For all of his misgivings about Alastor, the exchange outside the Radio Demon’s tower had been remarkably tame, and Kevin accepted with a slight shrug that Al leaving him in the dark was both annoying and a little humorous.
With the roof and suite levels inspected and mostly secure, his floor clear thanks to Niffty’s deep cleaning, the rest of the guest room floors did not take long to walk through.
On each floor, he entered the rooms in turn, tested the windows, and made sure no wayward squatters had somehow snuck in.
Not that any could, with the magical defenses in place, but even having lived in both Heaven and Hell, he would never let magic replace a good old-fashioned hands-on inspection.
He still didn’t understand Charlie’s insistence on leaving the door locks last, but it did expedite his work, and after only about ninety minutes, he stepped into the elevator on the second floor and tapped the button for the basement level.
As the elevator began its descent, he leaned back against the wall, grinned, and said it aloud just because he could: “I really am on the express elevator to Hell.
Going down.”
Moments later, the chime welcomed him to his destination, and when the doors parted, he stepped out into a cavernous sub-level.
The basement was well lit in the center and across the majority of the main room, but thick shadows pooled against the walls, dark enough to hold dangers if not checked.
Plucking his halo off his head, he focused his energy, and the ring brightened to rival a stage spotlight; the beam turned outward rather than blinding him.
He swept it around the room.
Satisfied that nothing lurked about, he lowered the beam and continued his walk-through.
It seemed Lucifer had a little fun with the foundation, opting for a mix of stone, brickwork, and arched columns that—unlike the ones used throughout the rest of the hotel—were etched with Gothic carvings of ancient demons.
From the elevator doors, the expanse was large enough to encompass the width and length of a basketball course, and a mix of onyx and crimson tiles created a checkerboard motif across the floor.
In Heaven, most things worked by magic.
Monitors, elevators, doors, food dispensers—just about everything was either magically run or hand-made.
But in Hell, things were nearly identical to life on Earth.
The basement housed water heaters, one hulking boiler—apparently parts of Hell did get chilly, and ‘a cold day in Hell’ would be a regular thing—washers and dryers, some currently in use—what needed to be washed this soon?—and a few rooms Lucifer had earmarked for storage from his mansion, hoping many items might come of use later at the hotel.
Since there were only two egresses in the basement, he verified both were secured with locks, then walked past the staircase rising to the main lobby behind the concierge desk and the second one running directly to the kitchen.
Next to that, a large pantry was stocked with all manner of canned goods, flour, wheat, and the like.
An industrial walk-in fridge and freezer sat across from it.
He marveled again at how ordinary much of the Hazbin Hotel’s workings were.
Around the basement, storage rooms each served a particular part of the hotel—one held exercise equipment, another stacked chairs and tables for the ballroom, a well-stocked wine and liquor room, and a linen room.
He moved through each one, though his stomach had started to make its case rather loudly, growling like something feral.
He hadn’t eaten in roughly twenty-four hours, and his body was beginning to state that opinion clearly.
Passing one of the rooms, he noticed the door ajar and paused.
Likely someone had been down here and forgotten to close it, but he wasn’t taking chances.
He drew his halo sword, gripped the handle, and stepped in.
The small space held a mix of boxes, furniture, lamps, and—were those duck-shaped lounge chairs?
This had to be the room Lucifer had asked to be reserved for items he was bringing over from the mansion.
He turned to leave when movement caught the corner of his eye—a flicker, quick and unsettling.
His gaze fell on a Cheval Mirror standing nearly six feet tall, its oval frame crafted from black steel and alive with artisan metalwork.
Intricate engravings adorned the beveled edges: geometric patterns tangled with organic motifs, spirals, and interlocking circles that seemed to shift if you looked too long.
The black steel had a subtle sheen that revealed faint hammer marks on close inspection, a testament to its handcrafted origin.
Delicate filigree curled from each corner, thin strands of metal winding into loops that climbed to a stylized crest of intertwined vines at the top.
Four curved legs allowed it to pivot and adjust angles, and the base rested on clawed feet set on ornate pads—both practical and quietly beautiful.
He found himself drawn closer for a better look, pulled by some invisible magnetism.
When his gaze traced down the outline of the frame, the movement he’d noticed pulled his eye to the lower corner—and he jumped back with a yelp.
He spun around, exasperated.
“Niffty!
Don’t sneak up on me like that, please.”
But Niffty wasn’t behind him.
No one was.
He turned back to the mirror and focused on the corner where he could have sworn the little demon had been, but all he saw was himself—pale, wide-eyed, alone.
But the image had been so clear.
She’d even had a rag in her hand, like always.
You’re letting her get to you, Kevin.
He gave the mirror a long look—two fingers, eyes on you—then did an about-face and left the room.
It was past time to take care of the growling in his belly.
He stood in the corridor a moment, letting the quiet of the basement wash over him and settle his nerves, then took the side stairs up to the first floor.
Opening the door behind the concierge desk, Kevin headed straight for the kitchen, where loud clanging, colorful curses, and smoke from the oven greeted him.
Despite the noise, mess, and potential fire hazard, a smell hit him that he’d never encountered before—something that made his stomach stop growling and start begging.
A mop of strawberry-blonde hair peeked over the countertop near the stove, moving back and forth like a shark’s fin, occasionally ducking out of sight.
“Heya,” Kevin called out in greeting, recognizing the hairstyle immediately, “How’s it going?”
Cherri Bomb peered over the top of the counter with a stern expression.
“Look, pal!
I just started, okay!
Lunch isn’t re—” She blinked when she saw who it was.
“Oh, hey Kev!” Straightening up, she dusted off her blood-red apron, covered in flour, egg bits, and—sometimes, some things are best not to know.
“I ain’t got anything ready for lunch, but there’s a plate of pancakes I just dropped in the fridge if ya want’ em?”
“Those are exactly what I came for.” He headed to the fridge while offering his condolences.
Lucifer told me.
Do you want me to start an investigation?
I have no problem expanding my services beyond the hotel for Charlie’s friends and staff.”
“It’s fine, mate!” Laughing loudly, she scooped up some ingredients in a bowl.
He fetched the plate from the fridge with a nod.
He had no problem backing up the ones who’d protected Charlie, but he wasn’t going to push.
Her smile faded as her shoulders slumped.
“But.”
He set the plate on the counter, leaned against the edge, and opened his palms.
“But?”
Her eye narrowed on him, and she shook her head.
“I dunno why I’m spoutin’ off about this with ya.
I mean, you rock and all, but I hardly know ya.”
“I don’t know you, either, Miss Bomb.” He gave a small shrug.
“But Charlie cares for you, trusts you, and her opinion is all I really need.”
“Don’t call me Miss Bomb like I’m some upstandin’ debutante, Angel.” She waved her hand, though a smile crept along the edge of her lips, suggesting she was actually flattered.
“Cherri’s just fine.”
“Cherri, it is.” He tilted his head in respect.
“And call me Kevin, okay?”
“Sure thing, Kev,” Cherri shrugged.
“Close enough,” Kevin laughed.
“But just so you know, I was taught respect and to address others properly until offered otherwise.”
“Respect isn’t a common commodity down here, Kev.” She set the bowl aside and dropped her elbows on the countertop.
“Demons take, hurt, and kill each other without a second thought.
It’s eat or be eaten—especially in Cannibal Town—and that respect of yours will likely get a knife in your back the first time ya step outside this hotel.”
“So, it’s like the old west everywhere in Hell, hmm?” He went ahead and slid the plate of pancakes into the microwave.
He’d already covered a lot of this with Lucifer, but multiple viewpoints never hurt.
“Pretty much.” She nodded.
“Keep your chest puffed out, eyebrows curled like you’re ready to slice anyone that even looks at ya funny, and push a few weaker demons around so no one wants to mess with ya, and you’re golden.
Well, as long as ya don’t try to take any overlord’s territory, that is, including mine.” She fixed him with a long stare, her teeth catching the kitchen light.
“You own territory?
Like an overlord?
Alastor?”
“Sorta?” She shrugged and explained, “I took over the area around my apartment shortly before Angel Dust asked me to come help defend the hotel.
But I’m not an overlord, not at all like Alastor.
That’s more complicated.”
“I see.
Well, I don’t think Charlie will appreciate me being a bully, especially since she’s trying to encourage sinners to come here to redeem themselves.
But I’ll take your advice to heart and not let my guard down.”
“That’s something.” She reached for the bowl, then stopped.
“Heh, ya got me off track.
I was gonna say, in regards to your offer?
I’ve dealt with so much shit for a long time—fightin’ for territory, getting my shit jacked, and pretty much letting my arse get violated and not in the good way.” A grumble.
“So maybe for once, it would be nice to get some payback.”
“So, you want me to look into who took your property?” The microwave dinged.
He turned to fetch the plate.
“Yeah, why not?
And maybe ya can build a reputation while ya do.
The High Angel of Heaven, consort to the Princess of Hell, tough on crime!” She kissed her fingers.
“Chef’s kiss.”
He chuckled and winked.
“Aside from angel and partner to Charlie, tough on crime has always been my jam.”
That got a rowdy laugh out of the cyclops demon.
“Now you’re catchin’ on, mate!”
Kevin opened a cabinet for the syrup and poured some over the pancakes.
“I know things are handled down here a bit differently and more hands-on.
I need to get out there and see this world and learn how the underg—” he caught himself and changed it to: “The grounds work here.”
“Then let me know when ya got the time, and I’ll take ya by my old crib so ya can check it out.” She paused.
“Thanks, mate. This story is hosted at novelping.com.
Really.”
“I’d be honored to help.” He took a long breath through his nose.
“But what is that smell?
You say nothing’s ready, but that aroma’s amazing.”
“Thanks, chum!” Cherri beamed at the distraction.
“I wanted to start on one of my ‘ol mum’s’ favorite dessert recipes.
I told Charlie earlier, I ain’t never had a kitchen like this to work in.
I can whip up multiple dishes at once, so I immediately got started on it.
I’ll let ya know when they’re ready and present them to everyone a bit later.”
“Sounds good to me.” He walked past the door marked basement, checked it was locked from this side, and sat down at the table set aside for meals in the kitchen.
“Smells really good, too.” He cut into the pancakes.
“Thanks!” Already working on chopping up some onions, her back to him, Cherri was lost in her own world of creating.
Kevin ate in silence, watching Cherri Bomb move through the kitchen—chopping, seasoning, building a glorious mess that somehow never touched the finished plates.
Each dish ended up neatly arranged, untouched by the chaos around it.
He thought about her other craft, the explosives, and how the same precise creativity that shaped a bomb could plate a meal.
She built things.
She always had.
The difference was who she was building for.
And why.
Thinking about her explosives reminded him of Shrapnel, his old army buddy, and he knew those two would have gotten along famously.
He also found a sense of familiarity in her movements and realized she was stirring up fond memories of his mother and his sister.
Both had loved to work together in the kitchen when Cassie was young, challenging each other on who could make the strangest meals.
Cassie won most of the time, which said something about her future abilities as a witch, that creative mind finding its way into her powder magics.
Despite them later falling out over Cassie’s path away from religion, she and their mother had been inseparable for as long as he could remember.
Watching Cherri dance through the kitchen as she cooked, it seemed that even if it hadn’t occurred to her yet, she’d found the place she was meant to be—among people she cared for, taking care of them in return.
He wondered if this new life would give her reason to feel she deserved redemption as much as any of them.
He hoped it would help her heal from the loss of Sir Pentious.
Time drifted by the same as his thoughts did, and as he finished his last bite, he was about to pick up the plate when two small hands shot up from beside the table and grabbed it from him.
“I got it!”
He jumped in his seat.
“Fuck!
Niffty, you gotta stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Her eye widened in confusion.
He gripped his forehead and let out a slow sigh.
“Were you in the basement a few minutes ago?”
“Not since I started laundry an hour ago.
Why?”
“It’s okay.
Never mind.” He closed his eyes for a moment to settle his nerves.
Again!
If she was going to keep materializing out of thin air, he was going to have a talk with Charlie about putting a bell on that creature.
Remembering what he’d wanted to ask her upstairs, he opened his mouth—and she’d already turned to scurry to the sink and drop the plate in.
Bells and a leash, if he was ever going to hold her down for five minutes.
Strike that.
From what Charlie had explained about Niffty, she’d probably think he was hitting on her.
It was going to come down to timing and luck to get that small talk with her.
Meanwhile, propped on a stool that appeared out of nowhere, she took out her cleaning bottle and rag and shook her head at the mess on the counter.
“This place is a disaster!” She began spraying down the counters, wiping at the stains as she went.
“Hey!
What the heck ya doing, Niff?” Cherri protested.
“Cleaning!
There are food stains all over this counter!”
“That’s cause I’m still cookin’, bitch!”
Turning her one big eye on the larger woman, Niffty scoffed, “Well, you could learn to clean up as you go!”
“A good chef never cleans while she cooks, girl!
You gotta be in the moment!
It’s art!”
“Clean!” Declaring firmly, Niffty stood her ground.
“Cook!” Scowling back, Cherri refused to budge.
Kevin, bless his heart, decided against inspecting the kitchen for the time being and silently backed out of the room as the two cyclops demons stared eye to eye—locked in an epic battle of wills—and he was not going to take any bets on who was going to win this one.
However, it now seemed that lunch might end up being a little late.