He couldn't understand it.
Alastor's lungs heaved for air as he ran as fast as he could to the library, hoping to get there as soon as possible, praying that he could get the ancient ritual book before that stupid TV Demon got his hands on it. But his mind was flooded with thoughts of you, endless currents of wonders of how it was possible...
His Loa had attached themselves to you, without any offerings or deals.
In Alastor's cultural practice, his power was built on and dependent with his relationship with the Loa and the voodoo gods — as long as he gave them respect and plenty of blood sacrifices (in Hell and on Earth, when he was alive), and kept that relationship strong, the Loa (the shadow creatures) and the gods would work with him mutually, giving him power, power that no other Demon in Hell possessed — at least that he knew of.
He knew you never knew anything of any voodoo while you were alive. He doesn't know you very well, but what he does know is that you were a little southern belle living in Kentucky when you were alive, with lots and lots of popularity, connections, power, and an extreme knack for dancing. You were loved and hated by many, but you knew how to manipulate, and eventually, manipulation became murder, and he perverted that murderous intent with the desire to cannibalize.
As deliciously fucked up as you were, you knew nothing of voodoo and its power; it simply wasn't in your blood, like it was in Alastor's. So how was it possible that Loa had latched onto you without any relationship or offerings? And Alastor's Loa, if nothing else. He couldn't understand it, but then again, he's certain there is much about his own practice he doesn't truly understand.
He hoped this ancient ritual book had a section on voodoo, or maybe he could find something in that God-forsaken library...
Alastor shook the thoughts away, reaching the entrance of Harvard. Police cars and ambulances were parked haphazardly on the road, with glaring red and blue lights and blood stains everywhere, the sounds constant chatter, police radios, and clattering equipment filling his ears. Shit. The police were surely still on the lookout for you and him after the little incident back in Kentucky. He had to get in, and he had to get in quick.
Keeping his head down, Alastor slipped into the campus, sighing in relief when he looked back. Nobody had noticed, thankfully, probably due to the huge bloody chunky stain in the middle of the road.
Once slipping past the police, Alastor dashed towards the direction of the library, following the winding path you and him had followed earlier, leading him to the doors. The library was still closed, but the glass doors had been shattered, the door handle ripped off the door.
Alastor looked around before entering, the smell of burnt rubber, gasoline, and freshly cut grass alike filling his nostrils. The place was barren, not a student or professor to be seen amongst the mossy, old brick jungle of Harvard College. Perfect. He guessed that maybe they really had closed down the campus for the day.
Anxiously, Alastor pushed open the door with his sleek shoe and entered the huge library. The smell of old paper and cleaning supplies overwhelmed him. He wasn't sure why he was so uptight at the moment. But between the Loa, Valentino's surprise appearance, and the promise of Vox being somewhere within this dimly lit library, he supposed he could fathom it a little bit.
After passing the threshold, he took in what seemed like miles of winding book cases and tables and chairs and cursed under his breath. He didn't see Vox anywhere. It was deathly quiet. He heard a printer make a lurching sound in the distance. He jumped slightly.
He took a breath and walked in as confidently as he could manage. He mentally called upon his main Loa, the menacing shadow that usually lingered behind him on the daily, and asking silently to himself for help. The Loa nodded, stretching its shadowy body out and passing through the bookcases, searching for the spell book and Vox alike. The silence was so loud he could hear his blood pumping in his ears.
He wondered if the Loa that had summoned beside you at the cafe were still with you — if Alastor's Loa had somehow attached themselves to you, they still would be. But he wasn't sure. He had no grasp on understanding his Loa at the moment. He hoped you were okay, and found himself disgusted by it.
There was too much flooding his mind at the moment, so much that he barely noticed when his large shadow friend had slung himself back to Alastor like a rubber band, whispering in his ear in his distorted, hardly audible voice.
"In the back, waiting for you, Alastor." The shadow had said the words in Creole. Alastor nodded, holding his head up high and walking calmly to the area in which the Loa alluded to. His heels clicked across the floor.
When he arrived, he observed Vox, with his slicked black hair and neatly pressed suit with his leg crossed over the other flipping through pages of the spell book in smug silence. He sat on a lone rickety chair at the very end of the very long isle of comically tall bookcases. It was so quiet Alastor could hear him breathe slowly.
"Vox," Alastor acknowledged, his hands folded behind his back.
"Alastor," said Vox dryly in response. He never looked up. "Without your feline slut, I see?"
"...Don't refer to her in that way," said Alastor slowly.
Vox smirked, huffing in laughter. "That's hilarious. And with our history, I had always thought you to be a heartless, cold, unloveable bastard. And here you have a beautiful woman by your side, one just as psycho as your pathetic ass." Vox then stood up, shutting the thick, dusty book quietly, his shoulders squared and fists balled.
"People can surprise you, old friend," Alastor said. His body started to warm.
"We were never friends, fossil," snapped Vox. "You used me to gain recognition in Hell and then left me to rot when I kindly invited you to join me. You're a joke."
A smile crawled upon Alastor's face. "I cannot deny that, I fear."
Vox growled lowly under his breath. "Look at you. Still the same conniving piece of shit you always have been, stepping all over people for your own personal gain, like you're doing to [Y/N] right now."
"What the hell do you know about [Y/N]?" Alastor's smile drooped, his eyes growing dark.
Vox laughed loudly. "A lot more than you. Just because we don't personally know each other doesn't mean I don't know what I'm up against when it comes to her, and I promise you, her hot ass is a lot more threatening than you are."
"I thought I warned you not to speak about her like she's some sort of whore," Alastor said lowly.
Vox folded his hands behind his back, taking a few confident steps towards Alastor, erasing some of their vast distance. He smiled. "Whatever she is, I know her agenda is far more intricate than yours. She's smarter than you, Alastor, you know that?" He flashed his teeth. "Here you are, in love with her, and you don't even know it! She's got you wrapped around her little bloody finger. She's manipulated you, used you, and now she can get whatever she wants. Don't you see that?"
"Such a bold claim, Vox," said Alastor, tilting his head upward to signify superiority, though his resolve was faltering. "In 'love...' What Demon do you know that's capable of such a feat? What makes you think that I am capable of something so fickle as 'love?'" Alastor cackled loudly, his voice echoing in the vast library, his words taking on a mocking tone, making Vox's eyebrow twitch. "It's quite funny, really, that you think so highly of her. It's embarrassing, rather."
Although annoyed, Vox smiled haughtily. "Ha. Well, I did a little research while I was awaiting your arrival, and let's just say I discovered something rather... interesting. She's in history books. Did you know that? Tragic, what happened to her." Vox began to pace around, eyes falling upon the rows of books as he did so. "Broke her neck on stage, publicly. She was on the road to become a prima ballerina, as they call them." His head snapped to Alastor. "Do you know how rare that is? For a woman to be so talented she becomes the best performer in the world at that time?"
Alastor's eyes narrowed.
"So I began to wonder..." continued Vox, running a long finger across the spine of an old book. "How could it be possible? For a woman so young and pretty to become to best of her generation so fast? Sure, she was skilled, but to gain recognition that quickly? Something had to be up."
Alastor shifted in his spot, listening intently.
Vox grinned even wider. "So I looked at some records — death certificates, to be more exact, and found something quite alluring." Vox took another stride towards Alastor. "Do you know how many people died in Kentucky when [Y/N] began to rise to stardom? And these reports all similarly were people in the industry. And then I looked forward, matched the dates up to the times to the places..."
"You're obsessed, Vox," said Alastor blankly. "Simply obsessed. She was a serial killer that never got caught, so what? A child could figure that out." Alastor smirked. "Sure didn't take me long to."
Vox's eye twitched. "For fucks sake, listen, you little cocksucker." Vox closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He then continued, jabbing a finger in Alastor's face. "So what does [Y/N]'s killings have to do with her rising to power so fast? Then-"
"She sold her soul to me," Alastor interjected smugly, tilting his chin upwards. "Clearly. That's how."
Vox waved him off. "I didn't even know that but whatever. That's not what I'm saying." Vox sighed and went back to staring at the books. "I'm saying that these people didn't just die. Did your little bitch ever tell you how she killed them? How they were found? Did she tell you what really happened?"
Alastor paused. I mean, not really, no. He had thought you had just, I don't know, killed them? With the classic knife method? Maybe a gun? What more could there be to it?
Noticing Alastor's pondering, Vox smiled, turning his head over to them. "Oh, Alastor, you don't know?"
"What?" Alastor said shortly, his brows furrowing. What was he getting at?
"The bodies were ripped apart by some sort of animal," said Vox. "Some skinned alive first, some dismembered and cut up to be served. But all of them were found in the woods or just outside of them, and all of them had the same four long teeth marks all over their remains."