Chapter Text
Vaggie sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the middle distance. A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped off her chin.
“Sinful filth like you has no place in Heaven.”
Lute was right. Of course Lute was right. Vaggie was sinful filth, and her place in Heaven was long forfeit.
“I have no mercy for traitors.”
When they were young, the exorcists took delight in racing each other from one end of the training yard to the other. Vaggie always enjoyed racing Leah, since they were consistently neck-in-neck. Sometimes Vaggie won, sometimes Leah won, sometimes it was too close to tell.
Never again. Vaggie would never stand back-to-back with Leah in a fight, never sit beside her during another meal.
Her sisters weren’t her sisters anymore. Maybe some of them had mourned her, but they’d had a year to get over it, and now she was just another sinner.
“I’ve given enough.”
Her maker didn’t love her.
Perhaps Cynthaeis didn’t outright hate Vaggie, but she certainly didn’t care for her. She had forsaken her. At least the others could go on burying that shame, pretending like it didn’t matter. They still had Adam. He wasn’t much, but he was better than nothing.
Vaggie recalled the little metal bird Yris had given her. Was it still in the barracks, tucked under her pillow? Had someone taken it? Had Lute thrown it away? That sounded like something Lute would do. Would Yris ever know what happened to it? Would she ever know what happened to Vaggie? Would Ana ever know?
Vaggie would never see Heaven again. She would never fly again. She would never laugh with her sisters, never walk down the shining streets of the capital, never breathe the cleanest air in creation or taste the sweetest water. She was no longer an exorcist. She was no longer an angel.
She hadn’t just lost her home; she lost her purpose. She lost her entire life.
Almost.
Her gaze moved across the room, to where her spear sat on the dresser. She hadn’t cleaned it yet, so it was still sticky with blood and grime. She stared at the blade, gleaming and deadly sharp. A dark, ugly thought arose from the deepest pits of her mind.
She could do it. She could take that final step. Maybe she could even regain a few scraps of honor that way. One final selfless act, falling on her own weapon like human warriors of old. If she didn’t do it, Charlie surely would, and there would be nothing honorable about it. Vaggie would die screaming in the bowels of the palace, begging for mercy she didn’t deserve, or she could take back control of her life one last time.
It would be quick—painful for a few moments, perhaps, but quick. The pain would end, and no more would follow. The more she thought about it, the more appealing it sounded.
There was a soft knock at the door. Vaggie didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Whoever it was could come or go for all she cared. It didn’t matter. There was nothing any demon could take from her now.
“Vaggie?”
The door opened. Charlie stepped in and shut it quietly behind her. She walked over and joined Vaggie on the bed. Vaggie shut her eye and thought, Just get it over with. Just kill me already.
Surely Charlie could see the game was over. She won. Vaggie was completely, irreparably broken. What fun could Charlie glean from a broken toy? If she wanted to drop the act, drag Vaggie to her private torture chamber or whatever secret dungeon she had, and tear her apart until there was nothing left, now was the time to do it. It was a relief, in a weird way. Maybe torture would erode the pesky affection that had wormed its way into Vaggie’s heart. That awful, wonderful, unwelcome feeling was more than she was prepared to face. She would be glad for an excuse to let it fade.
Charlie touched Vaggie’s shoulder and asked, “Are you alright?”
Vaggie opened her mouth to say she was fine, but stopped. What reason did she have to lie now? What did she have to lose?
“No,” she whispered.
Charlie scooched closer, close enough for their bodies to touch.
“Can I ask why you went out there?”
God, she was still so kind and gentle. It had to be intentional. She had to know that any compassion, fake or not, was a bucket of salt poured over every wound in Vaggie’s heart.
Was there any point in lying? Was there any point in keeping up the act?
“I just. . .” Vaggie struggled to come up with some excuse, any excuse, and at last said, “I just wanted to talk to them. I wanted to ask for a second chance.”
Charlie was quiet for so long, Vaggie wondered if she’d offended her somehow, and the killing blow was about to come right then and there. Good. It was about time. She wouldn’t resist. She was done resisting.
“Do you really mean that? You would want a second chance?”
Vaggie frowned and looked sideways at her.
“I guess? I don’t know now. Window of opportunity’s closed, isn’t it?”
“Maybe not.”
Charlie was watching Vaggie with interest, like she’d just discovered her to be a unique specimen. She stood up from the bed and held out a hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Vaggie took her hand, let Charlie lead her out of her bedroom. She whispered a silent goodbye to it, knowing this would be the last time she experienced the luxury of a comfortable bed. She said goodbye to her spear, knowing she would never wield it again. If Charlie appreciated a good irony, she would finish Vaggie off with it after she had her fun.
She led Vaggie downstairs, then deeper, to a basement similar to the one Vaggie had found in Lucifer’s side of the palace. Charlie paused at the door, took a breath, and said, “I’ve been working on this for a while. These last few months, a lot of my meetings have involved setting it up. Please, tell me exactly what you think. Even if it’s stupid, I want to know. Don’t hold back. Can you promise me you’ll be honest?”
That was unexpected, but Vaggie nodded.
“Sure.”
“Okay.” Charlie exhaled, then opened the door and disappeared inside.
Here we go. Torture time. End of the line, Vaggie thought. Her stomach turned with dread, but she reminded herself that she had nothing to lose and followed Charlie.
It was not a torture chamber. Vaggie couldn’t help being a little disappointed. She’d been curious, in a macabre sort of way.
This basement was downright homey compared to Lucifer’s. It was cramped and somewhat chaotic, but it was organized chaos, for the most part. The furniture was well-loved but clean, and the room actually had decent lighting. Bookshelves were everywhere, and a massive stack of books with worn spines and crinkled pages littered a table in the middle of the room. Several titles were in Enochian, and Vaggie mentally smacked herself. The Heaven books she’d sought months ago had been down here the whole time.
Charlie sat down in a red armchair and gestured to a green sofa beside it. Vaggie obediently sat. Charlie bent forward over the table and began leafing through stacks of papers. Some looked like drafts of schedules, some were scripts, and some were scribbly crayon drawings of demons and angels. Vaggie’s eyebrows shot up when she noted that the theme across most of the drawings was handholding. In 90% of them, the crudely sketched characters were smiling, holding hands, and dancing around under rainbows.
“So, I have this idea, and I want to know your thoughts on it,” Charlie began. She held up a drawing, which looked like an average extermination. “The exterminations are about population control, right? According to Heaven, the only way to manage sinners is to—”
“To cull the population,” Vaggie finished.
“Right. But what if there was another way? A way that could benefit both realms?”
“Uh. . . I don’t follow.”
“Think about it. The exterminations don’t really help anyone. It’s the most miserable day of the year down here, and it’s a twelve-hour chore for Heaven. They’ve got to be sick of it, right?”
Vaggie pursed her lips and nodded. She elected not to mention that a) most of Heaven’s population didn’t know about the exterminations and therefore didn’t care, and b) a good portion of the exorcists, their leader included, actively looked forward to it.
“See, you get it! I mean, you got a full view of it yesterday. I’m glad you’re okay, but it was awful, wasn’t it?”
Vaggie nodded again. She didn’t have the words to describe everything she felt and experienced yesterday.
Charlie sorted through more drawings and went on, “So I started thinking, what would be a good alternative? What are our priorities? First and foremost, we need to fix overpopulation in Hell. Secondly, if Heaven is so worried about it, would they be less worried if they had more souls? Like, to balance things out? Think about how many humans end up in Hell. I don’t know the exact parameters, but I’m guessing it’s a lot harder to make the cut up there than it is here.”
Vaggie was now fully confused. She was slowly starting to grasp that this was not heading in the direction of imminent torture and/or death.
“The system is what it is,” she said carefully. “That’s not something anyone can change, Charlie.”
“How do we know that for sure? Has anyone ever tried?”
Before Vaggie could think of a response, Charlie whipped out a poster and held it up, beaming from ear to ear. A tall building covered most of the page, and a bunch of demons held hands in happy rows across the lawn. There were angels, too, and what looked like demons ascending to Heaven.
Vaggie bit her tongue to stop herself from demanding what in the fuck she was looking at. She didn’t have to, thankfully, as Charlie proclaimed in a faux announcer’s voice, “Welcome to the Happy Hotel, where we clean your slate and pave your way to the pearly gates!”
Silence fell over the room. Somewhere nearby, a cricket chirped. Vaggie opened her mouth, then shut it.
“A hotel?” she echoed.
Charlie, now looking a little embarrassed, nodded and explained, “Yeah, a hotel to rehabilitate sinners! They come stay with us, we help them become better people through therapy and friendship and whatever else goes into that, and then they get re-judged and welcomed into Heaven!”
That had to be the stupidest thing Vaggie had ever heard. The damned were damned, and the saved were saved. There was no after-afterlife. There were no second chances.
She looked at the drawing again, then back up at Charlie. She mentally stepped back and reexamined her. Charlie was trembling with enthusiasm, practically bouncing in her chair. Her hair rustled excitedly in its confines. Her face was lit up like Vaggie had never seen it before, and her eyes shone with hope—real, genuine hope.
“The Happy Hotel,” Vaggie echoed. She had no idea what to think. The idea that Charlie might legitimately be a thoughtful, kind, happy-go-lucky person had never crossed her mind. She played along as best she could, though, nodding at the poster and asking, “That’s the name? Is that set in stone, or. . .”
“Well, I guess it’s. . . I mean, ‘Happy Hotel’ is. . . you know what? This whole thing is still in the brainstorming phase. We can workshop it.”
“What about a building? A hotel implies a building.”
“Yes, and as of last month, I have one! It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but I think with enough love and elbow grease, we can make a real home out of it. I’ve been wanting to move out for a while, anyway. I think it would be good for my dad to have some space.”
Vaggie stared at her. She understood what she was hearing, but she was still skeptical.
“And you really think it’s possible for a soul to change? Not just try, and not pretend, but really change for the better?”
“I know it’s possible. And you know how I know?” Charlie set aside the poster and grabbed Vaggie’s hands. There was only love in her eyes as she said, “It’s you, Vaggie. I didn’t realize it until this morning, but you are living proof—well, not so much living, but you’re proof that a person can want to do better. You went out in the middle of a bloodbath to ask the angels for a second chance. That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen a sinner do. If you can do that, why not someone else? Why not everyone else?”
Guilt nipped at Vaggie’s heart. She wasn’t the rock-solid proof Charlie thought she was. She wasn’t a good person; just that morning, she’d been contemplating suicide. She wasn’t even a soul.
But no one—angel, soul, or otherwise—had ever looked at her the way Charlie was looking at her now. No one had ever clutched her hands this tight as they shared with her their impossible, beautiful dream, an unreachable goal driven by boundless hope.
“You really believe this,” Vaggie stated.
“With my whole heart. Will you help me?”
There was no lie in her eyes. There was no lie in her voice. Deep in Vaggie’s heart, the wounds stopped bleeding. The black cloud of despair that had seeped into every fiber of her being began to ebb. A ray of light broke through the darkness, not cast by Heaven or any angel, but by Charlie’s smile. It was a beacon of safety, a candle in the dark.
What did she have to lose?
“Alright, walk me through some of this. If you’re going to shoot for the moon, you should have a plan,” she said at last, picking up a list labeled “Trust Building Exercises” in sparkly marker.
Charlie nodded vehemently and snatched the paper. She looked like she might explode from happiness. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Vaggie’s mouth. Had Charlie always glowed like this? Had her smile always been enough to light up a room? To light up all of creation?
They talked late into the afternoon. Charlie bounced around the basement with frenetic energy, jumping from one stage of the plan to the next, from the recruitment process to the finish line, from all the demons she would befriend to the angels she would win over. It became apparent very quickly that she didn’t have a plan, per se, but did that really matter when weighed against her enthusiasm?
As the day wore on, Vaggie started to see her in a very different light. Where before she had assumed cunning manipulation around every corner, she now saw that Charlie’s “act” was the exact opposite of an act. If anything, she might be the most genuine person in Hell. She wore no glamour, either. That captivating beauty was as natural as could be. It was her face, her voice, her body, everything she said and did. She was more of an angel than Vaggie had ever been.
When they retired to Charlie’s bedroom that night, Vaggie did everything she could to make her new feelings known. She poured every bit of emotion she could muster into every touch, every kiss. The change wasn’t lost on Charlie, who matched her passion at every turn.
Afterwards, when Charlie fell asleep in Vaggie’s arms, Vaggie lay awake for a long time, gazing down at her. She could watch her forever, she thought. For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace.
“I love you,” she whispered in the quiet dark. Charlie wasn’t awake to hear it, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t for Charlie’s benefit that she said it.
Her life in Heaven was over, as was the purpose she’d been built for, but that didn’t have to mean the end of everything. Maybe she could have a new purpose here. What did she have to lose? More importantly, what did she have to gain?
She had Charlie. That was the one thing that hadn’t been taken from her. She had lost everyone else she cared about, and she realized with sudden clarity that if she lost Charlie, too, that would be the final killing blow. That was the very last pain she would care to endure.
“I love you,” she said again. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she drew a shuddering breath. What a relief it was to give voice to a feeling she’d spent so long denying.
The redemption Charlie wanted to make happen would never apply to Vaggie. She would never see Heaven again; she’d accepted that. It might not even work for sinners. But if she could help Charlie do it, or at least try. . . maybe that would be a form of redemption in and of itself, just for her. Maybe that could be enough.
It might not be possible, but if it was Charlie’s dream, Vaggie would see it through. And if the whole thing fell apart, she would stick by her. If, one day, Charlie was the one who lost everything, she would still have Vaggie.
For both of them, maybe that could be enough.