(Stygian POV)
It's been 84 years...
Alright, not really. It's only been five. But I've always wanted to say that—dramatic flair and all.
In truth, it's been five years since our very first real tenants—Angel, Summer, and Dia—checked into the hotel. Back then, we didn't know what to expect. Could this actually work? Could sinners change? But looking at them now... I think we got our answer. They've settled in, made the hotel their home, and even taken on permanent roles in running the place.
Angel Dust—Tony, if you're on a first-name basis—has been doing better than ever since he found out Valentino was gone for good. It was like watching a storm cloud evaporate. First thing he did? Tore out everything that reminded him of that bastard. Clothes, pictures, perfume bottles—gone. His room finally felt like his room.
Then he started doing yoga... I think it was yoga. It's hard to tell when your "downward dog" involves fishnets, leather straps, and a suspicious amount of lube. Pretty sure he's blending healing with kink, but hey—if it works, it works.
He still does sex work from time to time, but now it's on his terms. There's something liberating in the way he moves now, like every breath he takes is finally his own. He's got more spirit than ever, always walking around the hotel in something glittery and tight, tossing compliments and dirty jokes like confetti.
And yes, he constantly flirts with me.
"Damn, Stygian, how'd the girls get so lucky with that big ol'—"
"Angel."
"—bakery you're packing down there?"
I still don't know if that was a compliment or just... confusing pastry slang.
Still, he's not trying to get under our skin the way he used to. His teasing feels warmer now. Genuine. Like he really cares how we're all doing. He's not just here to stir the pot—he's here because he wants to be.
He even cooks. A lot. Spaghetti, fusilli, lasagna—turns out the man's Italian, and not just by accent. Most of the time, I quietly replace the noodles on my plate with worms (don't ask), but Angel always notices. He gives me that look—equal parts horrified and betrayed.
Vaggie usually steps in to help cook, mostly to keep him from setting the entire kitchen on fire. The two of them fight like siblings—shouting over sauce pans and tossing spatulas at each other. But they always end up laughing it off. There's love in their chaos.
Charlie, meanwhile, spends most of her time visiting tenants with Beth. They go door to door, checking in on the lost souls who are trying to claw their way toward redemption. Since we discovered Beth can heal internal injuries with her powers, she's become something of a miracle worker—though she only uses her gift if she likes the person. She's a tough judge of character.
Plagg—our little floating furball—usually hangs out on Charlie's head like a lazy crown. Lately, he's taken to sneaking into sinners' rooms to sleep on their beds. And somehow… it helps. They treat him like royalty, feeding him treats, brushing his fur, even fluffing pillows for him. Emotional support demon? Sure. Why not. He's probably more effective than half the therapy in Hell.
Then there's Geri.
He left the hotel a while back to work for a company called I.M.P.—a hitman service for sinners who want revenge on the living. At first, I hated the idea. I didn't want one of ours doing that kind of work. But he explained that they mostly go after truly wicked people—killers, abusers, the kinds of scum no one mourns.
After a long talk, I gave him a condition: no innocents. If an innocent dies—even by accident—he has to personally collect their soul and bring them to me. He agreed. We sealed the deal the old-fashioned way: blood and brimstone.
Before he left for a mission, he came to me with a request.
"Hey Dad," he said, "can I borrow your ring?"
I raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the old band of obsidian I'd forged myself long ago.
"Why?"
He scratched the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. "I've got a date."
"Oh? Say hi to Luna for me."
He groaned. "Ugh—no, Luna's just a friend."
"Then who?"
"That's a secret," he said with a sly grin. "Can't have you telling Mom and Mother who I'm seeing. Not after the last time…"
He visibly shuddered at the memory. I chuckled.
"Right. Wouldn't want them stalking another poor girl with binoculars and holy water."
He caught the ring midair when I tossed it, gave me a grateful nod, and disappeared in a flash of fire and teleportation magic.
---
Time passed.
Some sinners eventually left the hotel—not because they were redeemed, but because they gave up. They didn't want to wait. They didn't want to try. Most were troublemakers anyway, and Vaggie showed them the door without hesitation.
Of course, they didn't go quietly. They took to the internet, spreading all kinds of garbage. Lies. Smear campaigns. But the hotel's reputation spoke for itself. People online started asking questions, digging into the drama, and quickly realized those tenants were the problem.
Then the internet did what it does best—flamed the liars into oblivion.
Charlie didn't like that. She hated the bullying, even if it was directed at people who'd lied about us. She asked me to step in, send some gentle messages, encourage peace.
Well… that backfired.
It sparked a massive flame war online—people arguing over whether redemption was even real, whether the hotel was a scam, whether Charlie was "too naive" or a "true hero."
It wasn't bad, exactly. Any publicity is good publicity, right? But Charlie wanted to steer the narrative. She came to me with big, hopeful eyes and asked if we could do another commercial.
I made some calls. The old station we used? Gone. Bought out and rebranded as 666 News.
I called Rob, our old contact, who now runs a hotdog stand.
"Is it still okay if we air a commercial on the new station?"
"Not sure," he said, "but 666 News does interviews. With your status—and the princess—you'll get in no problem."
"Appreciate it, Rob. Good luck with the hotdogs."
He laughed. "Your kid used to eat so many. I'm still amazed he didn't turn into one."
I snorted, said my goodbyes, and turned to Charlie.
"Well?" she asked, practically bouncing in place.
"Station's gone. But 666 News is open for interviews."
Her face lit up.
"That's perfect! If they see what the hotel's really like, maybe they'll stop fighting and actually come visit!"
She kissed me on the lips—quick but warm—and skipped off to get to work.
I smiled, pulled out my phone, and started arranging the next steps.
---
(Charlie POV)
It's been a week since Stygian set it all up.
Now, I'm sitting in a limo with Vaggie, headed to 666 News for the interview that might change everything.
Stygian had to stay behind—someone has to keep the hotel running smoothly. Still, part of me wished he was here. He always made things feel… safe. Doable.
My hands were clutched tightly in my lap. The nervous flutter in my chest wouldn't go away.
What if this doesn't work?
What if no one listens?
What if they hate me?
What if I flop so hard that Stygian just… gives up on me?
No. Stop.
Breathe, Charlie.
You've come this far. You've helped so many. This is just one more step.
Vaggie reached over and gently squeezed my hand. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
The limo slowed, and Razzle opened the door with a cheerful grin.
Showtime.
I took one last deep breath, stepped out of the limo, and walked toward the glowing red sign that read: 666 News.