Greetings ladies, gentlemen and hamsters of all ages. This second chapter of my saga was quite a long time in coming but, given that it's where the main premise of the plot is laid out, i thought it was quite important to get it right. Here's what i came up with. It tells a different twist on the relationship between Trish and Dante bringing into account her unknown identity and other fun things.
Thank you to my two reviewers so far, you're stars and it's an absolute delight to have my old friends from Rahovart still into my work. And to everyone else who read this please leave a review and let me know how i'm doing.
Happy New Year to all and incidentally, i had a great Christmas.
Well, i've bored you enough with my small talk, now back to the freaking story since it was left on something of a cliff-hanger. Enjoy, Skaye.
A little metal object fell out onto his palm which madeDante instantlyfall silent and stare. Lucia peered curiously but politely at his hands and saw only a single silver earring in the shape of a heart with a dagger through it. She looked up at Dante in bewilderment.
He took the papers and earring over to his desk where he pulled out of a drawer the little dish in which he kept his mementos. It jingled with bullets, two rings, a belt buckle, a two-headed coin and an earring identical to the one he was holding.
He laid them side by side on his palm and stared at them blankly, remembering the first time he'd seen them – when Trish, his old assistant and an enigma, had worn them once on a job and he'd happened to glance at them and laugh – and the last – the night two weeks before she'd left him forever when she'd lost one during a game of Pool. She'd looked about for it and declared it lost but Dante had found it several months later when it embedded itself suddenly in the sole of his foot, dagger first.
The other, Trish had taken with her along with everything else.
Lucia said something but Dante wasn't listening. He took the letter eagerly and began to read, a careful and clever hand written on good quality paper but without a crest or logo or anything of the sort. It was plain, like a letter from one friend to another.
'Dear Mr Sparda,
I know who you are and what you do. I know about your unique heritage and line of expertise and I know also about your connection to a powerful demon who, in this incarnation, goes by the name of Trish. It is on this last matter about which I have cause to write to you.
Do not be alarmed by all that I know of you, rest assured that I am no enemy of yours. As a matter of fact, I knew your father well and amdelighted to see that at least one of his offspring are doing the family name justice. It would give me great pleasure to meet you one day but I am afraid that, again, that is not the reasonwhy I write.
I write, as I have said,regarding this Trish who is currently wreaking havoc in the supernatural Underworld having discovered some secrets about her prior identities that were not to her liking. As she now knows, she was once the Guardian of the Second Circle. If you do not know what that means, I will now take the time to tell you. If you do, which I do not doubt, then please do not take offense and indulge me a paragraph or two.
The human world is made up of many countries, as you know and it is not that different in the demon world. Hell, it is widely known, is divided up into domains. All are distinctly separate and rigidly policed. All of the damned and the demons have their place and it was the duty of the guardians to keep their realm safe and keep those who belong their in their place. There are seven realms and there were seven guardians. They disbanded during the great war in which the Earth realm was divided from the demon realm forever by your great father. Trish was one such guardian as was your own father. There are others you may have encountered who also guarded realms in the old days but that can wait until we meet. For now let us turn our attention to Trish and the part she played. She was the guardian of the Second Circle and did her job well. She passionately loved your father, although it is said not to have been mutual, and they would enjoy going up to Earth together to wreak some mischief. Until Sparda decided that he wouldn't stand for it and, as they say, the rest is history.
Trish the Guardian was killed in that fight although whether she stood with your father or against him, I don't know. It is likely that she fought on the side of her own kind although, given how she felt about Sparda, no-one can be sure. That she died, I am certain but being as powerful and as favored as she was, some part of her endured. Her spirit, the weakest yet most enduring part, was preserved and later ensnared by Mundus who hated the guardians, especially Sparda.
Her memory, as often happens, was cleared during this process but some little part of her former essence and power remained which was how she managed to wield Sparda's own sword. She has lately, with help, began to regain her old memories and has come to despise the cruel creature she once was. She kills without thought in her grief and anger and she must be stopped.
You see now, I'm sure, where you come into this. You, her old friend and son of her onetime lover can bring her to see reason and have the power, if necessary, to destroy her should this prove impossible. All the details of her numerous attacks, sightings and previous and current whereabouts are contained in the enclosed file. For security purposes, my details are not stated but I will contact you upon the successful completion of this job when I can be sure of your colours. I close by imploring you once more, please, Dante, help us. Help her.
Yours in faith,
L.'
Dante finished reading through for the second time and put the letter down. Lucia set another cup of coffee in front of him and looked into his eyes questioningly, concerned. He didn't feel at all in the mood for talking. He leafed listlessly through the file looking at pictures of mutilated bodies and bloody graffiti of symbols and signs he didn't know but shuddered to think of. The all-important details were on the last page, an address in London where Trish was currently. Dante didn't require another moment's thought. He got to his feet leaving the coffee and Lucia sitting there and went to dress, load his weapons and prepare his bike .
Lucia met him in the make-shift garage, a side room to the house itself, crammed to the ceiling with bike parts, weapons cartridges and the floor cleared for two highly-polished motorbikes. One red and one black. There was a workbench along the wall opposite the double doors where all Dante's experimental weapons lay in various states of construction. He'd taken a leaf from Lady's book a while back and started making his own rounds and modifying his numerous firearms. The whole room was permeated with the combined strong smells of motor oil and gunpowder. It was probably Dante's favorite place in the whole building. He had no time to appreciate it today.
As he pulled on leather gloves and stuck his weapons in their holsters, he glared sideways at Lucia who was arming herself with rows of neat silver knives. The sternness of his own voice surprised him and Lucia glanced up at instantly with concern and curiosity.
"I'm doing this alone, Lucia, and you're staying here."
He never gave her orders as to where she would go and what she would not do. She looked firstdisbelieving and then incredulous.
"You need my help, Dante."
An alarming fury coursed through Dante and he snapped,
"Stay here, Lucia. I will not argue about this with you but I will fight you if that's what it takes."
Her own anger lashed back, just as fierce.
"You have no right to order me one way or the other, Dante. I am coming with you and that is final..."
Before the rest of the word 'final' could even escape her lips, Dante whipped round with a roar and struck her across the face. She was unprepared and fell to the floor gasping as much with shock as with pain. Dante was shocked at himself. He stared at Lucia, sprawled bleeding on the concrete floor and then at his fist as though it was someone else's grafted onto his own arm. Before Lucia's accusing eyes could look up and meet his own, he swungastride his bike and fled.
He sped down the cracked road and into the winding maze of side streets through the industrial district and out onto the main road that led to the airport. He forced his spinning head to form a plan – get on the next plane to London, rent a bike, find Trish and talk some sense into her or kill her. He couldn't, and wouldn't, think what would come after that. What would happen when he had to return home and face Lucia? His beloved Lucia who he'd hurt so badly, and not merely physically, with his cold words and quick punch.
He slammed down on the accelerator and slipped easily over the speed limit. The lines down the road streamed into a blur and he allowed his mind to go blank.
Lucia sat on the cold floor, still in full battle gear, for almost five minutes before she forced herself to her feet and began to very fastidiously remove every knife from it's leather holder and replace it on it's place in the rack on the wall. She shed her bullet and fire-proof leather armor and high steel-capped boots placing them back where they belonged in the cupboard by the bench. Then she walked slowly through to the main office which was warm and softly lit at around midnight, wiped the little trickle of blood from her mouth where Dante had struck her, sat down at the desk in her seat and sighed. She allowed the tears to come then, fast and cold and unable to stop. She wept for another ten minutes and then just lay, head supported by her arms, watchinghis cup of coffee cool on the desk and thinking over all that had just happened.
She'd become much better at controlling her emotions since she'd come to live with Dante who was a master at it. She found that she could resist and even eliminate the urge to cry or scream or yell when she felt angry or sad by putting up a front of pure ice that repelled anything that touched it.
Of course, there were always times like these when tears were just needed and she allowed them without hold. She missed Dante. Loved him. And his violent rejection of her and blow to the face had cut her deeply. She let one last tear fall and then closed her eyes to sleep.