Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 30

He couldn't understand it.

Alastor's lungs heaved for air as he ran as fast as he could to the library, hoping to get there as soon as possible, praying that he could get the ancient ritual book before that stupid TV Demon got his hands on it. But his mind was flooded with thoughts of you, endless currents of wonders of how it was possible...

His Loa had attached themselves to you, without any offerings or deals.

In Alastor's cultural practice, his power was built on and dependent with his relationship with the Loa and the voodoo gods — as long as he gave them respect and plenty of blood sacrifices (in Hell and on Earth, when he was alive), and kept that relationship strong, the Loa (the shadow creatures) and the gods would work with him mutually, giving him power, power that no other Demon in Hell possessed — at least that he knew of.

He knew you never knew anything of any voodoo while you were alive. He doesn't know you very well, but what he does know is that you were a little southern belle living in Kentucky when you were alive, with lots and lots of popularity, connections, power, and an extreme knack for dancing. You were loved and hated by many, but you knew how to manipulate, and eventually, manipulation became murder, and he perverted that murderous intent with the desire to cannibalize.

As deliciously fucked up as you were, you knew nothing of voodoo and its power; it simply wasn't in your blood, like it was in Alastor's. So how was it possible that Loa had latched onto you without any relationship or offerings? And Alastor's Loa, if nothing else. He couldn't understand it, but then again, he's certain there is much about his own practice he doesn't truly understand.

He hoped this ancient ritual book had a section on voodoo, or maybe he could find something in that God-forsaken library...

Alastor shook the thoughts away, reaching the entrance of Harvard. Police cars and ambulances were parked haphazardly on the road, with glaring red and blue lights and blood stains everywhere, the sounds constant chatter, police radios, and clattering equipment filling his ears. Shit. The police were surely still on the lookout for you and him after the little incident back in Kentucky. He had to get in, and he had to get in quick.

Keeping his head down, Alastor slipped into the campus, sighing in relief when he looked back. Nobody had noticed, thankfully, probably due to the huge bloody chunky stain in the middle of the road.

Once slipping past the police, Alastor dashed towards the direction of the library, following the winding path you and him had followed earlier, leading him to the doors. The library was still closed, but the glass doors had been shattered, the door handle ripped off the door.

Alastor looked around before entering, the smell of burnt rubber, gasoline, and freshly cut grass alike filling his nostrils. The place was barren, not a student or professor to be seen amongst the mossy, old brick jungle of Harvard College. Perfect. He guessed that maybe they really had closed down the campus for the day.

Anxiously, Alastor pushed open the door with his sleek shoe and entered the huge library. The smell of old paper and cleaning supplies overwhelmed him. He wasn't sure why he was so uptight at the moment. But between the Loa, Valentino's surprise appearance, and the promise of Vox being somewhere within this dimly lit library, he supposed he could fathom it a little bit.

After passing the threshold, he took in what seemed like miles of winding book cases and tables and chairs and cursed under his breath. He didn't see Vox anywhere. It was deathly quiet. He heard a printer make a lurching sound in the distance. He jumped slightly.

He took a breath and walked in as confidently as he could manage. He mentally called upon his main Loa, the menacing shadow that usually lingered behind him on the daily, and asking silently to himself for help. The Loa nodded, stretching its shadowy body out and passing through the bookcases, searching for the spell book and Vox alike. The silence was so loud he could hear his blood pumping in his ears.