with some when you are in no position to save his sorry afterlife.”

She gasped, her gaze snapping to his. “You wouldn’t!”

“I knew it. Oh, Grace Bedgood, what a bad actor you are.”