Mabel hissed in pain when her knee slammed into the coffee table, her body screaming at her when she tried to jump away from the object; she tripped backwards and would have fallen on her butt if Aleron's arms hadn't caught her.

"Little One," he scolded, "I told you to wait for me!"

Mabel huffed loudly, feeling like a child stuck in timeout. "I know, Al, but I was so bored."

"Then call for me," he continued, plucking her up and leading her to the kitchen, where he set her down at the counter in front of the pizza he'd just returned from getting. "I was only away for five minutes."

"Five boring minutes," she retorted snootily, opening up the pizza box and snatching up a slice giddily.

Aleron snorted a chuckle, bending forward to press his lips against her brow before settling down next to her and watching her eat.

"Don' be creepy." Mabel chided through a mouth full of food, dabbing her fingers off on a napkin.

"I apologize, Little One," he didn't sound very apologetic, "but you are very adorable. How are you feeling?"

She inwardly rolled her eyes. As much as she cared for Aleron, he was taking her recovery to an entirely unnecessary level. He monitored her constantly, ensuring that she was comfortable, safe, and happy. As sweet as it was, she was tired of all the attention being focused on her.

"Can you tell me something?" she asked, leaning to the side gingerly so she didn't aggravate her ribs as she regarded him carefully.

Aleron's brows rose in confusion. "Of course, Little One—what do you want me to tell you?"

"Your brother, Blagdan . . . you never explained why he looks so different from you, or why he was trapped in 'the deepest pits' of Hell."

Aleron's face twisted into a scowl, though she knew it wasn't meant for her. "Blagdan . . ." he blew out an angry puff of air, and Mabel snatched up his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "We were both intended to work alongside Death; it is the reason for which we were born. But Blagdan wanted more power than he was given and tried to usurp Death by killing him.

"It did not work, of course, and Death recognized Blagdan's soul as evil, thus banishing him to the deepest pits of Hell. That is where the truly wicked souls go—the devil, bastard though he be, is in charge of monitoring and punishing the souls sent there."

He ran his fingers over her knuckles, bringing her hand up to press gentle kisses against it, his gaze searching hers. "That is why I have been so worried, Little One. If Blagdan escaped, it means the devil is either not doing his duty, or something else is happening; I am not sure of which is worse."

Mabel nodded thoughtfully. "One more question: if the wicked souls are sent straight to the devil, why were all those humans near Blagdan's castle?"

Aleron seemed to mull over his next words, as though determining how best to say it so she wouldn't get concerned. "It is like your . . . 'purgatory,' I believe. Many humans do not have truly wicked souls. Those who do are sent straight to the devil for eternal punishment; those who are not entirely lost to darkness are sent to remain under Death's watch. They complete different tasks, depending on the level of their sins. It is my duty to monitor darkening souls on earth and determine how quickly they need to be sent to Hell, where Death can judge them for himself."

Mabel swallowed heavily, her mind flashing back to the many dead people she had seen on the news, their blue lips and vacant eyes haunting her. "I don't think I'd make it as a wicked soul—just the thought scares me." She shuddered involuntarily, and Aleron's lips quirked into a small smile.

"I do not believe you could be wicked if you tried, Little One, as your heart is too good." He sobered, and used the hand not clasped in hers to twist a strand of her hair (one of his favorite pastimes, it seemed). "There is something you humans say . . . something I do not quite understand, because I do not think it encompasses how I feel for you."

"Oh?" her brows rose curiously. "What's that?"

His gaze was almost shy when he confessed, "Humans speak of 'love,' but I do not believe it is appropriate."

Trying to keep her mind from short-circuiting (because what the Hell did he just say?!), Mabel's head bobbed up and down dumbly. "Right. Sure. Okay. What, uh," she licked her lips, "what do you think is appropriate?"

His next smile was soft, and he bent forward to press a sweet kiss against her lips before murmuring in her ear, "You are my soul, Little One."

The words were said so genuinely that Mabel had to pull back before she melted on the spot. Eyeing him lovingly, she said, "And you're mine." Kissing him once more, she muttered against his lips, "And here I thought you were going to say that you would kill for me."

Aleron's brow furrowed. "Of course I would kill for you; I would slaughter an entire nation for you."

Mabel blinked. Once, twice, three times, then said, "Well, okay then. Um, I won't be in need of that, I don't think."

He just huffed. "I will determine whether such measures need to be taken, Little One, do not worry about that."

Considering that her demonic boyfriend had just said he'd kill millions of people for her, Mabel couldn't help but be a little bit worried. Nonetheless, she shifted into Aleron's embrace and closed her eyes, perfectly happy to just soak up several seconds of peace with him.

***

"Are you kidding me?" Mabel squeaked, watching with wide eyes as Herman's lawyer continued to flip through a stack of documents.

He wasn't even looking at her, his voice dry, as if he hadn't just called her to his office on an otherwise peaceful Monday only to reveal shocking news. "Yes, Ma'am. Herman left the store to you, as well as all the money in both his bank accounts. He has no other family, so I'm not surprised. Oh," the insensitive man finally looked up, handing her a plain white envelope with her name scribbled across the front. "This was also left to you."

Mabel resisted the urge to snort, because no duh, Sherlock, her trembling fingers curling around the paper and pulling it to her lap. "Is that all?" she asked, trying to absorb everything.

She'd only been back in the real world for two weeks, but she'd recovered well (no doubt due to Aleron and the fancy medicines he suspiciously pulled out of seemingly nowhere; Mabel had a feeling some hospitals might be running low on drugs). Her breathing still stuttered occasionally, and there were plenty of bruises left from the ordeal, though she did her best to hide any pain.

Aleron was already beating himself up, after all; she didn't need to make him feel worse.

"Sign where indicated," the lawyer drawled, snapping Mabel out of her thoughts and making her bite back a moan after seeing the many documents awaiting her signature.

Grudgingly taking the pile of papers and a pen from the lawyer's outstretched hand, Mabel quickly began to sign her name absently, thoughts remaining on her brooding guardian.

With Blagdan (and subsequently Herman) dead, she had originally expected Aleron to relax some, but that wasn't the case. If anything, he was more wound up than normal. When she'd asked about the tension, he'd growled something about having "to kill the entire population in order to rid this city of wicked souls."

Mabel had watched him with wide eyes and asked that he please not kill her without at least asking first. She'd laughed at her little joke, but Aleron hadn't shared in her amusement. According to him, her death wasn't something to laugh over, and neither was the amount of evil that remained in the city.

Aleron had yet to determine where the wicked souls were stemming from, however, and that did concern Mabel. She wasn't stupid, and she'd noticed the dark plague of bad deeds slowly overtaking once-good people.

The couple in the apartment across from her own had been arrested several days before, on account of nearly killing a group of teenagers when they went driving while heavily intoxicated. It wouldn't sound serious, if not for the fact that the young couple couldn't remember opening a single bottle of alcohol.

Among other problems, Mabel had an irritating itch in between her shoulder blades that she couldn't reach, and it had been bothering her for days. She'd tried to check it in the mirror, but she couldn't manage to maneuver her body to see it either, and it was just the most annoying thing to—

"Ma'am?"

Mabel reeled back with a strangled gasp, blinking her eyes furiously until she was focused on the man in front of her. "Yes?" she asked, trying to calm her racing heart. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

He heaved a sigh. "Are you done?"

She looked down to find her pen was settled against the last page, a large ink blot forming in the otherwise fancy curls of her signature. Pulling the pen back and handing the papers over with a sheepish smile, Mabel gathered up her belongings. "Sorry about that. Can I go now?"

He nodded, eyes trained on the papers with a slight grimace, and Mabel rolled her eyes. Of course an ink blot, of all things, would bother a lawyer.

"Have a nice day," she muttered, biting back an angry remark when all the man did was blow out an exasperated breath and murmur something.

The second she stepped outside, Aleron was beside her. "Little One," he greeted, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. "How did it go?"

Feeling the familiar sting of tears in her eyes, Mabel sucked in a calming breath. "I really hate some people, Al."

His eyes turned sad. "You cannot hate, Little One, your heart is too good."

With his words, she felt the anger vacate her body in a single rush, leaving her suddenly exhausted. "You're right. But . . . I just, I just wish it was different, you know?"

Her bottom lip quivered, something Aleron obviously noticed, if his pulling her into his chest was any indication. He shushed her, his fingers stroking through her hair, his lips brushing against the crown of her head.

Mabel wasn't sure how long she stayed in his embrace, whether it was minutes or hours, but she only pulled away when she felt like she wouldn't fall apart.

"Thanks," she whispered, watching him through her eyelashes, smiling softly when she saw the gentleness in his gaze.

Aleron bent down and gave her a chaste kiss. "For you, Little One, it is never a problem." He frowned suddenly, turning his face to the side, his brows furrowed. "I will bring you back to the store; I do not want you out in this."

Mabel raised her head, eyes zeroing in on the looming thunderclouds quickly creeping closer. "Where did that come from? It was sunny a second ago." At her words, Aleron's arms tightened around her.

"I do not like this. Something is not right," he rumbled, "Come, Mabel. Quickly." He ushered, grasping her hand in his and pulling her in the direction of Herman's Herbs and Spices.

Clutching the envelope Herman had left her in one hand and Aleron's fingers in the other, she had to jog to keep up with his large strides. "Al-er-on," she said through gasps, her breaths stuttering as her still sore body protested furiously, "I ca-n't br-ea-the." He twisted around and, in one smooth motion, plucked her up before continuing forward.

He didn't stop moving until he had closed and locked the store's door behind him, leaving Mabel to try and catch her breath, one hand held against her sore ribs. "Why the rush?" she managed to get out, one eyebrow pulled up in confusion. Aleron's only response was a mumbled curse as he tore through the space, jiggling every window and door to ensure they were locked.

"Seriously, Al, what's happening?" she couldn't keep the tremble out of her voice—the last time she'd seen Aleron look so scared was when he'd brought her back from Hell, and she would be fine not having to relive that.

He must have heard the hysteria building in her tone, as he took her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his steady gaze. "Stay in here, Mabel. I do not think it is dangerous, but I fear of what comes with it. I will return; do not let anyone in."

Mabel nodded once, breaths slowing as his words seeped into her panicked mind. He was worried, yes, but if it was truly dangerous, he wouldn't leave her alone—that she knew for a fact.

He disappeared after making sure she was settled in Herman's old office, still clutching the envelope to her chest. With hesitant fingers she tore it open, slipping a piece of paper out and unfolding it.

A scan of the words brought tears to her eyes, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs as they slipped out.

The reality of her situation, even after two weeks, had finally hit her.

She'd almost died (again), Herman had died, and she was now in charge of the herb store. But it was the words on the small scrap of paper that pushed her emotions past the breaking point.

Eight words, scrawled in Herman's familiar chicken scratch:

I'm sorry, Mabel. I should have done better.

"Oh, God," she choked, sliding down the wall, "It's okay, Herman, it's okay. You did your best."

Sitting there, crying on the cold floor of her former boss's office, made Mabel wonder how people went through losing their loved ones. With Herman, it was hard enough. But her close friends, or Aleron . . .

How could she go on? How could she fill the aching hole in her heart?

How?

She hoped she never had to ask herself those questions.

*****