The following morning, Lorena woke up after what seemed like a few short hours of sleep with a crick in her neck in a completely different part of the house. She couldn't remember when she'd stopped running or where.

Still groggy from a shit night of sleep, she took in her surroundings as best she could. Apparently, she'd taken refuge in what looked like a music room that no one had touched in ages. Curtains were drawn across the windows, a wilted plant sat in one of the corners and the room itself smelled as if no one had dusted or even thought about cleaning it for years. That being said, it was still a nice room. Spacious.

Of course it was the piano in the center that really caught her attention.

Uncurling herself from her spot on one of the sofas, she got to her feet and approached the lone instrument. Lorena gently ran a hand across the top noting that there was enough dust on the damn thing to make a sweater. She stared at it for a moment, not sure why she was so enraptured by a piano of all things.

Maybe it was because it reminded her of the one her parents had. Maybe.

She heard the door open, followed by an obviously relieved sigh.

"Thank God, I found you."

Turning to look at the door, she found herself looking at the man from the night before. He looked exhausted, like he'd been running a marathon or something. Or maybe that was just how he looked- the guy was skinny as a beanpole.

"We've been looking everywhere for you! How'd you end up here?"

Lorena paled slightly, recalling the events of the previous evening.

"Uh, long story," she mumbled.

He looked her over and nodded briefly.

"I can believe that," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I also think I'm better off not knowing."

"Probably."

Now that she actually got a look at him, he actually seemed a bit older than she'd thought. Probably closer to her own age, maybe. He had sharp features that made him look kind of like a handsome scarecrow and his eyes were a deep shade of gold. Not amber. Not hazel. Gold. He was also covered in freckles.

She could swear that she'd seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't place him.

"I never got to thank you for saving me last night," she said.

He was caught off-guard for a moment, staring at her wide-eyed before shrugging and looking a little bit sheepish.

"Eh, I was only doing what Vergil told me to, so don't thank me."

Well at least he was honest.

She followed him out of the room and down the hallway, and oh was the silence awkward. Unbelievably. Exhaling rather audibly, Lorena decided she was going to make idle conversation as best she could.

"Why do you stay?"

The young man paused for a moment, mid-stride, and looked back at her. He was visibly perplexed by her question but after a second or two of digging around in his brain, he gave her an answer.

"Why not?" he said casually with a small shrug, digging his hands into his pockets. "I mean, it isn't like it would be better for me if I left. At least here no one's going to set me on fire."

He flashed her a cheeky grin.

"Well, except for you."

Lorena couldn't help but smile. He was very honest.

"So, you going to tell me your name or what?"

"I'm Salem," he replied, removing his hands from his pockets long enough to stretch them upwards towards the ceiling. "And yes, Adrienne is my mother."

Lorena's eyes widened impossibly. Salem easily looked to be about the same age as her, and Adrienne was definitely somewhere around 30. Every scenario that would have made this seem possible was either frightening or downright weird.

"You're- but she-" sputtered Lorena. "How old is she?!"

"Who, mom?" asked Salem. "She's 76 next August."

Lorena deadpanned.

"...What."

Her flat tone and equally vacant expression earned a chuckle from Salem.

"You don't know a whole lot of witches, do you?"

Lorena didn't mean to, but she did flush a little with embarrassment.

"Well, no," she admitted. "I mean, the only ones I knew were my parents and I haven't seen them for…" She hesitated. "...For a long time."

"Oh."

He looked sheepish again, like he'd asked something he shouldn't have. This lasted only a moment before Salem cleared his throat and regained his composure.

"Right. Well, we don't age like regular humans do," he explained, the remnants of his nervous state making him speak faster than usual. "Most witches can live to be over a thousand years old, but still look like they're only 35."

Lorena looked him over, brows furrowed together in thought.

"How old are you?"

"I'm 43 this year."

She gave him a flat look.

"You're kidding."

Again, Salem shrugged in response.

"I'm a late bloomer," he replied simply. "Or I'm just stuck this way, who knows."

They started down the hallways again, presumably back towards the room where Lorena was supposed to be staying. She was actually surprised at how fast he walked- but then again, he was pretty damn tall. Still, she had to increase her pace to keep up with him.

"So is everyone here, y'know…?"

"Most of 'em are, Those who aren't are just humans that were sent as tribute."

"Are there any like me?" she asked hopefully.

Salem took one look at her face and seriously considered not telling her the truth. On the other hand, lying to someone like Lorena was probably not the best idea, and besides- honesty is the best policy.

"...No."

...Sometimes, anyways.

Lorena nodded slightly.

"It's to be expected, I guess," she said quietly, almost completely dejected. "Pyromancy's a dying art..." She paused before adding: "A dying breed."

None could tell you at that moment what possessed Salem to hug Lorena. Maybe it was pity, maybe it was genuine empathy, but one thing was certain: this was the first time in a very long time that someone had shown the redhead anything resembling genuine affection. And she appreciated it more than he'd be able to understand at that point.

The rest of the trip back to her room was in silence, and she was more than relieved to find that it was vacant. The last thing she felt she could do right now was attempt to take Vergil in a fight.

"So, just some friendly advice, you might want to stay in your room until someone comes to get you for a while," Salem said idly, slowly starting to back out of the doorway and into the hall.

Lorena hadn't quite expected that.

"Why?" she demanded.

"What?"

"Why can't I leave my room?"

Salem paused in his flight and chuckled nervously.

"Well, um, y'see..."

Lorena gave him a flat look.

"...He's afraid I'm going to run, isn't he?"

He nodded, guilty beyond all belief.

"Maybe just a little bit, yeah."

Of course, he wasn't about to correct her that it was, in fact, his own mother's instructions he was relaying- but she didn't need to know that. Instead of the outburst he was expecting, she simply grumbled something under her breath before a resigned sigh escaped her lips.

"Sure, whatever. 'm too tired to argue about it right now anyways."

"Well, um, okay." He blinked and continued to back out of the room. "I'll come and check on you later, then."

Lorena gave him a dismissive wave and shut the door behind her.

Salem waited for a moment, listening carefully just to make sure she didn't jump out of a window or set something on fire. When he was satisfied that she was probably just going to sleep or something, he turned away from the room and started down the hallway.

Lorena was nothing at all like he'd expected. In fact, she sort of reminded him of a kicked puppy. Not to say that he wasn't relieved to be out of close proximity, but she was nothing like the horror stories he'd heard as a child.

"That went much smoother than I expected," he muttered to himself.

"She's volatile- not stupid."

The young man nearly jumped three feet into the air at the sound of his mother's voice. The elder witch had seemingly appeared out of nowhere (as she was wont to do), and stood beside her son.

"Though I will admit that I'm starting to question your sanity," she quipped, a bemused expression on her face. "But she seems to like you."

Salem finished straightening himself up and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"The insanity or the fact that she likes you?"

"Both."

Adrienne shrugged simply and started off down the hall.. He followed close behind, his long strides easily keeping up with his mother's brisk pace.

"It remains to be seen," she replied. "Anyways, I'm going to be gone for a few days, so you'll be in charge of the house for a little while."

The sudden change of subject startled Salem, just a little.

"Where are you going?" he asked, an edge of concern in his voice.

"Oh, nowhere special."

It was one of those trips. Honestly, one of these days Salem was going to have to have a talk with Sparda about this. But as of right now, there was nothing he could do about it.

"...I see. Well, be careful, will you? You're still young."

Adrienne gave a short laugh and stopped abruptly, turning to face her son.

"My age has nothing to do with it."

He gave her a stern look, to which she simply replied with a kiss on his forehead and a pat on his cheek.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I always am."

He frowned slightly, but said nothing. There were some things he was better off not mentioning and the fact that his mother was, in fact, very wrong was one of them. Adrienne ignored his reaction and mentioned some list of things about the staff that he didn't really pay attention to, but agreed to anyway.

"...Remember- no mercy whatsoever," she said again.

Salem rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Yes mother," he droned. "Be safe."

The elder witch smiled and promptly disappeared into the floor. Well, not really into the floor, teleportation was funny that way. Adrienne Leblanc was known for making bizarre exits every time she used it.

"15 years, and that still puts me off every time she does it."

Again, Salem jumped, but this time at the sound of Sparda's voice. The Dark Knight was staring down at the spot on the floor where Adrienne had disappeared. Running his hands through his hair, Salem exhaled.

"Speak for yourself," he told him. "I've had to deal with her for 40 years and it still bothers me. Her timing is the worst."

Sparda raised his brows.

"Salem, your mother pops in on me all the time. I'd say she has excellent timing."

The younger man gave Sparda a flat look.

"That's why it's the worst," he muttered.