Chapter 3

The Late Visitor

The cab sped though the dark of night. It started to rain a little and occasionally the windshield wipers squeaked in an annoying rhythm across the glass. As the cab got off the freeway, it turned down a few desolate street corners and headed into the older section of town. The buildings were run down and in disrepair. Few lights dotted the cityscape with life and many dwellings had boards up on the doors and windows of businesses long since gone. A pawn shop sign illuminated part of the dark street ahead, and lights inside a small corner grocery store shown through the bars on the windows. The cab finally came to a stop at it's destination.

"We're here," the chubby old cabby announced to his passenger. "That'll be twenty seventy-five," he said firmly and looked up into his rear mirror at the shadowy seated figure in the back.

The silent passenger handed him a stack of folded bills and said, "Keep the change," in a soft female voice.

The cabby looked surprised as he took note of the sizable tip he had been handed with his fare. "Ya sure you don't need me to wait, miss?" he kindly asked his passenger.

"No, thank you," she firmly but politely replied and stepped out of the back of the cab.

She slammed the door shut and turned around facing the building behind her and looked at the ominous pink neon sign that flickered above the entrance. Devil May Cry. As the cab sped off down the street, she pulled her large black hood down further over her head to keep the now steadier rain out of her face as she headed to the door.

It was an old building like the rest in the neighborhood. Mostly brick with some peeling wood trim and the entrance boasted a thick old wood door. There were no signs in the windows – no hours of operation. The windows were covered by wide slatted blinds on the inside that seemed a bit askew. Through the slits of the blinds, she could see a soft light in the room. Music was playing from inside as well. She slowly turned the handle of the door and it clicked open. The door creaked on it's rusty dry hinges as she cautiously opened it wider.

Slowly she stepped inside. Not stepping far from the front door, she gently closed it behind her with a 'click'. She observed a white haired man leisurely seated back in a chair at a large old desk. His face was hidden intently in an oversized magazine. The music was coming from an old juke box in the corner near him and there was an antique leather couch over in the other corner from where he sat. She turned her head and noticed on the other side of the room was an old pool table that had seen better days. Other than some random junk and a few miscellaneous oddities on the walls, the room was fairly bare.

She turned her head back to where the man sat. He had not moved yet. Did he know I was even here?

Just then, like he had heard her thought, the man spoke over the music.

"Sorry, we're closed," he said without lifting his head from his book. "If you need the can, it's in the back." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder then flipped a page of his magazine.

She was stumped for a moment then spoke. "No..., " she softly responded.

At the sound of a feminine voice, Dante curiously picked his head up from his read. She lifted her hands up to the hood covering her head and took it down.

"I need your help," she said, now speaking a bit louder to talk over the juke box.

Without taking his eyes off the girl, Dante closed his magazine and flipped it on the desktop. He kicked his feet off the desk and quickly leaned upright. In the same motion, he held his hand out to an old chair in front of his desk and offered, "Have a seat."

She slowly started walking forward to his offer. As she approached closer to the desk, she could now see his face clearly. In the dim light he was a young man but looked a bit older than her, though she thought not by much. His hair was snow white and fell loosely around his well-angled face. But his eyes were what caught her attention. They were the palest blue eyes she had ever seen on a person. Strange.

They stared back at her intently, but not in a threatening way. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she slowly sat down in the chair directly in front of him.

As Dante had watched her walk over, he noted her features. She was a younger woman, probably Lady's age, he thought. Fair skinned and a blonde. Nice.

Her hair looked long but she had it up-swept in a messy style. Longer bangs fell around her forehead and face in a trendy fashion. The rest of her he couldn't make out because of the long black coat she was wrapped in. But as she moved closer, her boots clunking across the old wood floor, he took note of her eyes. As she stared at him he saw she had the greenest eyes he had ever seen on anyone. Like two creamy emeralds. Even nicer.

And the shape was fairly unique as well. The outer edges almost turned up just slightly that gave them a cat eye-like shape. This he thought was accented by how she was wearing her dark eye makeup. Exotic.

As she sat down in front of him, he noted that her eyes though bright, looked tired. There was something familiar about her too, but he couldn't put his finger on it just yet.

With her now seated, Dante leaned forward on his forearms on the desk and hunched toward her saying in a smooth voice, "So what can I do for ya, babe?" A small smirk fell on his face at those words.

Before she spoke, the juke box finished it's last tune and the room fell silent. Heavy rain could now be heard pouring down outside. She felt a bit more nervous in the silence with his eyes fixed so intently on her.

"You are ... Dante, Son of Sparda?" she asked.

"In the flesh," he smirked and nodded his head once.

"I've heard about you," she continued. "You are supposed to be the best demon slayer around."

"Well, who hasn't ... and you could say that," his grin getting a bit bigger at her comments. He noticed as she spoke, she had a very faint accent. He couldn't place it, but it seemed to make her all the more exotic. Very nice.

"You see ... I have–," she began.

"Do I know you?" he blurted out inquisitively in the mid of her speaking.

"Uh, no ... No. I don't think we've ever met," she said confused at his quick question.

"Huh." he said as he looked like he was in deep thought searching for something. "You sure? You look familiar. Did I see you at Fitzy's Bar last Friday?" It was really bugging him.

She was mildly getting annoyed with his interruption. "No ... Mr. Da–"

"Just call me Dante, huh?" he corrected her smoothly.

"Okay, Dante, I came here because I've been having these dre–"

"THAT'S IT!" he shouted as he threw his hands up in delight. He put one arm on his desk again and leaned forward. "You're that chick on the billboard downtown!" he continued. "The pop singer chick! Am I right!?" he added as his frosty blue eyes flashed and he grinned in satisfaction of his answer.

She slightly cringed at his mention of 'pop' singer. She hated the fact that the media threw her into that category. Her music was anything but 'pop' and she considered herself a composer – not a gimmick. But she dealt with the title and it secured her a place in the music profession. That's what mattered.

"Yes, I'm ... her," she said with a bit of shyness to her voice.

"Ha, HA!" he laughed with delight in his discovery.

She figured now is a good time as any for formal introductions. She leaned forward and held out her hand to shake. Her eyes locked on his and said, "Nika Sashenka, but please ... just Nika."

He returned the greeting by gently grasping her hand. But instead of a shake, he turned the back side of her hand up and smoothly laid a light kiss on top of it.

"Pleasures mine, babe," and winked at her. "Now back to business." He abruptly seemed to change his mood into to a more serious intent and leaned back on his desk again ready for her to speak.

"Well, I was trying to say that I've been having these dreams. A voice speaks to me," she continued as he studied her. "Then tonight I heard it outside of my dreams."

Dante raised up off his arms and sat up in his chair. "Hold on," he interrupted her once again. "Look, Nika, I know where you're goin' with this."

She frowned at the interruption.

"Either you've got a ghost or, I know being a celebrity and all ... but you shouldn't be doing drugs, babe. But that's your deal," he said flatly.

Her mouth dropped open at this comment. "But please!" she pleaded. "That's not true. It's really about de–"

He continued to speak over her plea. "I don't do ghosts and I don't do drugs, just cause neither of 'em ever did anything for me."

He then reached into his desk drawer on his right and began searching for something. "Now, I can give you a number of a good ghost guy...," he trailed off saying.

"Dante, please listen to me..., " she pleaded, as she got up from the chair to make her point more serious. As she stood though, she suddenly felt dizzy. Nika grabbed for the desk but her knees gave out and she fell back, barely making it into the chair.

Dante stopped rummaging in the desk drawer and shot up from his chair. "What the hell!?" he said, as he rushed over to her now slouched in the chair.

He knelt down to get a better look at her condition. She looked pasty and a bit sweaty. Her eyes had also lost some of their glow.

"It's ... It's my arm," she spoke softly. As she said this, she unbuttoned her coat and managed to drop it off her shoulders. As the coat came down, he saw on her left shoulder and down her arm a large stain of red blotching her shirt sleeve. Blood had also completely saturated the make-shift bandage she had applied earlier.

"What happened!?" he asked stunned as he examined her arm.

"That thing. The demon did this ... " she managed to faintly get out, now in a slightly labored breath.

Dante listened and said nothing as he pulled up the short sleeve of the shirt and gently removed the bandages.

"Scythe wound," he said matter-of-factly. "Looks like a good one too," he added while intently observing the injury.

It was still an open wound and bleeding. But now the skin around it had turned a sickly hue of purple and faded into green on the edges – and it was spreading.

Dante muttered a 'hold on', and quickly got up and went to an old tall cabinet in the far corner near the couch. Nika refrained from passing out and with heavy eyes watched Dante at the cabinet. He dug around in a few drawers until she heard him say an approving 'ah!'. He returned to her with a small corked glass bottle with some kind of milky liquid in it and a wad of cotton.

"You've got yourself a demon scythe wound," he said doctor-like, eyeballing the contents of the little glass bottle.

Nika didn't say anything but she watched him as he prepared his treatment. When he saturated the cotton with the milky substance, he paused and looked at her with weary eyes before he proceeded.

"I'm sorry, but this is probably going to hurt ... pretty bad." With that said, he knelt down at her side and looked at her tenderly with soothing blue eyes as to apologize one last time.

"Okay," Nika responded and closed her eyes.

Dante began to dab the soaked cotton all over the wound. When the substance on the cotton met the wound it began to foam, bubble and hiss. The pain was overwhelming. Nika jolted and squirmed at the reaction. Dante grabbed her wrist and other shoulder and firmly held her down. Other than a few groans and moaning, she didn't make much of a sound. Brave kid.

In a minute or so, the foaming ceased and left a white gooey substance over the wound. The bleeding had stopped now too. Dante let go of Nika and dabbed a bit more of the solution on the wound.

"Doin' ok?" he asked gently.

"Fine," Nika said in almost a whisper.

Dante then went into the bathroom in the back, and returned with a medical box. He never really used it, never had a reason to since he healed just fine without mending usually. But occasionally Lady would show up all banged-up somehow and he'd keep a stock of supplies in there for her. He took out some gauze pads and tape and began covering the wound. When it was all patched up, he looked satisfied.

"Thank you," Nika said, looking at him with more life in her eyes now.

"Nasty stuff there, babe," he responded. "What's a pretty girl like you doin' playing around with a Death Scythe?"

Nika got some of her stamina back and sat more upright. "I was trying to tell you that," she said mildly annoyed.

Dante let her continue uninterrupted this time.

"I've had these dreams. A voice says my name. But then it came to me outside of my dreams," Nika stared out blankly. She continued, "Then, just tonight, I was attacked by this ... Death Scythe?" she questioned to confirm the name.

Dante nodded, listening intently.

She continued, "I thought it would kill me, but it stopped attacking and the voice spoke through the air, calling my name. It asked me to come to it," she said with a very disturbed look on her face. "Then the demon disappeared ... and I came here." She looked up worriedly at Dante now leaning on the front of his desk with his arms folded facing her.

"Well, you've come to the right place then," he said as he scratched the back of his head. He looked at her attentively and realized she really needed to rest. So he offered to move her to the old leather couch in the corner.

"Oh, I'm feeling better," she said brushing off his concern. "I'll be fine," she added and started to get up from the chair. But her legs were still a bit shaky and she lost her balance falling forward into Dante. He gently caught her, careful not to touch her wound.

"See," he said as he looked down into her eyes, "the doctor requests you take the couch," he finished with a kindly grin.

Nika being mostly supported by Dante, felt her cheeks flush a bit. She quickly pulled away from him and agreed, "Yes ... the couch."

He put his hand on her back, and guided her to the leather sofa. Dante noticed she winced when he touched her. "You okay?" he asked as he raised a pale eyebrow.

"Uh, oh ...," Nika thought a moment, "My back and legs are a bit scratched up from the glass."

She had forgotten about the cuts she endured falling into the glass table since the wound on her arm hurt far worse.

"The glass?" Dante stared down at her waiting for the explanation.

"It's a long story, but I also managed to fall into some glass during my ordeal with that Death-thing," she said, mildly embarrassed.

"How bad?" Dante concernedly asked.

"I don't know, actually," she thought for a moment. "My arm hurt worse, I guess," she said with a smile.

Dante raised his eyebrows in question then asked, "May I?"

Nika paused, looking intensely at him then said, "Here."

To Dante's surprise, the girl turned, facing her back to him and actually lifted her shirt off. She stood there, with her arms folded in front of her chest.

"Well, how bad?" she asked in a monotone voice hoping to hide her discomfort in the situation.

He inspected the cuts. They weren't too bad, but he thought they should be disinfected. Dante, of course, also inspected her now without a shirt on. He noticed she had a fit body. He thought she wasn't too skinny or thick but more of a firm athletic build. Not Bad. She probably works out.

He also noticed a few older scars scattered across her back. They were long thin scars that were light, but noticeable. He thought better not to mention it.

"On your legs too?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Lay on the couch, I'll get some disinfectant for your back," he said while walking back into the bathroom. The couch looked ancient and quite beat. But when she laid down on it, it was surprisingly comfortable.

When he returned a moment later, she was on the couch lying on her stomach. Her blood stained shirt was now discarded on the floor. Dante knelt down next to her and treated her wounds, applying the disinfectant to her back. He let it dry a little bit, then leaned over to a trunk hidden on the side of the couch and pulled out a large soft blanket.

"Here," he said as he delicately laid it down on her. "Lemme go up stairs and get you something," he said as he shot up the stairs, two steps at a time.

Moments later, he came back with a long, grey oversized t-shirt. Nika, managed to raise up on her elbows and looked at him attentively.

"I figure you'll probably want to crash here for the night. You're in no shape to be moving around. It's raining hell out there, and if demons are after you, you're at the safest place you can be right now," he flashed that smirk of his again and she thought the blue in his eyes seemed to glow a bit.

She let out a sigh and told him he was probably right.

"So here's somethin' for ya to snooze in and I figure I'd let ya tend to your own leg injuries," he said as he handed her the shirt. "I think you've taken all the man-handling from me you can take in one night," he said slyly grinning and cocked his head to the side.

Nika took Dante's comment as his quaint way of being cordial and not too forward. She didn't understand it, but as imposing as he seemed sometimes, the was a gentle and caring nature about him. She liked that. She felt strangely comfortable with him. I don't even know him.

"So, is this your girlfriends night shirt?" Nika tried to ask slyly.

"Not tonight it isn't," Dante straightly replied. Playfully, he half-bowed and said, "It's been a long night. G' night, babe, and pleasant dreams." Dante winked as he turned to go lock the entrance door and shuffled up the stairs.

"Pleasant ... I hope so," Nika said to herself and slowly got up to change into the shirt. It was soft and comfortable and smelled sweet. After she pulled her jeans off, she dabbed some of the disinfectant on her leg wounds, which she discovered weren't very bad. After the application dried, she laid back down on the couch with the blanket wrapped loosely around her. She left the soft light of the desk lamp on and closed her eyes.

Papa, what have I gotten into?