Mabel was lying on the couch after an exhausting day of packing Kellan's moving truck when she felt a familiar presence pop up in her apartment. Aleron stood over her a second later, quickly kneeling by her side so that they were face-to-face.
"Hello, Little One," the smile on his face was soft and gentle, like his words, and Mabel returned it with a sleepy, love-struck grin of her own, a swell of emotion bubbling in her gut.
How had she gotten so lucky?
Reaching up a hand, she traced the last of his fading bruises across his cheek, down to his jaw. "Hi, Al. Are you staying tonight?" He used to stay over every night, but he'd been so caught up with Colby's messes that he hadn't been able to recently.
He opened his mouth to reply but paused abruptly, his brows furrowed with concern as his fingers fluttered over the dark circles beneath her eyes. Mabel nearly winced, knowing from when she'd caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier that she looked like crap. What was worse: She had yet to tell him about the nightmares, and how they only ever occurred when she was by herself. She would have asked him to stay every night, but she refused to make him choose between keeping Hell running smoothly or helping her sleep.
"Have you not been sleeping, Mabel?" One hand held her chin steady so that he could see into her eyes, while his other stroked down her side soothingly.
Mabel shrugged half-heartedly, managing a sheepish smile. "I've had better nights," she admitted vaguely. She'd tell him. She would. But not now. Not when everything was peaceful and quiet.
Aleron blew out a weighted breath. "I do not like that. Come, Little One." He plucked her up, carrying her carefully into her—their—bedroom and pulling back the covers before setting her down. He tucked her in with nothing but care, placing a kiss on her forehead and then settling in next to her.
She snuggled against his side, her flannel pajamas keeping her warm against his cool skin. "You must tell me if you need me to stay, Mabel," his breath ghosted across her ear, falling down her neck. "I will always stay if you need me."
Mabel hummed in acknowledgment, her mind already slipping into blissful slumber. "M'kay, Al."
A husky chuckle rumbled through his chest as his fingers played with her curls. "Goodnight, my Little One."
The last thought that slipped through her mind was, Tomorrow. I'll tell him tomorrow.
***
Mabel eyed the verbal ping-pong match happening in front of her with a pained grimace. She hadn't been sure how this whole thing would go down when she'd asked the two to meet up, but, so far, it was going beyond poorly.
"Well, how about the next time you decide to pack up and move, you give me more than a single week's notice!" Lucy snarled, practically climbing over the picnic table to get to Kellan.
Kellan, normally very polite in public places, even if it was just a city park, sounded eerily similar to Aleron when she released a growl low in her throat. "You're so selfish, Lucilla! Of course I didn't tell you, cause I knew you were going to be a bitch about it." The smile she sent Lucy after the last few words was dripping with mocking sympathy.
Mabel hid her face in her hands, knowing what was coming before it happened.
A sharp shout, a cry, and then the table started to shake. Cracking an eye open, Mabel held back a whine of frustration.
Her two best friends were practically on top of each other, in the midst of a classic catfight that had come from an early 2000's romance film.
"So, this is how you spend your Saturdays?" Mabel almost cried joyous tears at the sound of Zephyrine's familiar drawl, spinning around to face the ala so fast she nearly fell off the table's bench.
"Thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed, gesturing frantically at the scene behind her. "Please, help me fix this."
A single, perfectly groomed eyebrow shot up. "Why? I support this behavior."
Mabel rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Zeph. How are you going to talk about shoes with Kellan if she and Lucy fight to the death?" A low blow, perhaps, but it would (hopefully) work.
Sure enough, Zephyrine blew out a defeated puff of air. "Fine." She stepped forward and pulled the other two women apart in one fluid movement, returning them to their seats across from each other. "Stop it," she scolded dryly, "Mabel can't handle the stress."
Kellan eyed Zephyrine gleefully, while Lucy only looked confused.
"Zephyrine!" Kellan exclaimed brightly, raising her hand and wiggling her fingers in a triumphant wave.
Catching the action, Lucy's green eyes narrowed, and she shrieked, "Who the Hell is this?!"
Mabel grinned cheerily, waving her hand around as she made the introductions and silently praying that Zephyrine's presence wouldn't make things worse. "This is Zephyrine. Zephyrine, this is Lucy, and you already know Kellan."
Zephyrine gave Lucy a blank smile, and then sat beside Kellan. "How do you already know Kellan?" Lucy demanded suspiciously, her furious eyes flying between Zephyrine and Kellan.
"She helped me move, unlike some people," Kellan shot back snottily, crossing her arms over her chest and looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Well, crap.
"Oh, God, get me out of here," Mabel muttered, letting her forehead fall to the table with a loud smack. "Why did I try to get them apologize? This was such a stupid idea."
"It really was," Zephyrine agreed tersely, her lips tugging down as though she'd just remembered something. "Self-pity aside, I need to speak with you, Mabel."
Mabel snapped up, a rock of dread landing in her stomach, because Zephyrine sounded . . . serious and, well, sympathetic. The two emotions were a worrisome pair in a normal individual, but with Zephyrine it was a thousand times worse.
"What is it?" Mabel asked, forgetting all about her friends as she hopped off the bench with panic bubbling in her throat, "What happened?"
Zephyrine eyed the other (now silent) women behind Mabel. "Not here," she said quietly, her shoulders sagging. "Come with me, and we'll talk on the way to my place."
Her place. As in Hell. Oh, God, something terrible must have happened.
But no, she insisted inwardly, I would know if something happened to Aleron. I would.
Mabel swallowed back a sudden bout of bile. "Y-yeah, okay." She waved halfheartedly at her friends, following Zephyrine to a secluded area of the park.
"Zephyrine," Mabel wasn't surprised that her voice had a distinct quiver, "what's going on?"
Zephyrine bit a nail. A nail. Zephyrine never risked hurting her manicures.
Oh, no. Oh, God, please, no.
"Zephyrine?" There were tears brimming behind Mabel's lashes, and she had to work to hold back a sob. God, she hadn't even heard the news and she was already falling apart.
Finally after several more excruciating moments, Zephyrine spoke, her voice grim. "It's Aleron, Mabel."
I knew it.
***
"Excuse me?" Mabel exclaimed, her voice shrilly, "What in the hell do you mean, 'he was captured by warlocks?'"
"He and Colby," Thora reminded gently, only to shrink away when Mabel shot her a flinty glare.
"That doesn't help!" she snapped, her fingernails probably drawing blood with how tight her fists were clenched. "Explain this to me. Now."
"Colby wanted to prove to Aleron that he could do something right, and decided to go off and speak to the warlocks about coming to a compromise," Zephyrine explained, leaning over the stained wood of Aleron's desk to point at the large map settled there. "He went here, and when Aleron found out, he was pissed, and went after him. Then, two days passed, and here we are."
Okay, Mabel blew out a slow, steadying breath, one thing at a time.
"How do we know they were captured?"
Thora and Zephyrine exchanged a glance, before Thora shook her head sadly and plucked a crumpled paper from the mess of parchment on the desk. "Here," she held it out, and Mabel grasped it carefully.
Her eyes skimmed over the note, and she dropped into Aleron's large chair with an agonized moan. "Of course warlocks do ransom notes; I should have freaking known."
How long can Hell run without Death and his favorite minion? The paper read in clean, crisp handwriting, We'd all like to find out, I think.
"And they didn't even say what they wanted in exchange?"
Zephyrine scoffed, waving her hand at the many books that sat to Mabel's left. "They didn't have to say anything. The warlocks have been trying to regain control of dark magic since these books were first confiscated."
"Right," Mabel nodded, keeping her jaw tight so as to keep the hopeless sobs from slipping out. "So, what do we do?"
"Well, that's just it," Thora began cautiously, her words painfully delicate, "We can't do anything yet. For right now, we have to put someone in charge of Hell until we can get Aleron and Colby back."
Rubbing a hand through her hair, Mabel tried to think objectively, rather than scream about the unfairness of it all (which was what she really wanted to do). "Alright. Okay. Yes. If Aleron is Death's second-in-command, who's his?"
Thora's eyes darted to the floor, and she mumbled, "Nephele was."
Of. Freaking. Course.
Mabel should have known her terrible luck would strike again. As if the memory of killing the eldest of the ala sisters wasn't bad enough, now the horrible incident was causing even more problems. Mabel had just about literally shot herself in the foot with this one.
Technically, Nephele was the one you shot.
Oh, shut up!
"Okay . . . and, uh, after her?"
"I am, technically speaking," Zephyrine piped up, "I've already called for the best tracker from Death's army. With his help, we might be able to find them before this shit-pile grows even larger."
Mabel pinched the bridge of her nose. "Right. So, who is he, and why is he not already here so I can go save my demonic fiancé and his stupid boss?"
Thora pointed at the closed office door, "He's waiting outside." Her voice was carefully blank, and something told Mabel that Thora wasn't particularly fond of this guy.
Mabel didn't care, though. It didn't matter whether they all got along; instead, what mattered was getting her stupidly brave, idiotic guardian back. She stood, marched to the door, and flung it open.
Sure enough, a man stood on the other side, but Mabel could only stare in shock. He was normal. Normal looking, anyway.
Unlike every other Hellish being under Death's jurisdiction that Mabel had had the pleasure of meeting, this man was not insanely attractive. Sure, he was nice-looking, but he didn't have an unusual, intimidating amount of sexiness, and Mabel was thankful for small miracles. If he were mortal he probably would have been in his thirties, with a large brown beard hanging off his chin, mischievous brown eyes, a buff, short stature, and a large scar crawling down the side of his neck, emerging from beneath his shirt sleeve and stopping below his elbow.
Instead of swagger, like Colby, or badass sexiness like Aleron, the stranger reeked of pure, unaltered, manliness.
Manliness that doesn't know how to bathe, Mabel thought, her nose crinkling with distaste at the smell of . . . Was that poo? What on earth?
"Hullo, ladies," he sent them a toothy grin, and Mabel responded with a meager one of her own. He had a slight accent . . . Scottish, maybe? Mabel wasn't sure, but, at the moment, it was the least of her worries.
She was about to ask for his name and how he was going to find Aleron, but halted when Zephyrine stepped forward.
"I think you stepped in Flint's shit again, Pele. Either that, or you just haven't bathed in a decade."
"Wouldn't be the longest he's gone," Thora snarked under her breath, causing Mabel to send her a warning glance. Maybe the guy stunk, but she needed his help, and she didn't want to risk the ala insulting him and scaring him off.
"I have a lot of questions," Mabel interrupted, "but all I really want to know is if you can find Aleron."
Pele stroked a hand through his bushy beard, nodding slowly. "Ye must be Aleron's 'Little One?'"
Resisting the urge to blush and fidget, because Oh, goodness, he's talked about me that much? she nodded once. "That's me. My name's Mabel, though."
Pele's gaze softened. "Aye. Yer a rose, ye are. Don' ye worry, Mabel, Flint and I can find Aleron in a jiff. It's goin' ta be a swift job."
Mabel quirked one eyebrow. "Who's Flint?"
A loud, booming laugh burst from the man's lips. "Tis mah dragon, of course. He's got a big sniffer, and ye best believe we'll get 'em back."
Nodding numbly, because oh, ha-ha, right, of course, Mabel knew her eyes were wide. She'd thought she had a good understanding of creatures from Hell, but apparently that wasn't true. She shifted her gaze back to the two ala. "Can I go with him?"
Thora smiled sympathetically, while Zephyrine only scowled. "As if." She snorted, sounding more like her cynical self. "Aleron would literally murder me if he ever found out. And, besides, you can't stay down here for too long. Go back to Earth, Mabel. We'll let you know what happens."
It was probably the most she'd ever heard Zephyrine speak, and Mabel knew she wasn't going to win this one. Her body sagged with defeat. "Fine," she muttered, sending Pele a pleading look. "Please, just . . . bring him back, okay?"
Pele sobered immediately, nodding once in agreement. "I'll try me best, Mabel."
***
A/N:
No one:
Like, literally, absolutely, totally, 100% not a single person in existence:
Me, writing this story: You know what this needs? A dragon.
:D
A.R.