"..That was different."
Dante stared down at the again unconscious woman. Her eyes had seemed to be dark grey, except that at second look, they had been dark brown, nearly black, shot through with streaks of silver....

"We got the spokeswoman for Musselman's here."

The girl opened her eyes again. "...and Chinese. I don't feel good." The accent was straight from the United Kingdom. It was clear and melodious enough to cut glass with, even through the distant, blurred inflection of someone dealing with her level of injury.

"You had some injuries," Trish noted to her gently. No need to point out to her yet if it hadn't been for Dante she'd have been a corpse. "By some very nasty types."

The girl absently looked up at the ceiling, contemplating all the various bits of cobwebs Dante'd never had an urge to get around to cleaning. "...I did?"

"You did."

"I don't remember."

"What's your name?"

"Anna. Anne....Annie......something like that.... maybe...."

"You don't know?"

Her dainty face contorted a moment. "Can't....quite remember......sounded like that...I liked the second more...."

"Anne?" Dante pondered. "Last name?"

"...Evans....." There was a long pause. "You know, you can't throw a brick in Wales without hitting an Evans. Or a Jones. Or a Phillips. I thought I should say that. I think I know that."

Dante crouched down, closer to her. "...Uh....huh. So, what the hell were you doing in Northeast DC, getting run down by demons?"

"....I was? Don't remember. I remember.....remember.....oo."

Dante blinked, eyes sharpening in interest. "Remember what?"

"That Zorba's on campus makes a *wicked* good gyro."

Dante smacked forehead with hand. "Campus *where*?"

Real distress showed in those silvershot eyes. "....I don't *remember*..."

Dante curbed his rising frustration. "....never mind. Go back to sleep, Annie."

Anne smiled, distress fading. "Okay." Her lashes drooped shut and she started to lightly snore. Dante and Trish looked at each other over her.

"Okay....this is getting seriously screwy."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "You think she might be a plant?"

"Don't know. My gut tells me otherwise. Plus after you were done with him, Mundus wasn't exactly in a shape to try anything cute."

"I'll trust your gut." Dante paused, eyes shielded by bangs. "Mine's been wrong in the past. Heh."

"Ow."

"Not a jab at you, babe. Just fact."

"I know. Still, ow."

Dante rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "Amnesia. Though it seems spotty. And the *weirdest* eyes. She doesn't 'feel' demonic to me, though. You?" Trish shook her head. "Demons are a bit more resilient than that, too."

"They were hacking on her pretty good. So, why would they want her anyway?"

Dante shook his head, pale bangs fluttering a bit. "Damned if I know. C'mon...we need to get DNC opened for the day. Feel free to use your evil machine to do research."



Anne opened her eyes again later that day, still feeling low but a better kind of low than before. She contemplated the ceiling of wherever she was at , noting whoever owned it *really* needed to give it a good dusting. There was dried blood on her clothes....what was left of them. It stuck to her skin. She tried to move. She said, upon trying this, "Ow."

A face put its way in her contemplation of the ceiling, smiling a bit. It was the blonde woman from before. "Hey there. How do you feel?"

"Like the grounds for the All-Star Cleats Stomping Competition. I look like it too. Other than that, absolutely lovely and I'll tell Martha Stewart about the accomodations." The blonde snickered.

"Okay, I like you. Name's Trish. Think you're up to moving enough so we can at least fix the dress situation? My stuff's a bit big for you but it'll do until later."

Anne pondered. "I have to go to the loo, too."

"Two birds, one stone. Think you can handle that bit by yourself?"

Anne pondered. "My pride will try to make damn sure of that. Please, no interfering, even if I get killed trying. It'll be bad enough I pulled an Elvis on the crapper." Trish snickered much louder at that.

"Right, up you go." The other woman gently helped her up, showing no sign of strain at Anne's slight weight. Anne winced but otherwise did not protest, and with more wincing, managed with Trish's help to limp over to the bathroom, Trish meanwhile muttering something about someone named Dante and hoping he cleaned it recently. Anne got through her effort on the way there a general impression of simultaneous vague untidiness, furnishing uncoordination, and spartanness to the living room that managed to scream "bachelor."

The bathroom was clean enough and Anne managed to make use of it without needing Trish's help to dent her pride. A pair of sweatpants and a tee were shoved through the door along with unmentionables and the bloody shreds of clothing were dispensed of. The silver necklace with two Celtic-knot medallions she left around her neck, as there was no need to have it moved. By the end of the ordeal, Anne was sweating, both from effort and from the sight of just how much of her body the bandages covered.

Trish gently caught her at the door and helped her back over. "You all right?"

Anne shook her head. "....I got hurt, bad, didn't I." Trish nodded. "I....I don't remember it. At all. None of it. Just...running."

"That's all?"

"Fear, running....that's it." She flopped back down onto the couch. "Memories. They don't...all fit together." It scares me, she didn't mention. Her eyelids drooped despite herself.

Trish gently touched her shoulder. "You're tired. We'll worry about it later."

But Anne was already asleep again.


Trish glared at the LCD screen of her Titanium Powerbook.

She muttered under her breath. "Not a damn good thing." There wasn't anything in the traditional demonology databases she subscribed to. Either that, or she was looking in the wrong places. The little bit Anne had rambled in her sleep had been precious little information.

The phone rang. She grabbed it.

"Devil Never Cry." She promptly let the issue slip in trying to deal with some ignoramus who didn't know the password for one or actual demonic activity when it happened for another.