Alastor reached over and took your hand in his, each of his fingers lacing between the gaps of yours.

You shivered. Alastor's touch was not enough to uplift the nervousness weighing your stomach down. The forest around you was getting darker, casting shadows over you and Alastor—but not because it was getting late. The shade was from the trees, which were growing so dense that the leaves overhead formed a sort of canopy that blocked out any and all skylight.

For some reason, this Rosie girl that Alastor had to see enjoyed meeting within the secretiveness of the deep woods, something that you, in difference, did not like. You hated forests. For many reasons. Not only because of the ominous darkness, but also because of your death and the dreams you had been having lately. You clung close to Alastor, relying heavily on the warm safety of his presence to keep you sane.

"How are you feeling?" Alastor asked, looking down at you with an odd expression.

You were now gripping his arm with both hands, staring out into a particularly grim looking patch of trees. "I'm fine," you croaked. Your throat felt dry and scratchy, and talking gave you a sensation like vomiting sand.

Alastor stopped walking, making you stop with him. "Are you sure?" he pressed on. "If you want to go back to the house, I'll take you—"

"No, I don't want to go back. Let's find Rosie," you said, giving Alastor a hopefully comforting smile before continuing to walk, pulling him along with you.

After some time of meandering, your nerves began to ease. You were still walking with your arm hooked around Alastor's, but you were able to look at the trees stretching vastly before you without wanting to cry. Taking a deep, relaxing breath, you glanced around, before suddenly—

"There you are."

The feminine voice startled you so much so that you gasped and jumped about a foot in the air, letting go of Alastor in the process. The familiar fight-or-flight rush made your blood run cold in less than an instant.

Once your feet were steady on the forest ground again, you turned to see that Alastor had looked around to face the voice. "Come to kill me, have you?" he asked the figure.

A feeling of confusion joined your fear as you squinted to get a better look at the person. It was, in fact, a girl. You made this assumption based on her motherly, old-fashioned posture (including her breasts), the long, burgundy dress she wore that feathered out at her feet, and the giant, similarly flamboyant sun hat on top of her short cropped gray hair. Her skin was a muted white, and the two black pools carved into her face—that you assumed were eyes—contrasted to her skin tone greatly.

"Not quite yet, my dear Alastor," she said. Her voice was sugary and smooth. It resembled milk. "Although I'm sure you're hoping I just get it over with already. I promise, when the day comes, I'll make you suffer your worst."

Alastor just grinned. When you saw the way his eyes brightened as he looked at her, you felt a pang of something sharp in your heart. It reminded you of Angel Dust, and the run-in with him and his rude guy friends at the bar: jealousy.

You looked back at Rosie, and if you didn't know any better, it would seem that she was staring into your soul. However, you couldn't really tell where she was looking, considering the fact that her iris and sclera blended into one murky puddle of black. "Would you do me the honors of an introduction?" she asked Alastor curiously.

"Oh, of course! Excuse my rudeness," he rushed. "Rosie, this is a close friend of mine, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my business partner, Rosie." He gestured his hands between the two of you, and although you would normally see it as an awkward gesture, he managed to do it smoothly.

Close friend, you thought with an internal cringe. You cleared your throat. "Hi," you said, almost shyly, slightly intimidated by the demon woman standing before you. "I've heard a bit about you."

"Interesting. I haven't heard about you at all."

Now that you took as an insult. You breathed a little laugh, then looked down at your hands and proceeded to fiddle your thumbs together. You heard Alastor sigh.

"I met her a few days ago... well, found is a better word. She is new here." You felt a finger on your chin, and your face was lifted up. Your eyes were drawn to Alastor, who was smiling at you sympathetically. He leaned down and placed a light kiss on your forehead. "She's stunning in this dress, don't you agree, Rosie?"

"I do. It's very flattering on you," she said, and her tone was almost—but not quite—sinister. When you examined her again, the sharp arrangement of her teeth were showing in a thin smile. She smoothed her palms down the front of her victorian style outfit before continuing. "Now, Al! Tell me what you have heard, and make it snappy. We don't have much time."

Her last sentence struck you as confusing, but you didn't ask what she meant. Instead, you stayed quiet to listen to Alastor's response. His hand slid away from your chin, which left you disappointed for a moment, but he eased your absence of contact by grabbing your hand again. Despite yourself, you smiled.

"Azathoth wants another man dead. Because of his wife, of course," Alastor shared. "This new man's name is Jack. He lives in apartment 206 in the brick complex just beside Victor Aire."

You recognized the name of Victor Aire as the ice arena Alastor took you to for your... romantic evening, but you looked past that. Your mind was focused on other names. Jack. He was the man Alastor (or Rosie, whoever it happened to be) was supposed to kill. That solved one matter, but Azathoth? What kind of name was that?

"Oh my! Azathoth and his wife again?" Rosie rolled her eyes and glanced down at her fingernails, which were long and painted a glossy black. Her fingers were thin and bony, but not wrinkly like an old woman's. "He needs to give up on that whore of a wife he has. It will save lives. Literally."

Alastor chuckled. "You read my mind, madam. But if I were to say that to Azathoth, he would overreact. You know that, too."

"Of course he would. I'm not saying we should bring that to his attention. I'm just gossiping about his wrecked marriage. That bitch Dexie was always a crazy whore."

"Wow, Rosie. I never realized how deeply you took note of Azathoth and his affairs."

You watched the corners of Rosie's mouth turn downward, hiding her teeth. "I don't care for that train wreck," she snapped. After realizing that she was only proving his point, she took a deep breath and let her shoulders sink a little bit lower. "Let's just kill Jack and get this over with... and maybe, while we're at it, we can slip a little something into Dexie's next drink..."

"I'm not opposed to that."

You looked up at Alastor with a confused frown. He returned it with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

Your stomach clenched.

☆

You leaned back against the uncomfortable booth, feeling the hard woodiness of the backing roll against your spine.

The three of you were now sitting in a bar downtown, sipping on alcoholic drinks and chatting quietly, but not suspiciously. Alastor and Rosie knew how to talk undercover, which actually interested you. This was a whole new side of Alastor that you were getting to know.

When you first got there, Alastor explained the entire situation to you. Azathoth and Dexie were a demon couple, having been married for over 100 years. They died together, just a few weeks after the wedding ceremony, which was quite a sad, yet lovely story. The fact that they somehow managed to stay entwined until death—literally—was somewhat romantic.

But their marriage took a turn for the worse, and Dexie began to cheat on Azathoth with other demons. Although her body count was far greater than just two, that was the mere number of men Azathoth discovered were keeping a special eye on his wife. The first one, a man named Harold, was killed by Rosie after being offered a large sum to do so. The two hitmen had been hired again to kill the second man, Jack.

You had zoned out of the conversation a while ago. Rosie and Alastor's chatter carried on to more serious subjects, like how exactly they were supposed to get into Jack's house.

They talked as if you weren't there.

You sat staring at the green bottle of your Heineken, but you weren't really seeing it—your eyes were focused on what you saw in your daydreams... whatever that may have been.

"(Y/N)?"

You looked left to register the presence of the charming man sitting next to you. "What? Sorry, I zoned out."

"Oh, we're just discussing how exactly we are going to kill Jack," Alastor drawled, appearing quite flustered. They must have been arguing, you inferred. "There are two options: doing it traditionally, which is what I think is most appropriate, or trying something new, as Rosie is suggesting."

"Wow. Sounds like a very casual conversation," you muttered.

Rosie's head titled to the side as she peered at you. "What was that?"

You met her gaze, but the voids of her eyes gave you the creeps, so you looked away again. "Nothing."

Alastor's hand floated across the seat to land on the inside of your thigh. He squeezed lightly, possibly trying to be comforting. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to keep you from sinking into your thoughts again.

"Well, Al, you can always go slit someone's throats if you feel like it, but this is a special assignment. I'm sure Azathoth would like us to mutilate the living hell out of this wife-seducer. So that's what I plan on doing. We can use that one super thick rope that Karelian sells down at the dark market shop and—"

"Sorry to interrupt, but are you really bringing up Azathoth again?"

Rosie's head fell down, her chin pressing against her chest. The massive circle of her hat hid her expression from you and Alastor, but you were sure that she was trying to hide a certain show of emotion displayed across her features.

Alastor sighed, and his fingers tapped idly against the inside of your thigh as he spoke again. "Again, sorry. That was rude of me. I just want you to admit your feelings, that's all! You can trust me, Rose."

When Rosie looked up, you couldn't visibly know that her eyes were trained on you, but you could still feel the melting heat of her menacing glare. "But I can't. The girl you're with, (Y/N), she's so... pure," Rosie hissed. "Is she an angel? Are you hiding something from me, Al?"

"What the fuck," you whispered, before raising your voice, "I am not an angel. And what the hell do you mean, I'm pure? I killed two children! How else do you think I got down here?"

As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew you had been too snappy. Rosie's lips tightened to form a thin line across her cheeks. She blinked once, twice, three times. The air of conversation quickly turned from tense to tenser, the silence between your glares being filled by nothing but the idle ruckus of the oddly quiet bar around you.

"My love, that's not what Rosie meant—"

"You know what?" Rosie cut Alastor's effort to subdue you off with a smooth tone. Although it seemed as though her patience to withstand the two of you had burnt out, and a dark shadow had passed over her face, the words she spoke were still... well, milky. "You can just forget about the assignment. Just leave everything to me."

She offered a smile before standing up, adjusting her hat, then leaving.

You reached over the table, grabbed your Heineken, and took a long, stomach-wrenching sip.

Alastor's grip on your leg tightened.