Chapter Text
Not much changed after a person died. Alastor should know, having perished nearly a hundred years earlier. That was when he’d first found himself in the little village of Whilom. One moment he heard the too-close crack of a gunshot and the next, he awoke in the quaint village square with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
He’d been introduced to the other residents, all deceased, by the village head at the time. A dark-skinned man named Zestial, who spoke as if he’d walked directly out of a Shakespearean play. Zestial described Whilom as a halfway house for the dead, whose spirits couldn’t move on until their bodies were recovered.
Personally, Alastor thought it was a bit more like purgatory, albeit far more pleasant than he would’ve expected. Most residents were found within a year or two, some within hours, and a scant few (like himself) seemed destined to stay for all eternity. He’d given up on his remains being found, having died deep within his beloved bayou. Any part of him that wasn’t devoured by the local wildlife had undoubtedly been scattered and buried throughout its ever changing landscape.
He thought he’d made peace with that. Zestial had died centuries ago and he still managed to be content. Admittedly, the love he shared with his wife, Carmilla, played the biggest role in his happiness. She’d joined him there in the early seventeen hundreds, both of them finding their soulmates in death.
Alastor’s heart had ached for his dear friend when Carmilla was found in 1950. She and Zestial had held one another tight, speaking softly and sharing a final, teary kiss before the telltale bright light engulfed her and took her away.
Zestial grew quieter after that. Kept to himself more. Alastor lost count of how many hours they spent together over the years that followed. Often not speaking, but existing in the same space, the weight of their grief settling between them when it became too much to hold inside.
Zestial would never see his wife again, and he would never see his mother. Alastor hated that she’d lived the rest of her life never knowing why he vanished. He hoped she hadn’t wasted too much time looking for him. Not knowing would’ve broken her heart, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Because as much of a paradisiacal purgatory as Whilom was, none of its residents could step beyond its borders.
No one aged, yet their bodies still craved things like rest, food, and water. They remained frozen as they were upon death, children never growing older and the elderly and infirm followed by the limitations they had in life.
Paradoxically, any injuries suffered after their arrival instantly healed. Death didn’t fix a person. Zestial’s theory was that they became physical embodiments of their souls. He said it had brought him comfort, knowing he still maintained that sense of self despite everything.
Alastor was grateful he died while in his prime, with only his poor eyesight to contend with. The thought of an eternity wracked with arthritis or with his memories shackled by dementia would’ve made Whilom hell for him.
But then, on one of their more lighthearted evenings, while they sat beneath the stars talking and sharing a drink, Zestial vanished. Alastor would never forget the emotions that played over his face as the light enveloped him. Shock, elation, and then…pity. Zestial had offered a watery smile in the end, telling him they’d see each other again someday.
One moment, his dearest friend was there, laugh lines on full display and his smile reaching his eyes for the first time in ages. Then, just as quickly, Alastor was alone, the comfort he only felt in Zestial’s steady presence ripped away along with him.
He became the de facto village head, in addition to Whilom's most tenured resident after that, watching countless souls come and go in the decades following that fateful day in 1962. The population never dipped below fifty residents, but soon there were enough new faces that no one left but him remembered Zestial and Carmilla. Alastor did his best to be cordial to the newcomers, to ensure they felt welcome and their needs were met. He offered a sympathetic ear and kept a smile on his face.
It was easier that way. Alastor got to know and help them without sharing much about himself and his own circumstances. He was sad to see some of them go, but it hurt far less when he kept things professional rather than personal. That was how he managed to smile and laugh with them when they were found, the picture of utter joy on their behalf. Then, when they were gone, he’d retreat to the rooftop of the coffee shop he ran with a drink and let his smile fade as he stared up at the stars.
No one mourned for him. No one knew how much he envied them. They saw exactly what he wanted him to see, and Alastor would never be on the receiving end of anyone’s pity again.
Rosie, a (physically) older resident, was the only one who’d caught a glimpse under his mask since then. It’d taken her twenty years of incessant coaxing, but Alastor refused to fully open up to her. Even if she was the closest thing he had to a real friend since Zestial’s departure.
And then something unprecedented happened. Something Alastor doubted even Zestial had experienced during his long tenure in Whilom, because surely he would’ve said something if he had.
That morning was one of the quieter ones. Rosie was seated at the counter, chatting idly while Alastor tried his hand at latte art. The bell over the shop door chimed, and they looked up to find a stranger sheepishly standing there. A girl in her early twenties, if he had to guess. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and she was dressed as if she’d been hiking.
She probably wouldn’t be there for long. Someone would be missing her. Likely her parents.
“Hello! I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could use your phone?”
Alastor recovered first. “Apologies, my dear! I don’t know how I missed your arrival! Please, come take a seat!”
She offered a shy smile as she crossed the shop and took the stool next to Rosie. “I had no idea there was a little town here! I don’t remember seeing it on the map at all!”
“What’s the last thing you remember, darlin’?” Rosie asked, a sympathetic tilt to her head.
She blinked bright green eyes back at her. “Oh, uh, walking in here? I was out on a hike to meet my girlfriend but then I got turned around and then I lost my map, so…”
Was it worth explaining everything to her if she’d be gone in a few hours at most? To tell her she would never see her girlfriend again?
Wouldn’t it be kinder just to let the light take her?
He met Rosie’s gaze. She pursed her lips, giving a brief nod.
“Do ya like coffee, hun? Al here’s been practicin’ his latte art.”
Her face lit up at that. “Oh? Really? I love coffee! I’m Charlie, by the way!”
Alastor couldn’t help but soften a little at her enthusiasm. He deposited the drink he’d just finished in front of Rosie, hands resting on his hips as he awaited her verdict.
She studied the mound of foam rising from the cup with a critical eye. “You’re definitely gettin’ better. This one’s a cat, right?”
He shot her a wounded look. “It was supposed to look like you.”
Rosie visibly floundered, and he snorted out a laugh. When she reached across the counter to swat him in retaliation, Alastor stepped just out of range, smirking as he returned his attention to Charlie.
“It’s a pleasure to be meeting you Charlie, quite a pleasure! I’m Alastor, and this lovely lady is Rosie.”
Charlie beamed at them. “Oh, I feel like I’ve heard an accent like yours before but I can’t place it. Would it be rude of me to ask where you’re from?”
“Oh, it’s a fake one!” Rosie said. “Transatlantic! Like those old radio broadcasters.”
“Radio is still a thing, last I checked,” he shot back. “And old habits die hard.”
“One day I’m gonna hear that southern drawl of yours,” she said as she took a sip of her latte.
“I don’t know if there’s enough alcohol in the village to coax that out of me,” he said as he set about making a second drink.
“Why Transatlantic?” Charlie asked.
“Ah, for my work. Or, prior work, I suppose.”
“Oh? What did you used to do?”
“Acting,” he said, assuming that made more sense nowadays.
“Really?! Anything I’d recognize you in?”
“I’m afraid I only did local theater.”
“Still! That’s amazing! And then you started working at this coffeeshop instead?”
“Ah, it’s my own business, actually.”
Her eyes went even wider, if possible. “But you look so young! I thought you were around my age!”
Technically speaking, he supposed. He’d been in his mid-twenties when he died almost a century ago.
“I’m often told I look young for my age,” Alastor said as he handed her the freshly made drink.
Charlie thanked him, her smile growing as she took in the latte art. “Oh! It’s another cat! Thanks so much, Al!”
“It’s apparently the only one he’s perfected so far,” Rosie said, cutting him a look.
“Well, it isn’t as if I don’t have plenty of time to practice,” he drawled, taking a sip from his own mug. Unlike the two of them, he preferred his coffee black.
Charlie reached into her pocket, pulling out a shiny, rectangular object. “You don’t happen to have a charger, do you?”
“A…charger?” he echoed, tilting his head. “For?”
She wiggled the rectangle at him.
His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.” He looked to Rosie, who shrugged.
Charlie laughed. “Oh! Is this one of those off-the-grid kind of places?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Like you don’t have cellphones or internet here?”
“Ah, no, we don’t have cellular telephones or the internet.” What was that other thing Angel was always complaining about…? “Or blue teeth.”
Whatever magic allowed them life after death didn’t extend to the use of modern technology. There were no radios or televisions in the village either. That had been one of the more difficult adjustments for Alastor, given radio had been his greatest passion.
An odd look crossed the girl’s face. “Oh, are you like…Amish?”
Before he could puzzle out what she meant, the door to the shop swung open and Angel, looking half awake, staggered inside.
“Al, how much does a guy gotta pay t’get a real drink a li’l early?” he groaned as he raked a hand through his platinum blond hair.
“Angel, it’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
The lanky man threw himself into the seat on Charlie’s other side, his forehead thunking against the counter. “What the fuck does it matter? Ain’t like I got anythin’ else t’do.”
He reluctantly lifted his head again only to freeze on spotting Charlie’s rectangle.
“Holy shit! Is that a fuckin’ cellphone?!”
Charlie gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah. You don’t have a charger do you?”
“Holy fuckin’ shit! Is that a fuckin’ cellphone?!”
Charlie gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah. You don’t have a charger do you?”
He pointed an accusing finger at Alastor, heterochromic eyes narrowing. “How come the new girl gets t’keep her phone? Ya said none of that shit exists around here!”
“It doesn’t,” Alastor said, flabbergasted. He’d never seen a cellular telephone before, though other residents had tried describing them to him. He couldn’t decide which confused him more, the fact she still had hers, or how on earth one was supposed to make a call with such a thing.
Charlie’s gaze darted between the three of them as she pocketed the device. “…okay, this isn’t a cult or something, is it…? I mean, it’s totally cool if it is, but, um. I’m just so busy between work and school, I don’t have time to join a cult right now.”
“The fuck’re ya talkin’ about, toots?” Angel asked. “Oh, are ya new? I mean, I ain’t seen ya around, but I ain’t been here that long either. Just a coupla weeks.”
“Oh, I’m not staying. I just need to either borrow a phone or a charger so I can call my girlfriend. I got a little turned around and then I lost my map and then my phone died and…she’s probably really worried…”
Angel’s shoulders sagged. “Nobody told ya yet…?”
“Told me what?”
“That you’re dead.”
She didn’t laugh this time. “What?”
“Everybody here’s dead.“
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose as he gave a heavy sigh. “Angel… Her girlfriend is already bound to be looking for her. She won’t be here for much longer.”
“She’s still got a right t’know.”
“Um… Is this some kind of joke?” Charlie hazarded.
Rosie rested a hand on her arm. “Unfortunately not, dear. I’m afraid this is all very real.”
“I’m not dead,” she protested, brow pinching.
“Charlie, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” Alastor interjected, trying to soften the blow. “The living can’t see us. But try not to fret. If you just passed away and your girlfriend was expecting you, you won’t be here for long. Think of this as a brief stop to what lies beyond death. Once your physical body is located, you’ll be able to move on to the next stage.”
The poor girl lurched to her feet. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t funny at all. If you won’t let me use your phone, then I’m going to have to leave.”
“You’re more than welcome to use the phone here, however it’s only capable of dialing others within Whilom. You won’t be able to reach your girlfriend with it. I understand you’re upset, but—“
He didn’t get to finish before she ran for the door. Expecting as much, Alastor was already around the counter, hurrying after her. “Rosie!”
“It’s all right, I’ll stay here, hun,” she called after him.
Angel, however, surprised him by following too. “Shit, I’m real sorry, Smiles. I didn’t mean t’freak her out!”
“It’s all right. Like I said before, she won’t be here long.”
It didn’t matter how far she ran. The moment she reached the border, she’d reappear in the village square in front of the coffee shop, where Rosie would be waiting to comfort her.
“Fuck, how can I be outta shape when I’m fuckin’ dead?” Angel groused, panting now.
Alastor huffed a laugh as he pulled ahead of him. Charlie certainly wasn’t out of shape. She was making it to the border in record time, crossing from the village proper into the wildflower fields surrounding it.
Someone else stood ahead of them, just beyond the flowers. Another young woman, dressed similarly to Charlie. She seemed to stare straight at her, a relieved grin coming to her face.
“There you are, babe! I was staring to worry!”
And then the strangest thing happened: Charlie crossed the border.
Alastor skidded to a stop, jaw going slack as she threw her arms around the woman.
“Vaggie!”
“Are you all right?” Vaggie asked, gently stroking her back as she held her.
Charlie glanced over her shoulder, making direct eye contact with him. Alastor blinked owlishly back at her from behind his glasses.
“I’m not trying to be rude, but that wasn’t funny,” Charlie snapped, scowling now.
“What wasn’t funny?” Vaggie asked, leaning around her to see what she was looking at.
Her eyes passed over him as if he weren’t even there.
“The joke the people in that village were trying to play on me! Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, Charls. Are you okay? D’you need to lay down?”
“Sorry, Vaggie, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to him,” she said, pointing to Alastor.
Vaggie side-eyed her, brow creasing. “…to who?”
“To Alastor! He’s literally right there. Are you feeling okay?”
“Babe, there’s no one there.”
Charlie pulled away from her, turning to face him properly. Angel finally arrived beside him, doubling over and panting for breath.
“…Vaggie, he’s standing right there.”
“Look, let me give Lute a call. She can give us a ride back to the field office on one of the ATVs. How much water have you had today?”
Charlie stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Vaggie, he’s right there!”
“She can’t see us,” Alastor said, shaking off the shock. “She can’t see us, but you can.”
Charlie’s gaze shifted between them and her girlfriend. “What?”
Angel’s eyes were wide as he took a hesitant step forward. The instant he tried to cross the barrier, he vanished.
Charlie staggered back with a shriek. “What the fuck was that?! Where did he go?!”
Alastor held his hands up in a placating gesture. “We can’t cross the boundary. If we try, we just reappear in the village square.”
Her breathing picked up, her fingers sinking into her hair as she clutched at her head. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?! Is any of this real? Are you real, Alastor?”
Her panicking wouldn’t help anything. “Charlie!” he said, voice sharp.
She jolted, but he had her full attention now. He held his hands out to her, and she stepped over the border, tentatively taking them into her own. He brushed his thumbs across the backs of them to try and further ground her.
“I want you to breathe with me. Can you do that, my dear?”
“But why do you need to breathe if you’re dead?!”
He gave her a quelling look, thinking back to his initial impression of her. “That’s a rather rude thing to say, don’t you think?”
She immediately grew chagrined. “I…I’m sorry, I’m just… I…”
“Now, breathe in, two, three, four. Breathe out, two, three, four.”
He had far more practice with all of this than he would’ve liked. Unfortunately, people finding out they were dead tended to cause this kind of reaction. He led Charlie through a few grounding and breathing exercises before she managed to calm down.
Her girlfriend, meanwhile, watched on with wide, worried eyes.
“Now, are you feeling any better?” Alastor asked.
“N-Not really,” Charlie stammered, but at least she was no longer hyperventilating.
“It’s nothing to fret over. Perhaps you’re a medium? I believe that’s the term. I was never much one for spiritualism. I thought it was all wacky nonsense only to find out how very wrong I was.”
“Spiritualism…?”
“Oh, it used to be all the rage! People were convinced they could speak with the deceased through mediums and seances and the like. I still believe most of them were frauds, but I suppose they were right about death not being the ultimate end.” He wrinkled his nose. “Thank Heavens Mimzy isn’t around. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“…Mimzy?”
“A friend of mine. From my living days.”
Charlie stared at him, eyes wide but marginally less panicked. “…am I crazy? Am I hallucinating right now?”
He tilted his head, pinching the back of her hand. She yelped, yanking it back.
“…holy shit…”
“I must admit, this has never happened before. I’m not sure how or why you’re able to see us. Maybe a near death experience? Or some kind of spiritual power?”
Charlie glanced to Vaggie before hazarding, “…how do I convince her I’m not having a mental breakdown or something?”
“Asking that where she can hear you likely isn’t the best first step, I’m afraid.”
That pulled a startled laugh from her. “…okay. Okay. So. Apparently I can see ghosts and there’s a whole village of them right here in the middle of the woods… I mean, I’ve had a lot of weird things happen to me before, but this is a new one…”
“…ghosts?” Vaggie echoed, brows drifting up toward her hairline.
“Oh! Vaggie, can I see your phone?”
The other woman tentatively held it out to her, handling it as if it might explode at any moment.
“You said your first name was Alastor, right?” Charlie asked, tapping away at the device.
Alastor peered curiously over her shoulder. The cellular telephone's screen displayed the keys of what looked like a modified typewriter. Had the older models included a rotary dial? Or did they have a keypad like the landlines dotting Whilom? He was no closer to figuring out how one placed a call with the device. “It is. Why?”
“What’s your last name?”
He blinked. “Doré.”
She had him spell it out for her, leaving him more puzzled. He looked back toward the village, spotting Angel in the distance, only to jolt when Charlie's head snapped up, accompanied by a…positive…cry? “Holy shit! Oh my god, it’s literally you!”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow, my dear.”
She turned the device to face him, and his own face stared back at him from it. A clipping from a newspaper a few days after he’d died, the headline proclaiming, Esteemed Radio Host Missing or Murdered?
Technically both, he supposed. He hoped against hope that his mother hadn’t seen that…
She turned the device to her girlfriend next. “This is him! Alastor! The one I’m talking to right now!”
Vaggie seemed a little less certain about her paramour’s sudden descent into insanity, a thoughtful look coming to her face. “…okay. Suppose what you’re saying is true. There’s just a guy who died almost a hundred years ago standing over there?”
Charlie nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly!”
Angel jogged back up beside him, panting even harder than before. He rested his hands on his knees as he leaned forward, struggling to catch his breath.
“Wait!” Charlie said, looking to him. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“His name is Anthony D’Angelo.”
“The fuck’re ya givin’ her my government name for?” Angel asked once he had the breath to do so.
Charlie’s face fell as she studied whatever information she’d pulled up. “…oh. ‘Anthony D’Angelo, last seen in August’…”
Vaggie leaned in to study the screen, her gaze shifting from the telephone to the two of them, though her eyes never landed on him or Angel.
Angel straightened, crossing his arms as he glanced away. “Yeah, I coulda told ya that. Fuck, that’s weird.”
Charlie bit her bottom lip before hazarding, “And what’s that woman’s name? The one back at the coffee shop?”
“Rosie Vandergelder.”
Charlie’s expression grew even sadder. “‘Rosie Vandergelder, beloved mother and grandmother, last seen in March 1961’.“
So long as she didn’t direct any of that pity or grief at him, Alastor would be fine.
Charlie lifted her head again, meeting his gaze. He offered her his best reassuring smile, and (thankfully) some of her newfound sadness eased.
“But why are you all here? Alastor, it says you were last seen in New Orleans, and Rosie in Seattle. Angel's the only one who’s sort of local, since it says he was last seen in New York.”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted.
“You said earlier…” She frowned. “You said that once my body was found, I’d be…gone?”
“Yes.” He could hardly take it back now.
“So…that’s why you’re all here? Because you haven’t been…?”
“That’s correct.”
“So you’re just…stuck here otherwise? Forever?”
His eye twitched. “Yes, that just about sums it up! Well, it was a pleasure to be meeting you, Miss Charlie! Best of luck on your outing!”
Angel caught his arm, his own eyes wide. “Hold the fuck up, Al! She could be our ticket outta here!”
Alastor pursed his lips. “While I understand your line of thought, need I remind you that we do not know this girl? For all you know, she could take the information and use it to exploit the loved ones of everyone here.”
Charlie sucked in a sharp breath. “I would never do something like that!”
“The fuck do I care if she does?! My family’s just about all pieces of shit anyway!”
He arched a brow. “Including your sister? Your grandmother?”
Angel flinched. “…‘cept for them…”
“That’s precisely what I’m getting at. There’s no way for us to know what she would do with the information and we have no recourse either.”
“But she can see us, Al! She could tell us about what all’s goin’ on out there!”
“What does it matter what’s going on out there? It’s not like we’ll ever go back.”
Angel’s eyes flashed. “Just ‘cause ya don’t have anybody out there, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t!”
Alastor staggered back a step before forcing himself to a halt. That empty place deep in his core began to crack open again, and it took everything he had to slam it shut. He stood straighter, jaw tightening.
“If you think I’m not already very aware of that fact, you are sadly mistaken,” he replied, voice clipped. “Far be it from me to dissuade you from trusting a living stranger not to take advantage of you and your family! By all means, tell her everything! Where the spare key to your apartment is, the personal identification number for your checking card, all of your passcodes for that frivolous technology you keep bemoaning the loss of! Just don’t come looking for me when it all inevitably blows up in your face!”
And there was that temper he tried so hard to keep a handle on. So like his father’s. An ugly thing deep inside of him he’d never been able to uproot. He wanted to punch the idiot, to beat him to a bloody pulp. But he couldn’t kill Angel. There was no bayou to hide his body in. Besides, he’d just come right back.
That was the true sticking point, wasn’t it? If he’d minded his own business, if he hadn’t taken care of that bastard priest with his wandering hands and vile stares…
This was his punishment, why his remains would never be found.
Sometimes, in his darkest moments, he wished he’d gone to Hell instead, assuming it was real. He’d always had a high tolerance for physical pain; it was his mind that was weak. If he’d known this was where he’d end up, he would’ve taken far more of that kind of filth out beforehand. Maybe that would’ve earned him a place in actual Hell.
Alastor forced his mind back to the present to find his fists so tightly clenched at his sides, it was a wonder his knuckles hadn’t split open. He took a deep, steadying breath and then another.
Angel, meanwhile, seemed to realize what he’d said, judging by the dawning horror on his face. “Fuck… Al… I…”
Alastor ignored him, turning stiffly back toward the village. He only made it a few steps before someone caught his arm. He whirled, fully expecting Angel. Instead, Charlie was the one holding onto him.
“It’s not true,” she said, grip tightening.
“Beg pardon?” he asked, entirely out of his element now.
“You do have someone out there who cares!”
There were tears in her eyes as she stated imploringly up at him.
His expression softened, despite himself. “My dear, I can assure you that anyone I knew while living has long since passed on.”
“I care!”
He opened his mouth to protest, to call her out on the absurdity of her claim. But he couldn’t force the words from between his lips. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when her earnest compassion reminded him so much of…
“I know you don’t know me and you don’t know if you can trust me, but… Can I at least try to earn your trust? Can I at least get to know you?”
“Your time would be much better served with the likes of Angel and Rosie,” he finally managed.
“I’ll spend time with them too! But I also want to spend it with you! Will you let me?”
He genuinely had no idea what to say to that.
“Please, Alastor?”
He felt himself nodding before he realized what he was doing, and she squealed, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. He tensed at the contact, awkwardly slipping a hand beneath her braid to pat her on the back.
“Holy shit!” Vaggie yelped, startling the two of them.
“What? What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, brow pinched with concern.
“Your hair. It…moved.”
“Oh!” Charlie grinned as she stepped back, offering Alastor the end of her braid.
He was too flabbergasted to decline, holding onto it as she took a few steps away.
“Can you wiggle it, Alastor?”
Dumbly, he followed her request, rocking it back and forth.
“See, Vaggie? I’m not crazy!”
“There’s a chance we may all be hallucinating. Or have lost our minds,” Alastor said, gently setting her braid back in place.
Charlie reached over and pinched his upper arm, drawing a startled yelp from him.
“Well at least you know you’re not dreaming and this is all real!”
He’d yet to determine if that was a good thing or a bad one.
“So you’ll let me come back and spend time with you all?” Charlie asked, beaming at him.
“…I suppose.”
“I’ll see what I can do to help too! I can talk to everyone here and pass messages along and—“
Alastor held up a hand to forestall her. “A noble goal, my dear, but if this is something you genuinely want to do, I suggest taking a step back first and considering all of the implications and repercussions.”
Charlie deflated, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“While it’s been quite some time since I arrived here, I imagine the police are bound to be wary of anyone with information that could only be known by the missing and those involved in their disappearance. You wouldn’t want to end up behind bars or in an asylum, would you?"
Her frown deepened. “I can just tell them I’m a psychic or something!”
“Regardless, there are many here who met their ends at the hands of another. You could risk putting a target on your back if you aren’t careful. A murderer who believes they’ve gotten away with it won’t react too kindly to your interference.”
“…oh. I didn’t consider that.”
Angel wrapped his arms around himself, worrying at his bottom lip. “…I didn’t either,” he admitted. “Last thing I’d want is for ya t’end up stuck here for real cuzza me.”
“I also think it’s best to keep this between ourselves for now,” Alastor cut back in. “There’s no sense in getting everyone into a tizzy. Better to see if it actually works first and to approach it all strategically.”
Charlie nodded, eyes shining. “You’re absolutely right, Al!”
“I usually am,” he said with a faint smile. “I’ll see what I can do about putting together a list of sorts and gathering information for you in the meantime.”
She grabbed his hands, squeezing them. “I won’t let you down! I’ll come back tomorrow!”
“It will take me a little longer than that to review everything, I’m afraid.”
“Oh… But I can still come by and say hi, right?”
He blinked back at her. “…how you spend your time is up to you and you alone, my dear. Though if you do return, I suggest pretending you’re a new resident for the time being. You’ll need to stow your cellular telephone away before crossing the border too. Just in case.”
“I can do that!” Charlie insisted. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Alastor offered her an indulgent smile as he and Angel bid her and her girlfriend goodbye. For Angel’s sake, he hoped she returned. He, however, wouldn’t be holding his breath.