Author's note: Alright, guys…this chapter is just a little quickie between action...it's a bit dull, so I don't mind you not reading this. I mean, it's THAT dull. It bored ME to tears (and I'm the author!).

I would like to give a hug to all my nice reviewers for sticking this far with me…GROUP HUGGIE!

Sigh…apologies for the wait…..for the pathetic chapter…

No excuses this time….unless finishing DMC2 counts!

Note: For some reason, even my 8-spaces-of-the-Tab button doesn't work :(...so no indentation today. Argh. What a disapointment...(even Phantom agrees!)

DMC's Cappie's!!

..........................................................CHAPTER 12: Search.........................................................

As the overhead lights flickered, Dante's eyes skimmed though book after book, fingers hastily turning pages. Although he did gain several hints from Trish's dream (and thus having a vague view of what he was supposed to do), he did not know which particular spell he was looking for. He only knew that it required white magic.

Perspiration beaded his forehead. His eyes flashed impatiently as spells zipped past his vision. Despite the growing heap of books behind him, he could not find the right spell. Although each incantation held the possibility that it could help Trish, his gut told him to keep searching. It was better to do things well the first time, than to do things more than once.

His silver bangs stuck up awkwardly, because his fingers were constantly combing them back. They were held tentatively together from the force of gravity, with a minute amount of sweat. The room, albeit quite large, was stacked so fully with old, dusty tomes, so that the library gave off a stuffed, cluttered appearance. Despite that it was directly underneath the office of Devil Never Cry (therefore, cooled by the ground), it had no windows. The result was a dry, suffocating atmosphere.

Dante, legs crossed, leaned back from the clump of books he had carelessly tossed to the floor. Even treated in this fashion, the tomes did not suffer any damage; they each contained a little magic to keep them from decaying. Though Dante knew this fact, he did not toss them purposely. It was his haste that did so. There were so many books to look through…

The demon hunter leaned back and stretched a bit, relishing the delightful tightening of his firm muscles. Cramps tamed for a while, he rest his head in both hands, elbows on his knees. An open book lay on his lap, briefly forgotten. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

A bead of perspiration ran down, and quivered on the tip of his nose. It hung there for a few seconds, glistening dully and half opaque in the weak, thin light, before it splashed to the page blow. A sapphirine light, in the shape of a hemisphere, rose from the book. The light met the drop, still in its mid-fall, and obliterated it into tiny droplets.

"Come on, come on," Dante murmured under his breath. Perhaps the spell would reveal itself, if he concentrated hard enough. There were just too many books…

Dante cursed himself for neglecting to read his parents' books more often, especially books pertaining to white magic. He himself preferred to research on black magic. It was the best way to defeat enemies: since they dabbled only in the dark arts, they could not surprise him with such tricks, if he, too, was well-trained in such. To defeat an enemy, one must be prepared to counterattack any moves. To be prepared, one must have the same knowledge as the enemy.

The halfling opened his eyes, just as another drop fell. Fascinated, he watched the book's repulsion.

"Trish is like this drop," he muttered to himself. "She's cut off from Mundus. The book, which in this case is the atmosphere, is gradually scattering her away."

He raised his hands, and gently traced the wording of the book. I can touch this book without deflection, because I am one being, he thought. However, Trish is not. At least, not anymore. Since she is only a creation, she must be a part of something to survive in this world…

I need a transformation book…Dante realized. This little fact known, he concentrated feverishly. Now, using his minor telekinesis, he sought the needed book. He felt his face go steadily go red with the exertion. More tiny beads of moisture dotted his face. His body trembled slightly.

Just as he thought he could concentrate no more, there was a clunk, from the end of the room.

"Aha"! Dante roared, triumphant. He leaped up, shaking his bangs from his eyes. He could feel a massive headache brewing. "Man, I need to work on my skills." The half-demon made a bee-line to where the sound had emitted, where he saw that there were two books on the floor. One was titled: Smudging. The other, Angeli e Diavoli: i rituali di trasformazione.

After briefly examining the two, he realized that the first book contained spells of protection and healing. The other had the chant required to transform Trish. Despite the greater importance of the second, Dante knew that the transformation spell could not work without some kind of warding spell. The energy output (and the "ingredients" it demanded) of the transformation spell required would attract many demons. And if he spent all his time battling evilies, he might not be able perform the ritual in time to save Trish.

But there was a problem: the lack of ingredients used for the warding spell…

Dante sighed. He would have to leave Trish alone for a while.

Trish was sitting on her bed when Dante suddenly slammed the door open. "Trish," he blurt out, "I have to go shopping now."

Trish was bewildered. "Shopping? But why---"

"Sorry, no time, babe. If any demons come your way," here Dante threw a cardboard box on her bed, just barely missing her left foot, "use these, okay?"

Dante suddenly narrowed his eyes at her, solemnly drinking up her condition. After a moment, he tossed the Sparda sword at her (thankfully she caught it in time). "And if you run out, use this. No matter what, don't use physical strength first. We don't know how exertion will affect you."

With that, he spun around, and was gone.

Trish peered into the box, and saw approximately seven holy stars: their whole collection. She could only smile at his caring, yet clumsy attempt of making sure she had what she needed.

"A lucky number," she whispered to herself.