Autumn was coming on hard.
Although the summer heat still held the town in its clutches during the day, when nighttime came, there was an unmistakable change in the smell of the wind. Nero watched as it rattled the branches of the maple tree outside. A loose red leaf finally tore free and sailed away into the unknown, jumping and turning gracefully through the air before it grew too small to track anymore. Behind him, in a room painted with vivid colours with cartoon figures adorning the ceiling, multiple children chattered away excitedly, as the card game grew heated.
"No!" a stocky seven-year-old boy threw his hand at the neatly piled cards which now spilled over.
"Damon!" an authoritative girl, Ruth, chided him. Placing her hands on her hips she cut a rather imposing figure, much like their fearsome math teacher. "You can't do that!"
"Well, I'm not playing this stupid game anymore. This party is stupid. You are stupid. You are all stupid. Nothing exciting is happening."
The children exchanged a glance. Damon established himself as a rather unpleasant person to be around during the first few days of school, even amongst those who did not know him from kindergarten, but he always had a group hanging around who simply couldn't get enough of him. Damon and his gang, young as they were, frequently appeared at the centre of fights and disagreements, or as he phrased it – where stuff actually happens. Not even going up against students who were by multiple years their seniors seemed to frighten them.
"We… We could go to the attic," the birthday girl sheepishly suggested as she gathered up the scattered cards.
"Why would I want to see your stupid attic?"
"There is a ghost there."
The kids, all fifteen of them, fell silent. Nero turned his head towards the group as he asked, "A ghost? Are you sure, Lilah?"
"Y-yeah. Mommy and dad don't believe me, but Leto and I can hear it at night."
"As if I'd believe that crap," Damon snorted. "Everyone knows ghosts don't exist."
"Oooh, maybe it's a demon!" a little girl exclaimed happily. "I always wanted to see a demon."
"Are you stupid?"
"Or you're just a scaredy cat," a red-haired boy teased, "Look at that, even Nero seems excited and you're backing out?"
"I'm not! But," he said, cracking his knuckles, "If there is no ghost, I'm gonna beat you up."
"No," Nero said as he stood up from the windowsill, "I don't think you will."
"And who is gonna stop me? You, you freakshow?"
The two boys stared at each other. Once more the room was silent as the children waited, their breaths held back, to see how the situation could develop.
It was obvious from day one, that there was no love lost between the two. Damon had his sight set on the younger boy who seemed reclusive and a loner by nature. Quite harmless.
Everyone knew that when it came to strength in numbers, Damon had the upper hand, no questions asked. As the school regulation claimed that one either invites the whole class or none at all, at least half of his gang's members were present at the party.
Nero initially seemed taken aback by the hostility of the other child, as if uncertain how to react to open and blatant hostility. Right until the moment when Damon, for a change, went after a girl, a tiny, scrawny thing, for accidentally dropping soup on him during lunchtime.
The kid had a tour of the infirmary after being hurled into the nearest unoccupied table. The teacher who ran into the room upon hearing the commotion was flabbergasted. Other than the two members of Damon's gang, all kids swore that he tripped and fell. Yes, in a way that landed him on the back on top of the table. Quite amazing, isn't it? Maybe he was trying to do a backflip.
After that fiasco, the gang's efforts to take him down doubled, but by some miracle or godly intervention, Nero never seemed to be never worse for wear, despite being a graduating to the prime target of the group, while the perpetrators themselves often had to hide bleeding lips and bruised hands and knees from the teachers – for, of course, fighting was strictly prohibited. Maybe he learned something from that strange uncle of his. Rumours ran rampant about just who and the man was anyway; Barnabas, the youngest of the class, swore that he saw the guy walk into an abandoned warehouse with a sword longer than the caretaker's broom on the back and two guns in the hand. Smiling.
Even if he did, Nero never said anything, and the bullies fell into sullen silence when asked.
"Let's just check if there is actually anything up there," Ruth said in an attempt to defuse the situation. Damon snorted before turning away from the smiling white-haired boy.
"Whatever."
"A birthday party?" Dante asked, turning the fancy piece of paper around. The parents went all out – it was made of the highest-grade materials, golden letters stating the time and place of the event. "And from the granddaughter of the mayor no less, huh."
"Everyone got an invitation," Nero explained as he stuffed his face with fried chicken, "Miss Mary wants us all to come. Community building experience, she says. What's that?"
"Something really bothersome."
"Uh-huh."
Not looking up, he continued devouring the food. Dante hopped down on the chair next to him.
"Kid? You are not telling us something. Spill it."
Nero looked sheepishly towards Vergil who, even when dressed in a pink apron with frills on the bottom, managed to look dignified and threatening at the same time. Mustering all his courage he muttered, "They want you to come too."
"To a kid's birthday party? Do we look like clowns or something?"
"No! Parents and guardians. And teachers. To lay the foundations of a fruitful cooperation."
"Miss Mary again, I presume."
"Yup."
"What a poet," Dante snorted, "What do you think, Verg?"
"Would you be required to take a gift?"
"That's pretty much what birthdays, bro. What's the point otherwise?"
"A waste of time and resources," the older twin said as he opened the oven door. The sweet smell of freshly baked pastries flooded the small kitchen. Dante put down the invitation as he looked at his nephew inquisitively.
"Do you even want to go to this thing?"
Nero bit his lip.
Lilah's flushed face appeared in front of his eyes. She wore her auburn pulled back into a neat little bun.
She looked so familiar, yet he couldn't place her. By the time he managed to recall the fragment of a memory, it was gone, like sand flowing through his fingers.
He heard the other girls snickering behind their hands, but she did not. She looked at him unblinking, only her hand holding the invitation trembled slightly.
"For you," she said in a mouse-thin voice, "Will you come?"
Laughter erupted from someone, but she still held steadily, not bothered by the sound in the least.
In the present, she continued avoiding Dante's gaze and pushed the remaining fries across his plate with the fork.
"Well…"
"All right, we'll bite. Worst case scenario, it's free food."
Vergil snorted as he packed the pastries onto the cooling rack, not bothered by the still scalding heat that was still radiating from them.
"Your ability to find the edible silver lining is astonishing, as always."
In the end, it was only the two of them who went, Dante being called away on urgent business.
Looking at the tipsy parents and nervous-looking nannies lounging around in the garden and before the entrance, Vergil couldn't help but feel a bit envious. Why was it not his phone that rang?
"Nero!" the hostess beamed with a smile that threatened to split her face in half, "So nice of you to come. Go on upstairs, the children are already there. You can leave the presents here. Mr. Durans!" she turned towards Vergil, "Your partner couldn't make it?"
"Brother," he corrected automatically.
"Of course. Silly me!" she laughed in a falsetto tone as she ushered Vergil towards the other guests, "May I offer you a drink?"
"No, thank you."
"Oh, don't be silly," she giggled, pressing a glass of champagne into his chest before playfully drawing it back, "Unless you are driving?"
Vergil felt a vein pop somewhere in his head.
Upstairs his son went through his own shock as a set of screaming children jumped into his face as he opened the door.
"Ha! Look at his face! He peed himself!" Barna laughed, pointing one chocolate-covered finger at him. Ruth swatted at his hand.
"You started crying when you came in."
"Did not."
"Did too!"
"Go to hell, Ruth."
The girl giggled as she pushed Lilah forward, a little bit red in the face.
"Uh. Thank you for coming."
"Sure."
"Come on in? We are playing truth or dare."
The boy blinked.
"What?"
"My sister taught me," she said as she grabbed his hand, "Come on, it's fun."
"Well," René said, her voice thick from the alcohol, after finishing her obligatory round of small-talk with the other parents. If the smell was any indication, she was no longer thirsty – not for alcohol, anyway. "Tell me all about yourself. And Nero of course. You are a mystery, you know. So awfully young, but already a father! Unbelievable."
There must be plenty in the world that astonish her, Vergil thought to himself, merely nodding away in place of an answer, his gaze fixated on the bubbles running along the side of the glass. More and more cracks, barely visible to the human eye, appeared on it. He wondered what would happen first – the woman running out of things to ask, or the glass breaking in his hand? The latter seemed more likely as the hostess droned on, deliberately ignoring non-verbal clues about the welcomeness of her presence, "And your par… Brother. No one is entirely sure what he does, but my father-in-law holds him in high regard. An unpaid debt about saving my mother or something…"
Another mother joined the two of them, swirling rosé in an oversized wineglass.
Joy.
"Sylva," she announced her arrival and her name, holding out her hand. "Vergil, am I right?"
"News travel fast, it would seem," he nodded.
"When did you move here? I don't think I ever met you or Nero in kindergarten."
"A little over a year ago."
"Oh? From where?"
"Nowhere in particular."
"Mysterious, I told you, Sylva," René said, "And what about his mother? If you don't mind me asking."
I do.
Vergil gritted his teeth. This night promised to be a long one. Before he could satisfy the women's curiosity however, a little girl's head appeared through the door crack.
"Ma! Can I show the others the attic?"
"Hm? Sure, sweety, just try not to break anything."
"The attic?" Sylva asked, one elegantly plucked eyebrow arched high, "I certainly hope Tim won't tear his new jumper. We bought it just for this occasion."
"Oh don't you worry," René waved, but the motion seemed to destabilize her as she grabbed on Vergil's jacket to keep herself from falling down, "Oops, I'm sorry; anyway, there is not much up there, a couple of old furniture and clothes. But Lilah swears that something is there. I guess she wants to show it to the others."
As a rule, attics are always scarier in the half-light of dusk. Ten of the bravest children crept along the old flooring, putting one foot carefully before the other one to make as little noise as possible. This was the kingdom of dust bunnies and silvery threads of spiderweb; young ones had no business being in their territory.
"There is nothing here!"
"There is," Lilah insisted, "I swear!"
"Bullshit," the boy kicked an old cabinet. Fine particles of dust flew in all directions.
And something, that they mistook to be and old hat with feathers, slowly moved.
Nero crashed into the other boy, slamming him into the opposite wall. His lungs contracted painfully from the impact, but the black shape, already diving at him, gave him no time to think or recover. The heavy, yet surprisingly soft body slammed into his protectively outstretched hands. He stumbled backwards. Midnight black wings rose and slapped him hard across the face.
…wants to kill me…. Can't die!
Fear and rage filled his body and drove him into a counterattack of his own; using all his weight as Lady taught him, he threw himself on top of the flapping thing.
"Oy! Oy! Kid! What the hell are you doing! You're breaking my wings!"
"The ghost! It speaks!"
Nero felt the world spin as he was rudely thrown into some ancient chairs lying on their sides. The bird was rid of its unwelcome burden. It flapped its wings with pride as it cawed out, "How's that?"
"You're a demon, aren't you?" he asked, proud that his voice did not waver, despite the icy claws of fear grasping at his intestines.
He saw trophies of them on the wall in Dante's office.
He was well aware of the shades that occasionally followed them home, but they never got close, always disappearing from plain sight before he could turn. There was also the now-faint memory of a woman crouching over him, her face twisted from terror. And there was somebody else lying next to him, too, frozen in place, while the sunlight reflected from the blade attached to a wobbly, hopping shape into his eyes.
But now it was only ten children, two of whom already pissed their pants. Ten, who barely learned to add single-digit numbers together, against a living-breathing one. Without an adult.
If he called out for his father, would he hear it? Unlikely. There were at least three floors between them and he faintly remembered the notes of one classical piece of music or another from the room to which the parents were ushered.
"My, my, what sharp eyes you have! You certain you don't need some specs? Saw some on top of the cabinet."
"He's talking to the demon!" one of the boys shrieked, pointing at Nero dramatically. His extended hand shook like dry branches in the wind. The demon's head wobbled as it laughed. For a moment, he seemed entirely chicken-like.
"Heh, crapping your pants already? Wanna call mommy? I'm sure she'd love to join us for snack!"
The bird flung itself at the children, but just before its talons could reach them, it fell onto a sofa, grey with dust, as Nero, moved by pure adrenaline, grabbed hold of the tail feathers.
Pain coursed from his hands through his body and he found himself flying once more. The impact with the cabinet knocked the wind out of him. Dazed, he looked up but saw only darkness; he did hear however his heart thumping frantically, multiple pairs of feet running, and something scraping on the wood. There was a bang. With sinking heart he realized that it was the sound of the latch they came through as it closed. The bird and him were now alone.
"Now look what you did. That was supposed to be my dinner," the bird said, casting a look at the place where the children disappeared. As his vision cleared, he saw purple flashes of light dancing around its feathers accompanied by crackling.
Electricity. The thing could use and manipulate lightning.
"Oh no, don't make that face, you'll make my appetite go away too! Look, kiddo, no hard feelings, but a bird's gotta eat, no?"
"I hope you get indigestion!"
"That's not nice." The bird flapped its wings. "You've done well, but you are what, six? With your abilities, I do not see why you went and played the hero. You could have been outta here zap! Just like that. What did you even hope to achieve?"
"As if a chicken could understand."
"Couldn't have been gratitude. Or could it? Oh yes, I see it now. Or smell it. You are human, but there is just something… And they can sense it too, even when they don't know what it is."
Nero remained defiantly silent.
"No answer? I guess that's then. Time to say goodbye. Close your eyes. We had a good talk, I'll try to make it painless, but no promises."
"Isn't that nice," a cold voice said from a dark edge of the attic, "Then I shall make no such promises either."
"Who are you?" the bird yelled, "Show your ugly mug, you eavesdropping, party-pooper bas…"
It yelped in surprise as a blade of pure blue energy stopped just before his throat. Vergil stepped out of the shadows, radiating with cold fury and came to a halt right before the demon.
"Last words?"
"No! Please! I made a mistake! I did not know he belongs to you!"
"That was indeed a mistake. One that shall be rectified by my own hand. You should feel honoured that it will be the Yamato that takes your life."
The blade glinted with an evil light as it glided out of its sheath, ready to cut whatever was in front of him, responding to its wielder's murderous intent.
"Wait, wait, no! I could serve you! I can be useful!"
Vergil's eyes narrowed.
"You can't even protect yourself. Do enlighten me how that would look like."
"Well, there is some truth to that, but see, the thing is, I used to serve a warlock," it rambled on, "He bit the dust. Nasty stuff. A familiar, that's what I was, so yeah, right now? Not exactly in tip-top shape. But I could be, serving you, and I could do things. Like look out for that boy. You are pretty darn famous down under, if I may say so myself, nearly as much as your brother, you are one person. Can't be at two places at the same time and all that, right?"
It let out a surprised gawk as the blue blade pressed further into the thick feathers.
"A familiar."
"Exactly! Live and die together and all that shit. Or if you like, you live, I die. Hope not though."
"Are you always going to talk so much? Or do you have a mute button somewhere."
"Oh, funny!" the bird snapped its beaks together sensing that this was not yet the time and place to humour the man, "Silent. Yes. Can do, mon captain!"
There was a scraping noise under the floor.
"Lilah, I swear to god, you and your…"
It was the hostess, accompanied by her daughter, her little face red and puffy from crying. René looked at them in surprise for a moment.
"Mr. Durans? How did you get here so fast? Oh my god, what is that thing?"
"A bird," Vergil stated, "Corvus corax. This is what the children saw."
Another head popped through the cut in the floor.
"But it talked!"
"They are remarkably talented at mimicking sounds, including human speech," he said as he gave a side eye to the demon. The thing let out a pitiful caw.
"Amazing," the hostess whispered, "How did it get in here? Should we call animal control? Maybe it's sick."
"Not to worry. We'll take it with us. It's high time we left."
"Are you sure? The cake…"
"Quite sure."
The cake jiggled in the see-through box as the car rolled over a speedbump. Leto, Lilah's sister pushed it into his hands with a wink after she helped him clean up the cuts and scrapes he got from the demon bird – who as it turned out, went by the name Griffon – while rolling around on the floor.
"You might want to get a doc to look at it. Maybe a jab for tetanus. But they are not too deep," she said, ruffling his hair.
He could feel the other boys glaring daggers at him. Small wonder. Leto was pretty and possessed a fairy-like grace, but there was also the sense of familiarity her auburn hair and warm, hazel-coloured eyes, much like that of her sister's, evoked in him. With that came a feeling akin to sadness.
"Come on now," she said, patting him on the shoulder, misunderstanding the reason behind his crestfallen face, "You are a big boy – seven, right? almost? -, it won't be that bad. A prick, and it's done with. And that nasty bird can't hurt you anymore, either."
Griffon cawed with displeasure inside the box he was unceremoniously showed into.
With that, they were off.
"Father?"
"Yes?"
"Can I get a gun?"
The car came to a screeching halt, just a hair-width away from the stop line.
Vergil kept his eyes straight on the road, but the knuckles on his hand that was grasping the wheel turned white.
"A gun?"
"For protection?"
"No."
Nero held fast onto the handle on his right as the car accelerated. They flashed past a biker before pulling in between a truck and a pickup.
"Please? I'll be careful I promise."
"No son of mine is getting a gun."
"Son of yours? Just how many do you got, anyway?" Griffon spoke up from the backseat, his head popping out of the box. "Or is it because of that brother of yours? You think the kid is gonna outdo you, too?"
He screeched as the box slid to the left after a sharp right, his wings flapping uselessly in the confined space.
"Anything to add?"
As it turned out, Dante did.
In the middle of the office desk, stood an elaborately decorated box, adorned with a blue silk ribbon.
A gun. A double-barreled beauty with rose engravings and a polished wood grip.
"Left-handed?" Nero asked, carefully removing it from the box.
"You're plenty ambidextrous, so it will be easy-peasy. Leaves the right free for a blade."
"I'm getting a sword?" he asked. His face brightened.
"Sure. Eventually. Now, obviously you are too young to use the gun, so I'll be hanging on to it…"
"Hey! No fair! You got your own, two of them!"
"Until you are fourteen," Dante finished, disregarding the boy's protests, "If you can prove that you are mature enough to handle it. And don't forget to thank Lady. It's her present to you. For starting school."
"Is that so," Vergil whispered. Without any care, he tossed the box in his hands into his brother's arms. "Excuse me. I have a call to make."
"Is your dad alright? He looks like he swallowed a lemon whole."
"Or maybe got one pushed up his behind, ha!" Griffon laughed. With a barely audible curse, Dante dropped the box. The lids sprung open, revealing the rather disheveled looking demon, his feathers sticking in all the wrong directions.
"Nero? What exactly I'm looking at here?"
The boy scratched at the claw-mark on his arm.
"So, funny story…"
A/N. Had to introduce Griffon. Had to. Although he is a bastard to write.
This chapter was a bastard to write.