When the walls come down
You'll know I'm here to stay

Hell gates were easy to locate when you had the mind for it. The same couldn't be said about the rifts between the human world and the demon world. They were little pockets of third dimensions that few humans knew of, and even less demons.

You had to have the right contacts to track these down, had to know how to cross the veil. Demons went there to get away from the restrictions of hell and the bloodthirsty mercenaries of the human world. Kurst called it his time-out zone, I called it demon heaven.

Because, let's face the reality: there was no place on earth or hell where human beings and devils served good food and wine to humans and devils in the same vicinity. These secret pockets were the only places where either kind could find peace.

Some were turned into underground stores that sold the illegal stuff – holy water and devil arms to demons, demon orbs of power and immortality to humans, demonically customized arsenal and spies of all kinds for those in search of informants. Some were turned into pubs where human and demon alike lounged on bar stools with a beer or two.

I was staring down a hunched, scrawny and bald demon with golden snake-slit eyes; waxy, pealing skin that clung to its bones like it had no flesh or muscle beneath. It looked like some anorexic demon doll that someone had given up on completing. It was nothing much to look at, except for the tight, black latex corset and matching leather trousers it wore. It looked ridiculous, trying to pass off as human or demon, yet not befitting either.

A jukebox with a statue of a gargoyle holding a trumpet was playing dubstep to my left. Between myself and the demon were two shelves holding liquor, energy drinks and wines, illuminated by blue halogen lights. A familiar human girl with raven black hair braided with red ribbon gracefully settled onto the stool beside the demon, and gave it a friendly yet cautious nudge with her shoulder.

"Expecting Kurst, are we?"

I tore my gaze from my reflection in the mirrored wall to look at her. "No. I've been waiting just for you, witchy-girl." I straightened up slightly and spun on my seat to face her. "Was that lead legit or just another dead end?"

"It wasn't the one you're looking for," the girl said apologetically. "She fit the description but she wasn't a witch."

"How could she fit the description but not be a witch?" I asked, confused. "She dealt with Dante, didn't she?"

"Her name is Heather, and the only connection she has with Dante was hiring his services a year ago for a personal problem of sorts."

I sighed and reached for the half-empty bottle of Heineken on the bar counter. "That sucks."

"If it's any consolation, she did recommend him."

I paused with the bottle pressed against my lips, and sent her a sidelong glare. "Hmm."

"She said he was very good-"

"I'm sorry, how is this supposed to be consoling again, Hazel?" I interrupted curtly, contemplating bashing the bottle over her head in annoyance. "I mean, let's just forget for a minute that he's a legendary demon hunter and think about what we're doing here.'

Hazel held her hands up in surrender, shaking her head. "Alright…"

"I'm trying to track down a witch that he is very close to," I said, reining back my temper and softening. "He's the only lead I've got to find her. It would take one little slip-up to give away that I'm stalking him and spying on him, and he'll hunt me down, easy."

"Alright, I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," Hazel stammered, and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze. "I've got your back, Cora."

Hazel ordered a cocktail and I put another beer on my tab. We sat in companionable silence, watching the goings on in the pub around us. The dance floor was packed with people, succubae and incubi weaving through tables with platters loaded with their orders. Hazel's mobile went off and I sat waiting, after finishing my fourth beer, for her to finish chattering on it.

"You're sure he didn't follow you?" I asked when she flipped her mobile phone off and opened her purse.

"Invisibility spell, Cora. There's no way he would have been able to follow me, and besides," Hazel huffed, "he wasn't there when I snuck in to find Heather's address in his records."

"Just thought I'd ask," I muttered, noting the indignant look in her dark eyes. "Give me a call if you find anything."

"You know I will," Hazel said, shaking her head at me. "Wait! You're leaving already? Kurst hasn't even shown up yet."

I slipped off my stool, slightly unsteady on my feet, and fumbled with my shades for a second before hiding my eyes behind the black lenses. "I've told you a thousand times, Hazel, I don't come here for him."

I made my way carefully to the portal on the other side of the pub, mumbling under my breath at a couple of familiar voices bidding me farewell, and collected my worn-out wool coat at the exit. I pulled it on, put my head down and marched through the portal. A slight of a second later I was weaving my way through the busy foot traffic of the human world during lunch hour.

I loved Fortuna. The cobblestone streets, the ornate and clustered houses and apartments and stores lining said streets, most of which had spectacular views of the harbour. It was a modest, humble and nearly over-populated city. Easy to blend in; easy to become lost in.

My home was a one bedroom studio apartment on the top floor of a building right across from the council chambers. I had a good view of the sunrise and ocean from one window, and an even better view of the uncovered courtyard within the council chambers where the Order trained their knights.

I had naught but an old, dingy couch as my furnishings. It was all I needed. I felt neither hot nor cold, pain or discomfort, hunger or thirst. I existed in numbness. The only solace I had was that, if I had enough alcohol in my system, I'd pass out. My brain simply shut itself down and I could drift, and at least pretend that I was asleep.

Which is exactly what I was doing on my beloved couch when I heard the door open quietly. I could tell who it was by the scent alone, and groaned inwardly.

"Hey, Mom."

I breathed hard through my nose and slumped my arm across my face. "Cora," I snarled back.

"Whatever. I brought some leftovers. We had lasagne last night."

"Trash it."

"Just smell it, Mom."

I let out another long breath and peeked at the teenager sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was staring back at me with eyes as pale and blue as iced glaciers, an expectant look on her young face.

"I don't smell anything," I admitted, and closed my eyes against the disappointment on her face. "Go home, Dez."

"I found this place online…"

"I don't care."

"… that have a lot of Wiccan recipes listed, and places where I can get the ingredients. They even have a consultation office so I could go in and have them mix up something specifically targeted to what we need."

"You're not actually going to go to some place you found on the internet, are you?" I grumbled, and turned onto my side to finally look at her properly. She was wearing a long, flowing black skirt and a pretty lace blouse, her mass of blood-red hair pulled back in a thick braid, and her sharp, regal features fell into despondence at my words. "What if it's a trap?"

"You always say that," Dez said sulkily. "And it never is."

"It never is because you never walk into it. You're smarter than that."

"Well," Dez said.

I arched my eyebrows at her expectantly, waiting for her to pose her perspective or challenge me. We stared at one another for another moment. Dez backed down first, lowering her gaze as she shrugged her bag off and opened it in her lap. She sat with pursed lips.

"Homework?" I asked when she pulled a few sheets of paper from her bag.

"Uh. Sure."

I eyed her suspiciously and snatched one of the papers up. I scanned the contents briefly and scrunched the recipe up into a ball. "Desdemona, child! We've been through this before. Once I find Kat, I'll find the cure. There's no need and no point in going through all the trouble of consulting witches."

"But what if one of them already made a cure for this kind of thing…"

"They haven't."

"But how can you be so sure?" Dez exploded. "Times have changed, we have new technology, we're not living in ancient history where it took a week to brew a cure anymore."

"It took them longer than a week, and the answer is still no," I snapped, and continued on when she riled herself up for a comeback. "I didn't tell you about Kat or the cure so that you can try act the hero."

"That's what you think I'm trying to do?" Dez stared up at me, furious.

"I think you're putting yourself unnecessarily at risk."

"At risk of what, Mom? You're always on about my safety and monsters but I've never been attacked by a demon. Not even one."

"You're welcome," I huffed, and threw the ball of paper across the room.

"I'm just trying to help. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Dezi, I have been trying really, really hard to give you the kind of life I think you deserve. One that doesn't revolve around demons and violence. One that is filled with school, and friends, and boys – I mean, do you honestly believe you could have any normal relationship with whatshisface if you had to be running and hiding from demons all the time?"

Dez's face flushed and she gathered up her papers, stuffing them back into her bag whilst shaking her head in frustration. "You never listen to me. His name is Nero, and we're friends, I told you."

"Right. Friends," I teased lightly, watching her climb to her feet and head for the door. "Dez, promise you won't do anything stupid. I can only keep you as safe as you let me. If you go out of range, the concealment spell will break and half the demon world will be after your blood."

"Half the demon world, really, that's so melodramatic, mother," she said over her shoulder.

"Not when it comes to Sparda's legacy."

"What a fucking legacy," Dez snapped and slammed the door shut behind her.

I sighed into the peaceful silence and stared at the door, debating whether or not to follow. Then again, I was a little tipsy. I wouldn't be very good at the whole stealthy thing if I was going to be wobbling all over the show.

Besides, Dez wasn't reckless. Cheeky, courageous and tough, but she knew the limits.

I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to wander. Funny, how it always ended up at Sparda's front door. The mansion was as impressive as per memory recalls; and Eva with her warm smile and soft eyes, the way she was before everything went to hell; and Rambo. My poor, beloved pup. Eva and I had doted on him.

And Dante.

Devilishly handsome, witty, young and stupid Dante. I still couldn't think of him without some part of me hurting. And, inevitably, when Dante came to mind, so did that bastard Vergil. Which made me think of Sparda, chained down in a roasting hell hole like some pig getting branded and prepped for slaughter…

Damn it.

I opened my eyes and sat up, gripping the upholstery of the couch angrily. I stared out the window at the horizon without really seeing it. I screwed up. I was never fond of Sparda, but I had never meant for him to get dragged down with Vergil.

Neither had I ever thought that Mundus was capable of keeping Sparda imprisoned. I'd wholeheartedly believed that he would break free, and hand Mundus's ass to him on a plate. I really did.

I wiped my hand over my face, and resolutely got to my feet. There had been too many things going on in this realm for me to bother going to the demon realm. I had, at first, loved to go there, to bask in my vengeance. To go to bed at night with the echo of Vergil's screams fresh in my mind.

I left my studio, and shook my head as I made my way down the elevator to the ground floor. I could still smell Dez – her scent was like neon painted footprints across the white vinyl floor, and I followed it from the building. She was at home, her real home with the foster parents who had taken her in as their own when she was still in nappies.

I spotted her through the dining room window as I walked past, where she sat at the table, scribbling furiously in a book. She glanced up and looked back at me with the face of every annoyed teenager in the world before I passed by the house.

Good girl.

The streets were busy with people getting preparations ready for the weekly mass gathering in the old cathedral the following morning. They always had a huge feast organised for after the service. It was stupid, petty and redundant because they did this gibberish every week, without fail.

Sometimes, hell did seem a more appealing place to be.

What? Who? Huh?

Next chapter will bring some clarity.

Thank you for reading and thank you thank you thank you for reviewing! :D