The word “flexible” hung in the air.
Charlie herself didn’t know how to follow it up.
Moon sat there without offering a word, quietly waiting for the princess to put a price tag on her own goodwill.
Vaggie stood nearby, leaning against a surface, flicking her folding knife open and shut.
The rhythm grew faster and faster.
Charlie gritted her teeth and pushed forward.
“What I mean is, staying here isn’t just about the room; we have a whole package.
An eight-step program!
We have trust falls—well, so far no one’s been willing to be the one catching, but that just proves there’s plenty of room for trust!
We have singing therapy, and the ‘count to ten before you start a fight’ exercise.
The record so far is four, but that’s already twice as high as last week!
As long as you don’t eat the other guests.”
The faster she spoke, the more her words stumbled over each other.
“As for the rent…”
The momentum Charlie had just managed to build vanished instantly.
She scratched her cheek, reverting to a clumsy girl.
“Um…
give whatever you think is fair?
Or maybe you could help out around here?
Honestly, we’re short on everything.”
“Don’t be so casual,” Vaggie interrupted, stopping Charlie before she could dig herself deeper.
She turned to glare at Moon, trying to claw back some leverage in the negotiation.
“We need cash or supplies.
If you have any useful skills, we can count that too.”
She eyed Moon’s outfit up and down with suspicion.
“For instance, can you fix pipes?
Or deal with Touille?”
The corner of Moon’s mouth twitched.
“Of course.
An equivalent exchange is only fair.”
He nodded, his hand already reaching into his pocket for the fake credit card.
But after less than a second of consideration, he gave up on the idea.
Given Vaggie’s current stance, an untraceable card would likely just move her previous promise regarding his intestines and a necktie up on the schedule.
“I understand all of that.
But there’s one thing I haven’t quite figured out.”
“What is it?”
“Your surname is Morningstar.”
Charlie didn’t react immediately, simply nodding.
“Morningstar.
Daughter of Lucifer.
Princess of Hell,” Moon listed the titles one by one.
“And you’re short on money?”
Charlie’s smile froze.
Her eyes began to wander restlessly—first to the chandelier, then the floor, and finally the tips of her shoes.
She looked everywhere except at Moon.
She wound a lock of hair around her finger, twisting it over and over.
“Well…
my father and I, currently, we aren’t exactly…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, opting for a different explanation instead.
“Opening the hotel…
everything we had went into it.
There’s been no source of income since then.” Her voice grew smaller and smaller.
Vaggie reached out and took hold of the hand that was nearly twisting its hair into a rope.
Charlie looked at her.
Vaggie didn’t look back; she just tightened her grip slightly.
“Yes,” Vaggie took over.
“It’s a mess.
But it’s our mess.
And we’re going to fix it together.”
Moved, Charlie squeezed Vaggie’s hand in return.
Moon watched them for a moment before turning his gaze to the family portrait on the wall.
The red-penned smiley face in the frame seemed to grin back at him.
He chose not to press the issue.
The person who had drawn that smiley face was likely on the verge of tears when they put pen to paper.
Finally, Vaggie brought the conversation back on track.
Acting as if nothing had happened, she continued in a businesslike tone, “I’ll list out the specific terms and give them to you tomorrow.
Charlie will have the final say.
Now, let’s talk about the house rules.”
Moon interrupted, “The rules can wait.
Right now, I’d like to meet someone first—your Mr.
Angel.”
Behind the bar, Husk slammed a glass onto the counter, finally deigning to look up at him.
“Heh, looking for him?
Good luck.
If you’re lucky, he’ll actually be wearing clothes.”
Vaggie’s face darkened, wearing an “I knew it” expression.
Charlie was also taken aback and tried to explain, but Moon raised a hand to cut her off.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You just told me that you have one sample, zero success stories, a house full of good intentions, and a pile of plans that haven’t yielded results yet.
It’s not too much to ask to see the only sample you have, is it?”
Charlie opened her mouth but found nothing to say.
Moon continued, “That someone is willing to stay in a hotel promising ‘redemption’—even if they lapse, even if they waver—the mere fact that they ‘haven’t left’ is rare enough in Hell.”
He didn’t say more.
He stood up and brushed off his trousers.