The trip to New York was as uneventful as expected. Occupying myself only with singing to rock stations from local cities and towns I pasted through. It was a long trip, but I managed to drive the remainder of the day and well into the night. The scenery was lovely up to New York City. It was similar to Chicago with it's bustling crowds and super tall buildings, ridiculous traffic jams, and fair share of prostitutes, pimps, gang bangers and loonies wondering the streets.
I located a motel close to my destination that morning after a two hour traffic delay, an idiot who claimed to be God's messenger was literally fist fighting a guy who claimed to be Satan's left hand man. Hah! I unloaded my car, settled into my room, took a shower, and decided to sleep until dusk when my mission would truly begin.
When I awoke, and dressed in my usual black leather pants, black silk shirt, black trench coat and army boots, my long hair pulled back from my face in a high, tight ponytail. I strapped on my guns, daggers, sword, and throwing knives, locked up my room and headed to my car. Most women in the movies wear calf-high boots with four inch heels, made to look sexy as well as dangerous. But, come on, lets face it! You can't hardly walk in those things much less than fight a demon.
The building in question wasn't to far from the motel. I did that purposely. IF the demon put up a reasonably good fight, I might be exhausted or injured and in need of rest. Traveling across town would prove not only uncomfortable, but maybe dangerous. As I drove I thought of a plan of action. Do I go in stealthy-like? Or do I burst in guns blazing and ask my questions to the corpse that remained? I didn't really make a decision until I reached the place.
"This can't be right!" I said staring at what looked like an open business. There was an old Harley motorcycle and a new Kawasaki parked in front. Lights crept through the center and underneath the front door, and a neon sign lit the alleyway in front. "Devil Never Cry" it read, with a silhouette of a longhaired woman poising with two guns. "'Why does that look so familiar?"
I got out of my Camary and moved to the door, listening for any signs of movement. I pulled my trusted .45 and checked the safety. Ready! I took a deep calming breath and exhaled slowly. I stood back from the door and kicked hard, causing both the planks of heavy wood to dislodge from the hinges and fly inward. I took aim, but was shocked when in my view was a blonde haired woman sitting behind an old beat up desk.
I lowered my weapons to my side, but did not holster them, just in case I met with resistance. She stared at me a moment then smiled, almost sweetly. Keeping caution I moved slowly towards her. Before I could utter a word, a man walked from the back hallway of the building.
He stood with no shirt, in black faded jeans, white socks, and a towel over his head, shaking it vigorously. Water droplets raced down his rigged muscles and disappeared into his jeans. He was perfectly sculpted. I almost forgot to breath.
"What the hell is going on, Trish?"
"Looks like another devil hunter sent by that cultist bitch. So... What's your name?" The woman behind the desk said smiling. She had her feet propped up on the desktop as the man continued to dry his hair.
"You look familiar." The man said. "Do I know you"
"Not that I am aware of." I replied. I took aim and inched slightly closer. Unnerved by the raw lust I felt in this person presence. I tried to look at him better. "So, how do we do this? Are you harboring a demon? Are you going to tell me where the demon is, or do I need to make you?"
"I think you're looking for me." The man said as he straightened and removed the towel from his head.
I gasped and stepped back. White, silver hair, slightly disheveled fell down around his head, almost kissing his shoulders. Crystal blue eyes stared coldly at me. It was him! The man I'd based my career by. Standing in front of me. He hadn't changed much. Though I knew he had aged ten years he looked no older than twenty-three. I couldn't help but stare dumbly.
He walked to the wall, where I noticed for the first time, housed dozens of severed demon heads, pinned by large swords. He chose a long beautifully crafted sword and walked infront of me, taking fighting stance.
"So? We gonna do this or what? What ya waiting for? Having second thoughts,?" He smirked.
"It's you." Was all I could manage to say.
"So, we do know each other. I thought you looked familiar."
"I... Your... Dante... right?"
"Yep, scared?"
"No... I mean." I holster my weapon to show him I wouldn't fight. I expected him to relax. He didn't "I'm not scared. We met before. Remember? Ten years ago. I'm Lenne."
"Not a clue. Are we gonna fight or what?"
"No! Of course not! Your the reason I became a demon slayer." I looked around the room and saw the head of the demon that attacked me so many years ago. "That one remember." Dante glanced at the head. "I was a teenager. My foster parents were Jon and Rachel. You killed the demon before it got to me."
"Nor ringing a bell, babe." He said finally relaxing his body realizing I didn't mean to fight him. "I've done the whole slay and rescue thing too many times to remember every hot chick I save." He looked seriously at her and frowned seeing the hurt in her eyes. "Did we ever sleep together?"
"Good Lord, No! I was only fifteen.!"
He laughed.
"So, your name's Lenne. Your half-demon?" The blonde woman called Trish asked.
"Yes. I'm a half-breed. I'm Lenne Sauron. The devil Sauron was my father."
Trish shot up from her chair and gawked at me. Her mouth dropped and her eyes grew wide with astonishment. She stammered for a while trying to find the correct words. Dante stared at her obviously interested in what she had to say.
"Your the daughter of Sauron? Mundus' head general of war?"
Dante turned his stare to me. He looked my up and down as if sizing me up. Trish now leaned over, her hands planted on the desk, awaiting my response. Dante crossed his arms over his chest.
"Yes. My father was once the general under Mundus' rule. But, my father left to help a demon named Sparda. My mother married him and I was born. I don't know much more. My father fell in battle before my birth and my mother died during the labor."
"This is a new one on me. I thought my father stood alone against Mundus." I gave him a shocked look. "Yeah, I'm the son of Sparda."
"So? What now?" Trish asked.
I didn't know. I leaned back against a nearby wall and bowed my head. My mission was to kill my hero. My idol. "I don't know." I paused. "I'll contact Samantha and tell her I can't t do it."
"No!" Dante said walking up to me.
"What? Why?" I said staring in disbelief. He chuckled at me, wink and smiled. I blushed.
"Oh! Now I remember you." He chuckled again the too my hand and led me to the chair by his desk. "I want you to do this. Contact her. Tell her Trish and I are dead, take the Sparda with you as proof. Have her met you some where secluded to do business. Then, we'll catch her and beat her until we find out what the hell this is all about."