Rabbit Blood

Chapter 24 - Angel Suspects

"Fuckin' thing... C'mon, jus' let it happen," Angel joked, sticking out his tongue. "Heh heh..." He knelt with difficulty before a padlocked door on the top floor, persuading it open with a metal hook, one of several. Leslie held the lock steady and tried to feel useful.

"How long you been doing this?"

"Oh, years an' years. Prob'ly since '43." They heard a satisfying click. "Aha!"

Leslie shouldered the door open, and the two climbed a short flight of stairs, onto the roof of the hotel: practically the only place Alastor wasn't effecting decorative havoc. She gazed at his past handiwork, the words 'Hazbin Hotel' in giant letters, replacing the hotel's proper name of Happy.

"Impressive, huh?"

"Holy shit," she said, skipping close to the edge of the building. "You can see for miles! What is that? That looks like jungle."

"Yeah, kinda dangerous. Not worth hackin' vines for, I'll tell ya that much."

Leslie perched on a concrete block, marveling at the absolute scope of this hellscape as Angel joined her. Remembering their food, she reached into her pocket and passed him a spinach puff.

"Angel, can I ask you a personal question?"

He pretended to be put out by her impropriety, setting his pastry down on his knees with decorum. "I dunno," he said, "personal? I ain't comfortable with that," but he couldn't stop himself from grinning, flashing his golden fang. "Nah, go ahead, shoot!"

"You're pretty tall," she said, "so... when you're with a client who's a lot shorter than you, how does that work?"

"Any partic'lar reason ya wanna know, Thumbelina?"

No, no reason at all. Of course not. "I'm just thinking, the height difference must get in the way sometimes. You don't want to crush the smaller guy, do you?"

He picked up his food again. "Usually I'm the one gettin' 'crushed'," Angel said, "but there's ways 'round everythin'. Ya can have Shorty kinda sit in your lap, or fuck 'em sidesaddle-"

"Sidesaddle?"

"Stand on a staircase or somethin', stick 'em on a kitchen counta... Honestly, if the mood's right," he winked, "ya don't even think about it. OK, my turn ta ask you a personal question."

"Sure?"

"Well, more a personal statement," he said, taking a bite of pastry and speaking with his mouth full. "You an' Al. Somethin's goin' on."

"What?" she said, feeling the flame alight, deep in her belly. He swallowed and started to repeat himself, thinking the problem was clarity of speech, but she shushed him. "I heard you, but... Christ, what gave you that idea?"

"Look, I see things," Angel said, "I see the way you guys look at each otha. That's my language. Like afta the game'a Sardines, few weeks ago? That little bitta sizzle?"

Her stomach rapidly came to a boil, as it always did when someone was onto her. "I dunno what you're talking about. He hates that stuff, you said so yourself."

"Yeah, but that don't stop him gettin' up in other people's business. I figured he might do some things, even jus' sarcastically. Maybe he's still tryna lead ya on, y'know?"

"Look, we're... friends...ish? He helped me with a dance once, but he was a dick about it. I'm done pining; it's out of my system."

"Totally done, huh? That's jus' unconvincin'."

"You're projecting, Angel. You're the one that wants to fuck him."

"True... I wouldn't kick him outta bed," he admitted. "So what's really goin' on, Les? What's the secret with the pair'a ya's?" That smirk reminded her of their first drink at the bar, when he'd made extensive fun of her.