Chapter 2

Dante sat down heavily on his leather chair and yawned. There never seemed to be anything to do. Sure, he got the odd call now and again, but it was never anything serious. In truth, his life had become easy. He wanted a challenge. Dante swung back and placed his feet on the desk. He looked at it absently. Funny…the desk had been through rougher times then time, and it had still remained standing. A motorbike had crashed on it once or twice, it had had several swords thrust through it, knives thrown on it, even he was thrown on it a couple of times. He yawned again. Why the hell was he thinking about a desk?

Though he didn't look it, Dante had become old. His demonic blood that flowed through his body had slowed down his aging process dramatically, so then neither his speed nor his strength had been affected by the years as they passed. But despite this, he still felt old. It wasn't as though he got aches in his back or anything. It was just that he felt…stretched. It was a hard feeling to explain, but stretched seemed like the best word at the moment.

Trish came into the room, a mug of coffee warming her hands. She swept his feet off the table, trying to keep a look of disgust on her face and then sat down on it herself.

'Any calls?'

'Nada…' Trish sipped delicately from her mug.

'I'm bored. Let's go out!' Dante looked at her witheringly.

'What d'you want to do?'

'I don't know…let's go out and eat at a Chinese Restaurant or something!' Dante looked at her as though in shock.

'After what you did last time?'

'Well how was I supposed to know that was the guy's hair?'

'You don't just say to people, "Nice wig!" and then try to try it on! I don't know whether it's acceptable in the demon world, but it sure isn't here!' Trish sighed.

'Well how am I supposed to learn how to behave, if you never take me out anywhere?' Dante looked at her, and grinned.

'All right…but one stupid comment, and we're going home…I can't see why we just can't order a takeaway! Instant service! No waiting for half an hour for our food to come! And you get it delivered! It's just as good!'

'And just as boring as sitting around with your smelly boots on the table doing nothing but sipping coffee.'

'I'm just sitting around with my smelly boots on the table.'

'Well I'm sipping coffee…'

'Are we just going to argue all night about what we're doing? Grab your coat and change into something decent!' Trish looked down at her clothes. Black leather suited her, but the clothes she wore tended to leave her a little on the bare side. She sighed.

'I look fine!'

'Just change.' Trish smiled to herself as she went upstairs. She was pleased that Dante was so protective of her. It made her feel less of a demon and more of what one part of him was; human. She came down half an hour later to see Dante asleep on the couch. She prodded him none too gently on the shoulder and woke him up.

'C'mon! Let's go!' Dante groaned but stood up unsteadily and then got into the driver's seat of the car. Trish smiled as she sat in the passenger seat. She had forced Dante to buy a car after she had crashed several motorbikes. Dante was not pleased to say the least. Cars just couldn't cut it when compared to motorbikes, but Trish never seemed to see things his way. It was almost as though she had destroyed those motorbikes on purpose. Dante sighed but then froze as Trish sat up straight.

'Pull over! Now!'

'I told you not to drink so much in mornings. They leave you feeling like shit for the rest of the day,' said Dante, in his annoying fatherly tone he reserved for special occasions. Trish glared at him.

'I said stop the car.' Dante pulled over, shrugging.

'Only reason I'm stopping is because I don't want you to mess up the car!' Trish bounded out of the car and stood tall. When she stood in the same place for more than five minutes, Dante got concerned.

'What is it?'

'Can't you sense it?' Dante paused and strained his senses.

'…no…' Trish continued to stand like some kind of marble statue.

'Someone's in pain,' she said at last.

'What of it?'

'Well…the signal I'm getting…it's so familiar…but I can't remember where I felt it before…' she said slowly. Dante frowned and looked at her questioningly. 'I've felt it somewhere. I just can't remember who it is. It was ages ago.' Dante suddenly tensed. He could feel it too.

'Well…I don't recognize it. And it's not in pain anymore.' Trish frowned and then allowed her shoulders to slump down.

'Maybe I was wrong…'

'I don't know…we'll wait and see whether we get any reports on anything.' Trish looked at Dante at this point and slowly nodded, still looking unconvinced.

'Okay…but I still think we should check it out,' she said at last. Dante shrugged but then got into the car again. Trish remained standing alone for several more minutes before she finally turned and resumed her place. Dante started up the engine and drove off. Several minutes later, Trish froze again.

'Stop the car!'

'What, you feel it again?'

'No…' she staggered out of the car and scampered behind a nearby bush. Dante flinched and looked away.

'I keep telling her not to drink so much at one time…when is she ever going to learn? Women…'

---

Ophelia sat on the couch, flicking through TV channels. There was nothing worth watching. Not even chat shows…she loved chat shows; she loved to hate them. The people who thought they had everything so bad had nothing compared to the shit she was living through. It was the curse's entire fault anyway. She looked at the time, pining for her daughter to return from her day at school, where the curse still haunted her. She would be soon home, but so would the curse. Ophelia sighed wearily. When would it ever end? She had tried several times to get rid of it, but someone had always managed to push it back into her arms, demanding her to nurture the curse. But who'd want to do a crazy thing like that. Ophelia still couldn't believe it at times; she had given birth to one of them. A demon, a curse, a parasite. The reason why she was living in a shitty two roomed hovel. She shuddered but then straightened up as she heard the door slam shut. Val bounded through the door and straight into Ophelia's arms. Ophelia's eyes roved around the room and smiled when she saw no sign of the curse. Her smile disappeared as a boy sauntered into the room.

Arson stood with his head lowered, and his eyes on the ground. He stood to attention, waiting for his mother's commands.

'Well? Get to it, then! There's the sitting room to clean, the bedroom also, and then the dishes.'

'Yes Ma'am,' Arson murmured.

'Who gave you permission to talk?' Arson made no answer, unsure as to whether that was an actual question. His head was shook about wildly as Ophelia grabbed him by the throat and throttled him. 'Answer me, shit!'

'No one!' whimpered Arson. Ophelia threw him down on the ground like a discarded toy and then followed Val into her bedroom. Arson got to work immediately, starting with the dishes. Ophelia came back out shortly and watched with narrowed eyes, as Arson washed and dried the dishes, putting them away as quickly as possible.

'If you get it all done by five o' clock, then you just might get something to eat!' teased Ophelia. Arson ignored her and carried on working. He yelped as a sudden pain lanced through his hand, causing him to drop the dish. He watched in mute horror as the dish shattered into tiny fragments. He tried to back away but Ophelia had already pounced on him, raking at his face with her long sharp nails. Arson tried to shield his head but Ophelia pinned his arms down by his side, and continued to thrash him. When the beating was finally over, Arson was left with a black eye, a nosebleed, and several cuts on his face. Not only that, but his arms were covered with bruises, some turning yellow.

'Now get back to work,' leered Ophelia. Arson turned back to the sink and resumed work. Again, pain coursed through his arm, and again, Ophelia dealt out her punishment. Ophelia stalked out of the room, calling out to the bloodied bundle of clothes that lay on the floor.

'You can forget about eating something for the next week, Curse!' she spat. Arson made no reply. He wished he could die but then his thoughts turned to his father. Did he leave, because he was a curse? Did he leave because of him? Arson wept to himself quietly but then stopped suddenly. No…he had to be strong. He had to be like his Dad. Maybe one day he'd be safe. One day…