Notes: Coarse language, a few OCs introduced, and a little innuendo

Sentient

Chapter 02:

"A Single Goddamn Second"

The house felt empty, without Vergil in it. He had only been gone a few hours but I already didn't want to be in our home. Too cavernous, too full of echoes and memories. I was better off in town, in my apartment. I started packing not long after he drove off toward the airstrip. Keeping my hands busy kept my mind off of his absence, as obvious and distracting as a missing tooth.

I had just closed my suitcase when I heard a door downstairs slam shut. Frowning, I went to my window and brushed aside the pale lace curtains. A brown sedan sat in the curving driveway a story below, partially obscured by swaying fir limbs. My lips curved into a smile on reflex; a moment later I bounded out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

Marta stood at the sink washing the breakfast dishes left behind by Vergil and I a few hours prior. She offered me a small smile over her shoulder. Her eyes were warm, in stark contrast to the cold grey hair worn in a severe bun on her nape.

"Morning!" I said. I sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen and folded my hands atop the granite counter. "Surprised to see you. You don't usually come by on Tuesdays."

One of Marta's hands rose from the sudsy water in the sink. She made a few simple gestures, then kept washing.

"Forgot to do a few things last time I was here," she had said to me in sign language. "Thought I'd come by and finish."

"I see."

Marta smiled, but she didn't say anything more. I knew very well that she was here to keep an eye on me while Vergil was gone, and she knew I knew that much. Possessive jerk didn't like it when I wasn't within arm's reach, or when I went places where he couldn't keep an eye on me. He was keeping an eye on me right now through Marta. It was no coincidence she'd shown up the same day Vergil left. Speaking of which…

"Where's Andre?" I asked. Andre, her husband, was sort of a package deal. He and Marta were rarely apart.

"Outside," she told me in sign language. "Pulling up a dead stump."

"Oh, right." Andre had mentioned moving it a few weeks prior. "The one out back of the garage, right?"

She nodded—but then she cocked her head to one side. She listened to something I couldn't hear for a moment. Then she blotted her hands on her apron and signed again.

"He could use your help," she told me. "Roots run deep."

I raised a brow. "He needs my help?"

"Yes."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?"

She chuckled, the sound like dry leaves. "He's an old man," she signed. "You wouldn't leave an elder to struggle, would you?"

My brow rose even higher. I'd known Marta and her husband, Andre, for the better part of two years. Even though I still wasn't sure of their exact ages, I knew better than to believe they were actually old. They didn't act like they were old, at least. They both had grey hair and wrinkled skin, sure, but they carried themselves with lithe grace and never seemed to have trouble lifting things. I figured they were no more than 60 or so, judging by their looks, but…demons never looked their age.

And I knew Marta and Andre were a very dangerous demons indeed.

"You mean to tell me you hired a demon as our housekeeper?"

At the sound of my query, Vergil had looked up at me over the top of his newspaper. He'd been reading in the study. I stood in the doorway with hands on hips, trying not to flinch as the sound of a vacuum clearer thrummed through the air in the living room at my back. The woman, Marta, was cleaning our house—or should I say the demon Marta was cleaning our house? Vergil had told me a few days prior that he had hired a housekeeper, but I hadn't expected her to be a—

Vergil put down his paper. He ran a thumb along the center fold, creasing the pages flat.

"And how do you know she's a demon, exactly?" he asked, casually—too casually. "She looks human enough to me."

"Cut the crap, Aeneid." A thought occurred to me when he smirked. "Wait. Were you hoping I wouldn't notice that she was a demon?"

He shrugged.

"What—but that's so mean! You can't just keep me in the dark about stuff like this!"

"I did not think it wise to bother you with the triviality of her specie," he said, tone mild. "And furthermore, I did not think you would care." A smile ghosted the corner of his lips. "Or do you forget I am a demon, too?"

I bit back a retort. He was right. If I had no problem with Vergil, other demons shouldn't bother me, either…but…

I guess whatever I was feeling showed on my face. Vergil stood up, chair sliding over the carpet behind him.

"Jira," he said. "Are you all right?"

His eyes bored into me like bits of a drill. I looked away, unable to keep from flushing under his weighty gaze. We'd only been back from our trip to the beach, where we shared our first kiss, for about a week at that point. I still couldn't quite look him in the eye. Any time I saw his lips I'd start thinking about that kiss, and then all rational thought flew out the goddamn window.

"I'm fine," I blurted when he started to walk around the desk. "It's just—all the demons I've met so far have tried to kill me, so it was a bit weird to find one vacuuming our fucking living room, that's all. And I didn't know they could look that human. I've just seen the ones with the glowing eyes and then that lady Merhusame, but they were all pretty inhuman, so yeah. Scared me. And I didn't think you'd let a demon get close to me and I—"

"Jira."

I stopped. Vergil stood only a few feet away, having gained ground while I jabbered. A light tension coiled in his shoulders, like a predator preparing to pounce.

"How did you know she was a demon?" he asked. "She looks human. I made sure of that before she came here."

I frowned. "Is her looking human…a disguise, or something?"

"Yes."

Interesting. I hadn't realized demons could hide their true appearances. What lay below Marta's human mask? She'd looked perfectly human when I first saw her in the living room—at least until her eyes flashed bright red when I startled her. She hadn't heard me coming over the sound of the loud vacuum. I explained seeing her eyes to Vergil in halting terms. His lips pressed thinner and thinner as I spoke.

"It was more than just seeing the red eyes, though," I said. "As soon as I saw her eyes, something in me clicked—I just knew she was a demon. Instinct, I guess. I blame my magic."

I lifted a hand and pointed at Vergil's desk. I concentrated on his abandoned newspaper and took a deep breath. Magic was like another limb, one I kept coiled inside me until I wanted to use it, and one I could control remotely so long as it was within my field of view. Slowly I let the magic trickle out of my body, and then I surrounded the paper in a field of my energy. A moment later the object lifted gently off the table to hover in midair. I could dimly see a sort of silver aura (or maybe just a distortion of space) around the paper. Otherwise, it looked like the paper had simply gained the ability to fly.

"When I saw Marta's eyes, something in me shifted," I said, still concentrating on the paper. "My magic just sort of…jumped to the surface, like it was reacting to her. When it did, I could see an aura around her." The aura had been black and creeping, like a swarm of flies surrounding her body in a cloud. "That aura and the eyes together—well, I guess I just sensed what she was."

I let the paper fall, then.

I looked at Vergil.

When I did, I gasped.

"Jira? What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. I ducked my head, staring at my toes. Around him swirled cobalt energy, his aura bound tightly to his body like a suit of armor. I hadn't seen his aura before. It was gorgeous, like water sparkling in moonlight. Looking at it sent a shiver over me. It felt like I'd drunk a pitcher of static electricity, which sang in my veins like bottled lightning. "I'm just—getting used to magic, I guess."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Jira…"

His tone told me he'd seen past the lie. "Your aura is really bright," I admitted. "I saw it for the first time just now."

I met his eyes. He was scowling, but not at me. I knew the difference between his general-scowl and his Jira-scowl.

"Your magic is growing stronger," he murmured. "It's far stronger than it was even a week ago."

"Um." My pride lifted, but I tried not to show it. "I guess?"

"Your instincts are deepening as your awoken magic integrates with your body and mind. Soon, you'll have more control." His eyes darkened like gathering clouds. "More power."

I tucked my hair behind my ear while he stood there, regarding me with those intense eyes. I didn't tell him I'd been practicing my magic each night in private, and that I still couldn't do more than levitate small objects. I liked that he said I was stronger. Didn't want him to take the praise back.

"The Blood Tie is growing, too," he said.

My cheeks and ears and neck and chest all went hot at once, and I found myself staring once again at the floor.

"I've read that physical contact deepens the bond between those ensnared by the Blood Tie." His voice was far more clinical and detached than I felt right then, like he wasn't talking about a Tie that bound the two of us together at all. "That night on the beach—"

"Say no more, buddy! I gotcha!"

Those words came out in a yelp. As soon as I spoke them, I froze. Oh god, this was fucking embarrassing. Yeah, we'd made out on the beach, blah blah blah, romantic and steamy, but we hadn't—we hadn't done anything like that since coming home after the trip. I still wasn't used to it. I still couldn't even look at him straight on. This was still so new and—

Vergil chuckled. My back stiffened as the rich, velvety sound traced its way up my spine in a light caress.

"You're embarrassed," he said. I heard equal parts teasing and amazement. "Interesting."

"Yup, interesting, that's me all right," I said. The words were a little more gasp-y than I would've liked. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go make nice with Marta since I ran out of the room and totally shrieked at her when I saw her eyes and—"

I heard Vergil chuckle again, and then his shoes entered my field of vision. I looked up. He stood only a few inches away.

"Hi," I said.

Slowly, Vergil lifted a hand. He placed it flat on the wall behind me, elbow hovering above my shoulder, barring me from the door with his arm.

"Marta is a demon," he said. His eyes locked onto mine like a heat-seeking missile; I couldn't look away. Blood surged back into my cheeks and throat. I could feel my heart beating in the vessels in my lips. The feeling intensified when Vergil glanced at them. "Her husband is, too. He's our new groundskeeper."

"Groundskeeper?" I squeaked.

"Yes. They owed me a favor, and they desired secrecy." He smirked, eyes shifting back up to mine. "I can provide that, in exchange for their service." I suppose I looked uncertain, because his mouth firmed into the not-smile that meant he was trying to reassure me. "They aren't a threat to our own secrecy. Neither of them can speak aloud."

"How come?"

"That's their business."

Fair enough. "So you hired mute demons to…weed the garden and wash dishes," I said.

"And protect you," he said.

For a moment I forgot my shyness, my pounding heart, Vergil's proximity. My eyes widened. Vergil and I stared at one another. I could see every grey fleck in his cobalt irises. I could see the sudden earnestness inside them, and the possessive glint I'd come to expect. Like a wolf standing guard over its favored prey—oh god, bad image, now I was thinking of Vergil eating me, and oh fucking no, in a more metaphorical way than any wolf would ever—

I ripped my eyes from his. I was probably scarlet. Vergil chuckled again. He shifted, face dipping closer to my own.

"They will not harm you," he said. "I would never allow it."

I swallowed. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

Before I could question that promise, I felt his fingers on my chin. He tilted up my face. I glimpsed a flash of rich, possessive, hungry blue before he kissed me.

And with that, I didn't really have the focus to complain about our demonic housekeeper.

Andre stood next to the old, dead stump out back of the house, shovel in hand, face screwed up in frustration. I trotted down the steps of the back porch and called his name. He didn't turn toward me, but he did lift a hand over his shoulder and wave.

"Marta told me you needed my help," I said when I reached his side. I scanned the trees edging the empty plot of land surrounding the house. "I told her I didn't believe her."

Andre's eyes glittered when he smiled. He swiped off his hat, revealing the head of thick grey hair beneath, and mopped his very dry brow with the back of his wrist. An exaggerated gesture, meant to imply he was tired.

"Yeah, right," I said. He chuckled, making the same dry sound Marta made, when I rolled my eyes. My next words were not hyperbolic in the slightest: "I've seen you deadlift a fucking car."

He shrugged, then used sign language to say: "Tweaked my shoulder this morning."

"What, you try to bench press a goddamn bus or something?"

"Perhaps."

He gestured at the stump, then took a pointed step back. I shot him a glare, but one without teeth. He just smiled. He had a craggy face with hollow cheeks and a thin nose. The smile softened his narrow eyes, crinkling their corners like he was laughing on the inside. Eventually my glare dissolved into a smile to match his. I pushed the sleeves of my grey raglan shirt farther up my arms, rubbed my hands together, and walked over to the stump.

"How deep do you think the roots run?" I asked.

Andre shrugged.

"Fat load of help you are!"

He shrugged again.

"Ugh, fine. Leave it to me."

I rubbed my hands together a little more, planning how I'd take care of this task. Before I could start, however, Andre cleared his throat. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

He signed: "Did I hear you packing upstairs?"

He and Marta both had bat hearing. Ugh.

"Yeah. I thought I'd stay in the apartment while Vergil was gone," I said.

Andre scowled. "He doesn't like it when you stay there."

"And I don't like it when he takes mercenary jobs. We both make compromises. That's how relationships work." I shrugged. "It's only until he comes home. He can deal with it."

I turned back to the stump, mostly so Andre couldn't see the look on my face. Vergil hated that I had a private apartment in the city. I'd gotten it because of him and his sometimes-shitty behavior, and he knew it, so whenever I spent time there, he got…weird. Like he thought I might leave him again, like I'd done before.

But that's a story for a different day.

The stump had a flat, pitted top, hewn by a chainsaw probably years before. I placed my palms against it, took a deep breath, and summoned my particular brand of magic. I shoved the energy into the dead wood, deeper and deeper, tracing through the object and down into the roots where they trailed into the earth. There were a lot of roots, and it took me about thirty seconds to fully infuse the tree with my magic. Once infused, I slid more of my magical energy into the dirt and rocks surrounding the roots, loosening gravity's hold on them. When I'd expended about a quarter of the magical energy inside me, I slid my hands to the side of the stump and held on tight, fingers curling into divots in the bark.

"Here we go!" I said.

I bent at the knees and pulled. The stump, which now weighed no more than a pound, lifted easily from the ground. Rocks and dirt that weighed little more than vapor came up with it, filling the air around me with a field of earth and stone. I lifted the stump, roots popping and crackling as they came free, and held it over my head. The roots stretched straight up above my head in a gigantic tangle. Weightless grime floating off each tendril as my magic made everything buoyant.

Andre gave me a subdued golf-clap. I stuck my tongue out at him. I knew I looked pretty ridiculous, holding a stump over my head, roots sticking skyward like I'd grown the hair of an Ent from Lord of the Rings, air full of dirt and debris like a field of muddy stars—but I probably looked badass, lifting something so huge barehanded. If someone saw and didn't know that I had the power to manipulate gravity, I'd present a pretty weird image: a short, skinny girl holding a 600 pound chunk of tree to the sky. A bodybuilder with no muscle. What an odd sight.

"Where do you want it?" I asked.

Andre pointed toward the treeline, then shrugged. I bent at the knees and thrust my body upward, letting go of the stump at the last second. As the stump left my hands, I withdrew all of my magical energy in a snap, replenishing much of what I'd spent on the stump. I'd already applied enough force to the weightless object to send it flying into the forest. When it gained its weight back, its velocity dramatically increased, the stump streaking through the sky like a bullet. I kept my eyes on it as it sailed away but soon lost track of its flight. Eventually I heard a booming crash echo across the mountain.

"Fucking timber!" I shouted.

Around me, all the loose dirt dotting the air came raining down with a sound like hail. I couldn't reabsorb the energy I'd put into the dirt. Too spread out. But all in all this little venture had only cost me about an eighth of my total energy reserves.

Andre laughed. Then he jerked his thumb toward the house, brows lifted in question.

"In a minute," I said. I knew him well enough to know that was a 'come inside and relax' gesture. "You go ahead."

After the sliding glass doors on the patio shut behind him, I turned back to the forest. The mountains filled the horizon like sleeping titans. Above them, blue sky arched high and clear. It was a lovely, sunny day at the tail end of summer. Soon the leaves would shift and turn the mountains gold. Vergil would be back in plenty of time to see that, but thoughts of the future filled my stomach with cold dread. I shivered, grasping at my arms to warm myself. My life was tied to Vergil's, and his lifespan was unnaturally long. We were going to live…well, not forever, but for far longer than any normal humans. The idea had been exciting when I was younger. Now, though, the thought of a nigh endless future was intimidating. What if something happened to Vergil? How would I cope if on one of these stupid mercenary mission he got hurt, or worse, left me alone and—?

Just then, the sound of a motor cut through the mountain's quiet.

I froze where I stood.

We didn't get many visitors all the way up here. We lived on the dead end of a narrow mountain road. Even if someone got lost, the odds of them wandering onto Vergil's road were slim. With Vergil gone and Marta and Andre already here, there was no one who would be coming to visit—and that engine sounded close.

And it was getting closer.

When I heard it rev two or three times in quick succession, loud and aggressive and so close it made my teeth rattle, I bolted around the house toward the driveway. It didn't sound like Vergil's car, but he was the only person who would be coming up here—had his flight been cancelled? Had he thought better of taking another gun-for-hire gig?

The idea of him coming home, and not taking the jobs I so hated, filled me with giddy joy.

As I rounded the corner of the house, I heard the engine rev again. It fell quiet just as my tennis shoes hit the driveway asphalt. My ears rang in the resulting silence, but I didn't let that stop me from scanning the driveway for Vergil, blood on fire with excitement. I skidded to a stop when I spotted the vehicle parked just in front of the garage.

My hot blood ran cold.

It—it wasn't Vergil. Or it wasn't his car, at least.

Vergil didn't ride a motorcycle.

The motorcycle was huge. The kind of bike that, if it fell over, would take more than a few people to haul upright again. It was shiny black with lots of chrome and red leather seats. Really ostentatious if you ask me, but then again, it perfectly matched the person sitting astride the bike. They had their back to me, bike angled sideways across the driveway, but below their sleek black helmet they wore a leather trench coat in a shade of flaming scarlet. Matching boots, black leather pants, leather gloves—wow, this person took the whole "biker" aesthetic really, awkwardly seriously. Vergil would never, ever dress like that, that's for sure.

But then the rider took off their helmet. And then they turned their head.

The man on the bike…he was Vergil. Only he wasn't. He had the same shock of bright white hair. The same blue eyes. The same proud nose. The same strong jaw. Those cheekbones that could cut glass. It was all the same, down to the curl of his lashes and the quirk of his mouth. Only this person wore his hair down and loose around his face instead of pushed back, and when he looked up at the house, it was like he was seeing it for the first time. His eyes roved over the house bit by bit, taking it in as though it was new.

Reflexively, instinctually, I blurted: "Ver—Vergil?"

At the sound of my voice, the stranger looked at me over his shoulder. The he grinned. He grinned. A big old smile that touched his eyes and made them narrow with pleasure.

That smile—in a fucking instant, that smile told me everything I needed to know.

This wasn't Vergil. Not by a long shot. I knew this wasn't Vergil as firmly as I knew my own name.

This stranger looked just like him, but I wasn't fooled for a single goddamn second.

Our eyes locked. In them I saw nothing familiar whatsoever. No affection, no recognition. Just wry amusement as he looked my way, as though he hadn't expected to see me. Even so, when he called me by a pet name using Vergil's fucking voice, my heart couldn't help but stutter.

"Sorry, sweetheart," the stranger drawled in that voice I held so dear, "but you've got the wrong damn guy."

NOTES:

Some demonic OCs (more on them soon) and OMG DANTE?!

First 4 chapters of the "By Blood Connected" rewrite are up! Would love some thoughts on its progress.

Many thanks to the followers, favoriters, and reviewers (especially Noiroux, MinMinette, Innocence and Instinct, and Ariel Wild for leaving reviews on this story). This is for you.