In Pieces

by Suzue0Shayana

A shattered story about a woman who had lost something important during every part of her life. Will she be able to collect her missing 'pieces? 'Dialogues as sharp as thongs hurting your butt and as incisive as a bitchslap. Reflections as brilliant as a Vegas neon. Cliffhangers as violent as truck drifts' - at least Zhalia says so, you'll check it yourself!

11. Chapter 11: Chasing The Butterfly

Hi guys!

This time I'm making some changes. I upload just a half of the chapter, and the other half will appear this or the next week, it depends on how much spare time I will have. I hope it suits you. I know it will take more effort from you - you know, with checking if the final part appeared already or not - but I believe you won't give up on the story just because of that. After all, I gave you the promised date! And it'll only get more spicy...

So, time for comments!

- Kimberly: You're first again, I really appreciate it! :D I also wish I could help Straffi with Huntik storyline, I'll certainly add some new things to the plot and of course I'd throw as many DanteXZhalia moments as I could ;) I can't believe Huntik is focused on little boys, with such a great and complex pairing there...
No, I don't live in English-speaking country. I'm Polish and, though we learn English here, we don't usually use it in everyday life. Just when talking to foreigners :) But I try to improve my English every day, reading, writing, chattering with friends from different countries.

- Jess: Oh my, you're making me blush again! It's so nice to read that I'm a talented writer! It gives me pleasant chills and keeps me going :D I'm also happy to know that my story makes you so amused, that's why there's a lot of humour in it, but... there will be more sad parts, even in that chapter...

- StarTime101: Hi there and thanks for the feedback ;) I'm glad you like my story and decided to comment - for the second time, I guess... Keep writing to me and reading the chapters, I'll enjoy every word from you :)

- Guest: Could you please write your name or nickname if you come back? I'd like to know who you are :) And thanks for your nice words - it's good to know that more people start to read my story.

- Joey8: Another new person, hi! Your comment was very cheering up, though I'd like to know what mistakes I make. I wrote before that you can always point them out to me. So don't hesitate and do that if it's needed! :)

- purplecatgarden & silentwhisperfillstheair: Welcome here and stay a bit longer, maybe give me a word? :)

I'm in a hurry again, so, let me just say: ENJOY! And write what you think about getting the half of the chapter.

EDIT, 11.11.2012

Hi again!

So, I finally translated the second part. It took me some time (you know, learning kanji signs and stuff takes many hours!), but I hope it was worth it.

I see that most of you guys responded positively to having just a part of the chapter. Thanks for your understanding!

- Joey8: Wow, I'm sooo happy you praised me! I like my story, but I don't think about it as a mastery or an example for cartoon creators, though I sometimes think it would be nice to have an opportunity to change the plot the way I would like.

Thank you also for correcting my mistakes. It always helps me improve my story. I hope that everyone of you will remember to point the flaws to me without hesitation. A constructive critique is always welcome.

To be honest, I have always thought that Dante should have some habit. Funny, but charming as well. And since nothing else seemed suitable, I associated him with cuisine :) He's Italian, after all. I see Italian people as ones who like eating, cooking and food in general. You know, pasta, pizza... *.*

Well, I thought that 'nut' is an English colloquialism for head as well... I heard about it reffering to male organs, but I found in some web dictionary that it can be used the other way. But you can never be sure with the Internet. So, could you tell me please what are the colloquial words for 'head' in English? I will try to change it in the chapters.

- Kimberly: I'm blushing again ^^ I didn't know you check the story every day! It made my day! However, I advise you not to use translators. I have always fought against them, they aren't precise at all and make mistakes even in simple sentences. But I'm not angry with you, of course not! It's nice to know that someone waits impatiently for the next chapter. I hope that Zhalia's wavering feelings won't disappoint you.

- Jess: Oh, you know, I don't really like following the eps... I am proud of myself when I stuff my ideas into them and they suit nicely, but there's not much space for my imagination. I prefer adding my own scenes, so I thought: why not make a whole original chapter? I guess it turned out quite well. Especially because I gave you a lot of Dante/Zhalia interactions :D

Well, I have a feeling that Zhalia is cool only on the outside and she's boiling hot within ;P You see, she always knows how to lure men with her looks, words and gestures. She doesn't have to do much to be appealing for them. I guess they just feel the fire inside her and it draws them closer. Like a moth into a flame, as Daughtry sang in Break The Spell. She just keeps her perverted self caged to be seen as an elegant lady...

- CindyKayla: I will respond to you in this chapter, though you commented the tenth one. What did you mean by IC? You know what? I was also spazzing over it, I love making Zhalia confused by her own feelings :D

Now it's a time for the sadder half. I'm pleased with it, but it was kinda hard to write to make it convincing. I'm not really good in those kind of parts - when the two heroes just start to like each other. I hope it wasn't too cheesy for two adults like them. But if it is, please tell me. I'd like to know what you think about it.

Enjoy and see you soon!

Sha

P.S. Have I mentioned that I made Dante and Zhalia go on a date on my birthday, 30th June? I know I'm freakingly vain ;)

---

30th June 2009, Tuesday, 0:17

Huntik Foundation Hotel

Spittelberg

Vienna, Austria

It's already long after the midnight and I'm still laying with my eyes fixed onto the ceiling, so fair in the darkness. I wriggle here and there, I can't find the position which would suit me. I can't sleep though I feel sand under my eyelids, burning unbearably in the corners, as if glowing ash got stuck in them. Where did the feeling disappear, the one that when I just lay my head on the pillow, I'll sleep for at least four days? Now, when there's such an opportunity, my brain doesn't want to switch off. That damn clock in the hall could stop finally. Its monotonous ticking sounds like a machine gun burst… My nut's aching like hell and it only makes it worse. The situation doesn't get better thanks to the voices behind the wall, either; for several minutes, a softened woman's giggle has ringed there, mixed with a sexy male baritone from time to time. Damn, someone has to have a great time together…

I had similar plans for tonight, too. But who else cared? It takes two to tango, and the second part of the tandem read my suggestions wrong and from the whole packet I supposed him to give me, he served me just a cup of tea. A hot drink instead of a hot night? Thanks a lot, I'm not buying it. As well as the free porn showing added to it, with turned-off vision, but doubled sound, as if someone wanted to oppress me even more…

Is that some kind of the environment pressure (read: the neighbors from the next room, engaged heavily in providing sensations for each other and me by the way) or just my personal trouble that I also want a guy? I still feel the tension in the pit of my stomach, weaker, but distinct enough not to let me ignore it and just fall asleep. Counting sheep doesn't help for an ordinary women's horniness…

Not having anything better to do (and trying to dissociate from the amorous trills from behind the wall), my mind clutches at some stupid wondering, for example the ridiculous, auburn strand, sticking out on the top of the head, or the honey-colored border around the expressive, dark irises. Why did I memorize such nonsenses? Our stares had met for so short, less than a few second, maybe a little longer than a breath, but not long enough to suppose that I'd make such a careful analysis. I had a chance to notice many other, less appealing details, for example a hair sticking out his nostril or unsightly bristle piercing through the skin on chin and around the mouth. Those are the things I should focus on. I can't forget that he's just my victim. An interesting specimen? Kheh! If he really was such a nature's prodigy, he wouldn't have bags under his eyes and a shallow wrinkle on his forehead, his lips also wouldn't be parched and shriveled like a dried plum. I'm sure I have a better taste, I don't fancy such losers…

Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. After all, he's not so disgusting that if we shipwrecked on the desert island, I'd choose a palm tree instead of him. Besides – it's just sex without any obligations, on my terms. Even if he saw it as a proof of his questionable sex appeal, some kind of victory, in the final analysis he will get only a fleeting moment of an empty pleasure. It's me who'd laugh last. I can give him my body, but he won't manage to steal anything else. Those fantasies are also just a temporary weakness, for want of anything better. When my mission ends, I won't even remember about them for sure, I'd even laugh off the idea that I could wait for a moment when Vale's dicky-bird finds my hollow...

Suddenly the room gets filled with a quiet beep and a cold glow. I turn my head aside, peeking at the bed stool; my turned-down phone, vibrating and glinting blue, over and over, hits the mug, emptied from the tea which was supposed to make me fall asleep but instead messed everything up so badly that it caused insomnia…

I grab the phone and open the message (from: Klaus).

Elude the rest tomorrow and visit me in the library. I will wait at 7 a.m. I have to see King Basilisk.

Easy to say, harder to do. But I think that if I get up early enough, I will manage to sneak out of the hotel and maybe even come back before those dimwits even wake up. So, it's useless to fall asleep now…

The laughter behind the wall gets louder; I conclude that my neighbor hits the homerun tonight…

What a lucky bitch.

The same day, 8:23

Huntik Foundation Hotel

Spittelberg

Vienna, Austria

Hell, why did I rolled over from side to side the whole night and in the morning, though I knew I had had to get up in a moment, I crashed out?

If not an unvarying, strident thud, encroaching into the pleasure torpor of my moony mind, I'd never wake up from the trance. What woman would voluntarily resign from a dream in which a Ben Affleck-like looker woos her charmingly proposing a candlelit dinner – in the Tropics, on the seashore, suggestively close to the beach hut providing some intimacy? The only crack in this idyllic image is the fact that during the picking-up, the rebel from Good Will Hunting wears an oversized, worn-out duster in a very unflattering shade of dog poop…

I jerk up like crazy, cursing when I notice my cellphone vibrating ferociously on the floor; it fell down from the bed stool. Miraculously, the cup balances on its edge, but it can change very quickly. In a rush, first I catch the mug, then dive to the phone rapidly. As it turns out, too rapidly. I hiss from pain and anger when I fall onto my elbows and hit them hard; luckily the quilt, which landed on the floor with the half of me, cushioned my fall a bit. It couldn't make my position less ridiculous, though. My word!, if someone saw me now - my butt stuck out in the baggy, grayish shorts, my undershirt sliding down to my armpits and swinging around my tits, not tamed by the bra, and my body bent strangely, as if I was a novice porn actress trying to turn out sexy in her first take of her debut clip – he'd have great fun.

The cell still flashes in my hand urgently. I answer quickly.

'What's up?', I throw sharply, spitting my hair from my mouth; I don't even have a free hand to brush them aside.

'It is me who should ask you such questions!', enraged Klaus responds. 'Where are you? I have been waiting for an hour, and you still are not here! You do not even answer the phone! What does it mean?!'

Oooops. That's how it ends when instead of having a satisfying quickie in reality, you have to please yourself with dream substitutes, which just can't be brushed aside without regret…

'It was unintentional', I murmur with repentance, pulling myself back onto the bed and putting aside the saved mug. 'I overslept, forgot to turn the alarm on… I'll tell you when I come', I say evasively, rubbing my overstretched back. 'Give me some time.'

'Till nine', he accepts unwillingly, then adds strictly: 'Just do not be late this time.'

He disconnects before I even manage to agree. I puff with discontent and throw the phone onto the mattress. However, I can't get away with my anger just like always. I don't really have anything to boast about to Klaus, except from the new Titan. If I tell him that yesterday thanks to my charm I got only a mug of tea, he'll jeer me for sure, taking it as a joke – he regards my sex appeal as an invincible weapon, it's natural that no one can resist it – after that he'll get stunned, and then… yap, it'll hot up in no time.

Well, it's better to stand his scolding as soon as possible and see the back of it. I stretch smoothly, then drag myself out of the bed. I hit my calf against the frame and almost land on the floor, effing and blinding. I jump to the bathroom on one leg. The mirror greets me with an image right from The Ring: my face is almost invisible behind the tousled hair. When I brush them to the back, I state that it was better before – I look horrible, really. Klaus probably won't recognize me and drop dead when he sees me after those few weeks, not as blooming and charming as he expected. Maybe he'll finally stop wondering why Dante doesn't letch after me…

I take the pajama off quickly, meanwhile cleaning my teeth and combing my hair with my fingers. It seems impossible, but in such a hurry I gain a surprising ability to mix the activities which seem infeasible to combine. I'm already late. I resign from the morning shower, grab the underwear, blouse and jeans, put them on; with one hand still stuffed in the sleeve, I paint my lashes and mask the circles under my eyes, just not to scare people away. Now I can show myself to the world without fearing that the kids will start to scream seeing me.

I leave the room, stuffing my cell in the pocket along with some money for the taxi; it's enough, after all, I can't rumble around the town for too long not to let the gang suspect anything. Yeah, what will I tell them if they ask where I was?, I wonder, creeping through the hall. I'll have to think about some creative crap… I have some hours.

'Good morning, Zhalia!'

I brake sharply when a burden appears in the open door – a male chest in a skintight black sweater. automatically, I jerk my eyes approximately 20 centimeters up where I meet a sparkling, golden stare. Dante, fully awaken, without obvious signs of exhaustion which stained his face just yesterday, stands in front of me with his hand on the handle, smiling widely. Well, well, someone here's in a very good mood after a morning walk.

'Hi', I respond wryly, sizing him up with my angry glare. Why the hell did he come back just at this moment?! I wanted to sneak out unnoticed… I should get used that he always sprouts out like a jack-in-the-box, when he is least needed. Or, very rarely, when he can really help out.

'You woke up very early', he throws cheerfully, with energy which contrasts clearly with his yesterday inanition. 'I expected you to use the deserved rest for a bit longer.'

'And who's saying that', I murmur under my breath. 'What an early bird you are, you got up like a skylark.'

'I had an important reason', he responds lightly. Yeah, like usually, a million of urgent world problems to solve. What a Batman. I almost start to look him up and down to notice a cap with two ears sticking out of his clothes. 'And you? Where's you rushing?', he asks, not wiping away a beam from his face.

'I've told you I have something to check out in Vienna', I remind him, still a bit chilly, eyeing him suspiciously. Why's he grinning like that? I have a strange feeling that it's connected with my today's attitude of a total scruff. I slide my fingers through my hair nervously, trying to frizz them not to let them resemble a worn-out mop. I should've use the hairbrush before I left. And do a more careful make-up. Too late for such thoughts…

'Too bad I didn't wait', he states, as if he really regretted it. 'We could've gone together.'

'You'd get bored', I throw sparingly; just now, I'd rather resign from company. 'That's some women's stuff.'

He observes me, as if he waited for a longer comment. I don't give any. Then, Dante clears his throat and starts differently:

'Actually, I'd like to have a walk around…'

'You've already had one', I remark, bristling a bit.

'I just found the post office', he shrugs. 'And only thanks to the receptionist's instructions. I don't know Vienna at all', he confesses, a bit embarrassed, like a lad caught on the lack of knowledge about the times table. It's hard to see him with such a face… though it gives him a surprisingly youthful charm.

'You found us somehow yesterday', I state, trying not to succumb to that quaintness. I grew out of the fascination with boys, now I prefer men.

'Uhm, yeah, basing on my scant knowledge and some useful spells', he admits. 'You know, it's not like I'd get lost in the Old Town or don't know where Wiener Prater is', he explains himself, as if I really was interested, 'but it's a snap for any mere tourist who just wants to take a photo in the famous place. On the other hand, I like to know the cities better, reaching their core, discover those sides which aren't shown in the travel agencies' catalogues… Do you understand?'

I nod, not quite getting why he's telling me all of this, though. He dissipates my wonders quickly.

'I think you know Vienna quite well…', he adds suggestively, smiling a little less confidently, but as warmly and invitingly.

'Well enough to organize you a trip?', I guess.

'That's why I really hoped for', he admits honestly. 'Especially that our final goal would be some cozy coffee house in which we could eat breakfast together. And finally drink that promised coffee.'

My heart skips a beat. Mostly because I don't know how to weasel out of it, which stresses me a lot. Klaus will scold me like hell for the delay nevertheless. I can't allow myself to keep him in await for any longer. And taking Dante with me for that lovely meeting doesn't enter the equation…

However… it's also because I call back my night fantasies. And I state that in spite of how I tried to destroy them, they didn't disappear at all. Especially my attempts to cloy Dante in my eyes misfired, compared to the reality; in concert it turns out that all the elements of his face coordinate quite well, despite all the obvious flaws of his looks (from which some disappeared throughout the night, for example the bags and the bristle, and that nose hair could be just a phantasm…)

Shouldn't I visit Klaus with a good explanation of the delay? A date with Dante Vale seems to be a sufficient reason to lose track of time… I'm certain Klaus will think the same. But… what if I'm mistaken? Still indecisive, I hesitate over taking a step. Maybe I should straighten it out? Maybe I should jack it in and fulfill my duties towards Klaus? But that's such a great chance… I take a deep breath and to cut my stinging doubts, I raise my chin defiantly. What will be, will be. And I'll at least drink my morning coffee, without which I don't function normally.

'Alright', I throw almost like a challenge. 'But I'll make you spend your last money.'

Dante beams, I almost feel the enthusiasm coming from him. His smile deepens, spreads to his eyes.

'I hope so', he responds joyfully, giving me way.

The same day, 8:58

Café Bräunerhof

Stallburggasse 2

Vienna, Austria

'We're here', Zhalia announced with content.

Dante looked around and thought that the 20 minutes long walk in the tempo dictated by the woman was worth it. The coffee house seemed really cozy, stylish and intriguing, characterized by a classic, a bit old-fashioned charm. The interior, decorated with taste distinctive for most locals of this type, encouraged to come inside, slump into a soft, padded armchair and bury yourself in the morning newspaper. However, in such a heat most clients got wooed by the seats in front of the building. Zhalia also choose the table outside – a bit distant from the center of lively chatters, providing more privacy. She led him there with proficiency, as if she had been visiting this place a dozen times. He barely managed to steal her thunder and pull her chair away. She threw him a surprised, but approving gaze, as if he amazed her by such a nice gesture. Perhaps she didn't expect down-to-earth Seekers to be gentlemen as well. Dante intended to show her that his stickler self during the missions and his behavior in private are two different things.

'How do you like it?', she asked, taking her seat with grace and pointing with her head at the unspecified space around.

So far, he liked the most that he had had such a nice company. However, he couldn't say it out loud not to get exposed to some topper.

'Pleasant', he said laconically, sitting in front of her.

'It is, isn't it? It was Thomas Bernhard's favorite café', Zhalia continued lauding, smoothing her blouse. 'The Austrians call him Nestbeschmutzer, one who dirties his own nest, but I'm fond of him; I like people who jumps the gun instead of blabbering what a lovely place their country is… Sorry', she said suddenly, seeing his face. 'I guess I start sounding like Sophie.'

'Not at all', he denied quickly. Even if she did, Dante wouldn't pay attention to it, too preoccupied with observing her.

And the view was really worth praising, though today Zhalia resigned from the determinants of her style – the perfect make-up and faultless hairdo. She brushed away an unruly strand from her forehead with a distinctive gesture, though it came back immediately, and slicked the rest of her hair back. Dante hid a smile which was caused by that move. She repeated it so many times, trying to keep a tight rein on her wild hair, acting in their own way this day… He didn't exactly know why he liked that mess on her head so much, as well as her naturalness and some kind of kittenish nonchalance. In contradistinction to the make-up which was changing her into few years older, killingly precise perfectionist, that carelessness rejuvenated her and added charm, freshness. She looked exactly as she was supposed to – as if she had just gotten up from bed. After a very long, entertaining night which had been too enjoyable to be wasted for sleep while she had had a better alternative…

He was happy that Zhalia didn't have an insight to his naughty thoughts. She possibly wouldn't like that he wondered about her morning absent-mindedness in an erotic way, not even having any premises for that. After all, yesterday she was so exhausted that she hadn't planned any frolics. And with whom? Uhm, he had just one suitable candidate in mind… whose decency he could swear for, though. Even if that guy was actually searching for innuendos in the ordinary rush. And even if such a pretty girl arose dirty fantasies in every grown-up, healthy and vigorous man's head.

'What would you like?', he asked to stop his obscene wonders. 'You were almost running here, as if you were trying to suggest that if you didn't eat something right away, you'd faint on the street. Or that you had a little time for me in your tight schedule…', he added jokingly.

She threw him an attentive gaze and smiled apologetically, seeing that he had only been bantering with her.

'Neither of that', she responded. 'I just like this place.'

'It's visible. Do you often visit it?', he got interested.

'Always when I'm in Vienna.'

'So, how often is it?', he insisted. He saw in her face that she didn't like the question; he almost started to interrogate her. Damned occupational habit.

The awkward silence was interrupted by the cellphone beep; Dante automatically touched his pocket, certain that it was for him, but the ring was unfamiliar. Zhalia quickly reached out to her phone and peeked at the screen. She pursed her lips in a thin line and smacked them with worry, knitting her eyebrows.

'Answer it, don't mind me', he encouraged her.

'It's nothing important', she waved it aside, disconnecting the call. She put the phone on the table. 'So, returning to the topic…'

The cell beeped pressingly again. Zhalia threw it a discontent gaze.

'Seems like a very persistent someone's calling', Dante remarked. 'If you don't answer, he'll interrupt you at least ten times more.'

'Perhaps you're right', she sighed, grabbing the phone helplessly. 'Will you excuse me for a moment?'

'Of course', he said soothingly. 'Just tell me what to order you. When you come back, everything will be there already.'

'Just a cappuccino', she stated.

'Did you really estimate my funds that low?', he joked. 'I'm able to offer you a breakfast.'

'I'm not used to them', she shrugged. 'My whole breakfasts are just a cup of coffee.'

Dante shook his head, not approving of that habit. However, Zhalia didn't see it, as she stared at her cell, still glinting.

'I'll be back in a moment', she assured him. 'It'll take just a sec.'

He nodded. He observed how she maneuvered among the tables, getting out to the empty part of the pavement. She stood next to the concrete post and pressed the phone to her ear. She said something to the receiver – from such a distance, he didn't hear what, reading from lip movements was impossible as well – then she got paralyzed with her lips slightly parted. She shook her head, as if she denied something to her interlocutor. Even from here, there was a visible expression of worry on her face. This conversation apparently wasn't a pleasant one… It looked like an argument, or rather a stream of complaints from the caller, because Zhalia had been silent for few minutes already, hunching her arms and biting her lower lip. She didn't cut back and saddened. But why? Didn't someone like the fact that she was hanging around the streets of Vienna with a guy she barely knew?

He got surprised by such thought. He hadn't wondered before if Zhalia had had anyone. He just regarded it as impossible that someone so busy with Huntik missions could have a love life. He managed to balance it someday, but for some time, he hadn't imagined to reconcile duties with privacy. Maybe Zhalia did? It wouldn't be unbelievable, a girl like her for sure had been easily finding admirers, lured by her glamour… Maybe in the moments which she didn't spend with the group on going through murderous challenges, she was relaxing in someone close's presence? She disappeared without a word so often, not explaining to them where she was going. Probably she protected her intimate space. Or just didn't have anything to boast about…

He looked at her hunched silhouette more carefully. Sadness and stings of remorse were almost steaming from her. She didn't resemble a woman in love, twittering cheerfully to the receiver and beaming with inner light. She looked more like a reproached little girl, with lowered head and one hand placed around the other arm. Her hair had fallen onto her face, but Dante guessed that she didn't have the happiest expression. It contrasted so badly with the self-confident, go-ahead Zhalia he knew…

He almost regretted that he had taken her for this kind of a date. He saw that she had been in hurry. Maybe she had been supposed to meet someone, and he had insisted so much that she hadn't know how to refuse… No, stop. It wasn't Zhalia-like. She handled getting rid of the persistent people with ease. If she had wanted, she'd have put him down in no time. Maybe she didn't really want to fulfill her previous obligations? He had a strange hunch that if she really was in some kind of relationship, it was a completely toxic bond. Otherwise Zhalia wouldn't be so harsh on men. Well, she was harsh on everyone in general, but especially on guys. She reacted so sharply after Dante's last blunder; as if she had already had enough of being let down and that one time had been the last straw that breaks the camel's back, causing her to blast off while she probably didn't have a chance to blow off steam somewhere else, always dissipated, controlled? It was visible with a naked eye that this talk doesn't make her pleased, because she can't even get a word in edgewise, crashed by an avalanche of harsh sentences. So strange. Someone with such an apparition and personality could boldly demand to be carried around in one's arms, however… Dante sighed under his breath. Wasn't there so many such cases; that pretty, sparky girls were wasting beside some thick-skinned brutes who smothered their rich tempers? But those ones were just heroines from some dramatic newspaper articles and guests in the shows about abused victims, strangers. And Dante had a soft spot for this one particular girl…

He sighed again, more heavily. Zhalia had her flaws, but they weren't so serious that a lightly biting tease or a substantive talk wouldn't get rid of them. Stooping to a stream of reproaches wasn't the best way to solve the problem, let alone tightening bonds… He was a poor psychologist, but he knew as much that the women were often more affected by a whisper than a scream.

'Good morning, how can I help you?'

The elegant waiter just like from the pre-war movies appeared next to the table; he seemed only a bit older that Lok, maybe right after the high school. Dante straightened up and looked at him, taking his eyes off Zhalia reluctantly.

'One white tea and one cappuccino please', he responded. He thought for a moment and before the waiter thanked him and left, he added: 'And something what could sweeten this lady's life', he pointed at Zhalia with a move of his head.

The waiter smiled surmisingly.

'Of course', he nodded without unnecessary questions.

Dante gave the smile back, sensing a thread of understanding. He started to believe that something like telepathy existed. Even between men, who, though insensitive for niceties, got easily the meaning of a woman's sad face. And in the blink of an eye took up every actions which could change it.

The same day, 9:03

Café Bräunerhof

Stallburggasse 2

Wiedeń, Austria

'Zhalia, it crosses all the borders!'

Klaus' voice trembles from irritation. I have a strange feeling that the jars filling the shelves in his room will break due to the decibels he emits.

'I'm sorry', I throw, feeling uneasy. 'I won't manage to sneak out. They're hard on my heels. Maybe later, when I lose them somehow…'

'You are a master of camouflage', he reminds me strictly. 'You will not tell me that you are not able to outsmart two brats and a Huntik crud…'

'I could do that if I wanted to spoil my precisely prepared cover of the Huntik agent', I respond, trying to sound convincing. 'Otherwise… they'd be rather surprised that I disappear and don't want to tell them why. I'd prefer not to have those intrusive little bastards spying on me, and believe me, they're able to do it. You don't want to have a kindergarten in your library, do you?'

'I am starting to dislike your indolence', he ignores my question and goes offensively. 'I praised your professionalism to the Professor, and now you are proving time after time that I exaggerated your opinion! I do not have a clue what is happening to you! Maybe you really are not suitable for that mission and we should send someone else? I just do not know on what position you would end, resigning and at the same time disappointing the Professor, and if you would ever again get a more serious task than making him coffee!'

I embrace myself with my own arms; though it's hot around, I feel cold.

'Give me a chance', I choke out, licking my lips; I realize that I rip most of the skin off them with my teeth. 'I promise I'll bring him to you soon. Just don't brush me aside.'

'So show us that you really care!', Klaus growls. 'If I don't see it in the upcoming days…'

I wait for the conclusion, but instead, there is a signal of the ended call rings in the receiver. I remind myself of One Missed Call. And that's not a pleasant association. After receiving such a call, the phone owner usually died… A shiver comes down my spine.

If Klaus discovers that I lied to him, he'd skin me for sure. After all, I could get rid of Dante somehow and go to the library. But I didn't do that… What came over me? Do I really expect desperately that I'll get some success to boast about to Klaus? That, I don't know, something will happen today?

Still grasping the cell, I turn around, peeking at Dante. He lounges on the chair, but it doesn't look boorishly, rather nonchalantly, with some kind of careless class. He stretched his long legs out, interlaced his fingers together and placed them on his belly. As if he was going to take a nap or pretended to be a philosopher. I smile involuntarily and hide my cell in the pocket, judging that since I've lied already, I should use its advantages well.

When I come back to the table, there's not only a cup of aromatic cappuccino topped with an appetizing, chocolate-spotted foam, but also a piece of Vienna cheesecake, decorated with an elaborate pattern of fondant.

'I thought that I have to sweeten your last bothers somehow', Dante explains, springing up momentarily, as if he didn't resemble lazy Garfield a second ago. He pulls my chair back, embarrassing me for the second time. I'm not handicapped, I can get rid of furniture on my own…

'I don't eat sweets', I burst out truthfully, sitting, though it looks rather like a thrust; I fell down inertly, shocked. What's going on with him today? He doesn't have any qualms to command everyone around every day, scold us when we do bad, play a smartass, communicate with us with a gamut of murmurs when he's not in the mood… and now? Where's that old, pissing-off Dante Vale?

It seems like he's still there, in front of me. Who else would be forced to wear that idiotic duster?!

'Oh', he seems disconcerted, coming back to his seat. 'Is that some kind of resolve or you're just doing it in defiance of me?'

'Don't adulate yourself', I taunt him, regaining my spirit. 'I've just never liked them.'

Really, I don't understand people who can't survive a day without a dose of sugar and so-called endorphins. I'm always getting nauseous when I eat too much sweets, and I can't erase their clammy taste from my mouth for the whole day, even the chewing gum doesn't help. I hate that feeling, so I don't miss chocolate, cakes and candies. I prefer my mental comfort than this chemicals-ridden placebo.

'That's quite an explanation', Dante cheers up a bit. 'I thought that you're tormenting yourself with some kind of a diet, and I'm sturdily against them. I couldn't watch patiently how a woman with such a silhouette starves herself', he adds in passing, playing with his cup's handle.

'Don't you think that if you toady me, I'll forgive you faster', I smirk, though it's nice to know that he shares my opinion about all the sexy curves I can be proud of.

'I'm not going to', he responds lightly, taking a sip of his tea. I'd rather see him with a pitch-black coffee, it's more masculine, but well, what did I expect from an Italian? They just play such testosterone machines. 'I'm just saying how it looks like. Ask whoever you want. Just not another woman, because she could tell you from envy that you should lose some weight, and then you wouldn't let me convince you to taste some of that stunner for sure, am I right?', he guesses.

'I won't nevertheless', I shrug, keeping my word. 'Really. I'm fine with the cappuccino, thanks.'

'Don't do that to me', he begs, tilting his head lightly, and the teenage urchin's charm comes back doubled. He could play a student. 'I love to watch how women eat.'

'I'm starting to regret that I went out with you', I state, though this confession doesn't scare me, on the contrary, I enjoy it. 'Are you a feeders? No wonder you don't have a girlfriend', I add spitefully, hoping that I'll get some info about it from him. 'Anyone would let you fatten her without restraint.'

'Don't make fake assumptions', despite what could appear, he isn't offended, just a bit amused by my remarks. Though he clearly avoids talking about his love life. 'I'm just a stereotypical Italian guy who likes eating and cooking. And I can tempt you without any stings of remorse', he throws gallantly.

'And then, when I won't fit into my trousers, buy me new ones', I smile lightly. Words like 'tempt' start to appear, that's good. Even if they're used only in connection to cuisine.

'At most. Please, Zhalia', he insists, pushing the cake closer to me. 'Just try it.'

It's always harder to refuse when he addresses me by my name. I don't know why then exactly.

'Alright, if you eat the half', I accept, dividing the cake in two fairly. 'I'm taking the fork. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you make a faux pas and eat your piece with the teaspoon', I banter with him.

'Oh yes, because it was exactly what I was worried about', he laughs, following my advice. His eyes are shining, but not to the cake.

I wonder how the cheesecake handles the temperature of his stare and doesn't melt into a pulp. I'm hardly keeping my shape. I feel as if I was in the oven, adding the heat around. What a pity I didn't have time to do a better make-up… I bet that in such a sun, every flaw of my complexion and clods of improperly applied mascara are clearly visible. Damn it. To hide my face and not let Dante observe my shortcomings too closely, I lean over the cake quickly and put a piece into my mouth. Alright, if I have to eat sweets, the Vienna cheesecake is a good choice. Though that fondant is too much.

When I lick the fork, I realize that Dante didn't even taste his half. He just sits and watches me, his face looks either as if he was going to have shits or was amazed by something.

'What're you staring at?', I murmur, swallowing the sweet mass.

'I told you I'm a fetishist', he shrugs.

'And that's why you'll be staring at me till I finish?', I ask, wanting to have it clear.

'I'm sorry, I can't resist it', he smiles charmingly, tapping the teaspoon against the plate lightly. 'I shouldn't have told you about my strange habits. They annoy most of the women.'

'Me too. I can't even eat in peace…', I mumble under my breath, though I don't have enough strength to get pissed the way I should. His stare makes me embarrassed, now when I know what he's looking at. I know it's better than contemplating my clumped mascara and the foundation smeared around the eyes, but… I somehow feel uneasy. I'd prefer him to find another activity and stop following me with his eyes, because it makes my hands shake. I barely raise my cup with them, taking a sip.

That gesture wakes Dante up. He finally takes a nibble of his cake, one, two, three – his half disappears in a thrilling tempo. Well, well, he's got quite an appetite. Lucky men that they can eat as much as they want and don't grow fat folds on their hips. Though such a piece is a one-bite snack for him, not a real meal.

'Can I ask you something?', he speaks up when he doesn't have anything to chew.

'I guess you've already did', I remark in defiance, licking the foam from my lips. 'You've got two chances left, like in the TV quiz.'

'Your hair', he adds shortly.

'Yeah, what's up with it?', I ask, taking another bite of the cheesecake. Strangely, I almost start to like it, and there's so little of the sweet snack left.

'I mean the color', he specifies. 'It's rare to see such a shade. Is it dyed or natural?'

'Natural', I respond automatically, stunned with the empty fork next to my mouth. 'It's always been like that.'

He nods, observing me carefully. I also stare at the strands falling onto my arms, a bit surprised. I didn't suppose that they can catch anyone's attention. They're flat and devilishly hard to keep in shape, completely impervious to styling procedures, and if they're not cut properly, too thick, like a bunch of hemp ropes. And I don't really like that color. On the dye boxes, it's called 'inky black'. It sounds dignified, but looks good only on neat hair, and mine aren't like that. Dante's – of course. I haven't seen a man with such thick, shiny, chestnut-colored hair. They have to be strong and pleasant to touch, especially those right above the back of his neck… That's why I have a hunch that he'll just nod with pity above mine.

'You're incredibly lucky', he speaks up. 'Such hair is one of a kind. It's really beautiful.'

I almost drop the fork onto the ground. My hair – beautiful? That unruly shag? I look at him to make sure he doesn't have vitreous eyes or any other symptoms of a high fever. But no, he's just staring at the sunbeams creating sapphire reflections on the top of my head.

'Don't rush like that, cowboy', I dampen him down, trying to win over my own embarrassment. 'Or I'll think that you're hitting on me…'

He smiles mysteriously, but less confidently.

'I'd rather not add to your troubles with that impatient someone', he points at my phone, laying next to the cup. 'He'd rather not be pleased.'

'Oh no, he wouldn't mind', it comes from my mouth before I think about it. 'I mean…', I flounder, not knowing how to make out of it now. 'That was my best friend', I explain to him, catching the first better idea. 'She thinks again that I need a plan for life. She coshed me an oration, not exactly pleasant for me. She advises me to slow down with the work finally. She stated I focus on the missions more than on myself, and…'

'And perhaps she's partially right', Dante interrupts gently, and his eyes are glistening somewhat brighter than a moment ago. 'Don't you think that we deserve a day off, why not today? We could use it to have a trip around Vienna. That walk was pleasant, but it didn't fulfill my voyager nature…'

Something in me trembles lightly. That's quite a progress. Dante aims to spend this Tuesday with me on his own. How could I miss such a chance?!

I stand up from my chair, gaining his surprised stare.

'Get moving', I throw to him energetically. 'Zhalia Moon Tours company takes you for a crazy rally around Vienna. And doesn't accept a refusal!'

The same day, 9:49

The Stephansplatz

Vienna, Austria

'Can you spill the beans already and tell me what you are planning?', Dante asked for a hundredth time, following Zhalia who was making her way through the crowd. Her quick, distinct steps rang against the pavement, and Dante had a perfect chance to take a look at the enticing swing of her nubile bottom, though he tried not to gape too stridently.

'But why, globetrotter?', Zhalia bantered with him. 'Don't you like surprises?'

'You've got me', he admitted. 'I'm one of those who prefer preparing than awaiting them. Unawareness makes me a bit confused.'

'I've noticed', she stated with amusement. 'Though I thought that someone like you was used to act in stress, improvise…'

Not when you're distracting me, Dante confessed just to himself, unable to fight with the temptation to look at the smooth movement of her hips any longer.

That was true, Zhalia's presence affected him strangely. He wanted to show her that he was a cool, interesting guy, meanwhile anything he did turned out to be silly, ridiculous, wanly. Harder he had tried, worse his failure had been. Just like now. It was supposed to be a fully-fledged date, however… he kicked himself due to his trite ideas. Coffee and the cake, for heaven's sake! He sighed silently. Perhaps I really got out of practice. A three years long break from any advanced mating dance made him mistake the steps completely…

Zhalia had to regard him as a terrible bore, so she had to take the lead.

'I'd just enjoy that walk better if I knew where we're going', he murmured, but she probably hadn't even heard him. She was making her way through the crowd on the Stephansplatz expertly, looking around. Her head seemed to go round, her hair danced in the air. Exactly like in some shampoo advertisement. However, any hair from TV screen, computer-aided and souped-up, had never made him want to bury his hand into it; any but this, sending inky reflections.

She suddenly stopped, he almost bumped into her back, hitting some guy in a black jacket. He apologized, the guy threw him a gaze hidden by sunglasses, though he paid more attention to Zhalia. Dante couldn't blame him. The woman stood with her hands on her hips and smiled with satisfaction.

'So, we've made it', she stated. 'Our trip starts here.'

'Here?', he got surprised. This place didn't differ much from the other parts of the square they had passed by.

'Uhm', she responded cheerfully, then all of the sudden, she ran across the pedestrian crossing and at the last moment, she jumped right into the closing door of a tram.

Dante stopped dead, not able to believe what had actually happened. Transfixed, he stared at the black and white tram, going away at a snail's pace and carrying away Zhalia, who made her way to the window and waved at him from behind the windowpane.

He grabbed his pocket when his cell rang loudly. He drew it out and answered it.

'Why're you standing like that?', the woman's radiant voice spoke. 'Catch the next 105, you have to get to the Hoftburg Palace.'

'And that's the surprise you've talked about?!', he choked out to the receiver, looking around feverishly to find the mentioned number.

'There's no better way to get to know the city than wander its streets on your own', she responded lightly. 'You're in a better situation 'cause I'll be sending you instructions. Like in hare and hounds.'

'I knew you'd get your revenge somehow', he moaned not so manly. 'I apologized, asked you out for coffee…'

She burst into just-a-bit-mean laughter, very pleased with herself.

'If you score every checkpoint, you'll get a nice prize at the end', she encouraged him and disconnected before he could even add a single word.

He stared at the cell screen with the information: Call ended: Zhalia. Just like that. As if it had been natural to leave him in the strange city and play cat and mouse with him. He chuckled, not knowing what else would fit that situation.

All right. If she wants to entertain herself like that, he will show her that he knows how to play as well. They'll play it her way. Especially because (though he would never admit it) he was burning with curiosity what surprise she had prepared for him. Again, his mind created images which it shouldn't have; Dante shook them off. Though not with as much elan as before…

What a girl, really.

The same day, 17:28

Klaus' Library

Vienna, Austria

I played it wonderfully.

Not only I managed to keep the date with Dante going (though in a bit different, modified and upgraded version), I also have an opportunity to drop in on Klaus and make up for all my delays, telling him about my brilliant idea to lead Mr. Vale astray and crowning that plan, which has to wait for the evening.

I've always knew that despite the lack of a diploma from any school, I'm a genius.

I throw away the box emptied from fries with satisfaction, chewing their poor scraps (surviving the day after eating just a half of the cheesecake and drinking some coffee? Forget it!). Then I look around if no one sees me and go to one of the townhouses, differing from the others just because it looks even older and more neglected. I ignore the knocker with a grinning mug of some exceptionally ugly Cherit's cousin, draw out the key and put it into the keyhole, then unlock the door and come into the dark hall on my tiptoes.

'Boltflare', I whisper; I'm not really eager to walk blindly and break my leg or something, you know. Ending the date on the intensive care would be gross.

The golden sphere of light slides from my fingers lazily and hangs up like a candelabra disconnected from the ceiling, letting me look around and observe the old corners. Something runs away from the light with a pitter-patter of small paws. I'd say it's a rat, but it has six legs and believe me, there are way more bizarre creatures in this house than mere rodents. There still is the smell of fustiness, decayed paper eaten by the moths, stink of some chemicals and reek of the mentioned creatures. But I can't hold back a sigh when I get a strange feeling that nothing has changed here since my last visit. I go ahead, lightening my way when coming up the steep stairs, shaking like teeth of a sixty-years-old. The proficiency how to go past the holes in the stairs comes in handy; any other chick in high heels wouldn't manage, I guarantee, but I reach the right, intricately ornamented door in one piece. Another knocker, even more hideous than the previous one. Klaus has a liking to such things; the more monstrous they are, the more honorable place they hold in his collection. I take the handle with two fingers, noticing clammy fingerprints on it, and knock shortly, but loudly.

'Who's there?', Klaus' hoarse voice speaks.

'Zhalia', I respond under my breath.

'Come in', he throws abruptly.

I don't put off and accept the invitation, very profuse as for Klaus. The room which I entered could look airy if not the omnipresent, dark colors, which seem to absorb the space. The ebony furniture looks as if it was carved in rock - due to the dimness created by the heavy, cretonne curtains. On the other hand, the sculptures lingering in the corners, of course made of stone, get some kind of smooth, even slimy and unpleasant shapes. The paneled walls look almost like a cage closing around me, the impression is doubled by the bookcases, adjoining each other to fit in as much of them as possible. The books are filling them in two rows; the first one covers the backs of the second one, despite that, they stand straight and in a compact formation. Sadly, this order is messed up by the volumes piling up on them, sliding down from each other, dispersing into single pages, filled with the thin, spidery handwriting and pictures which anyone normal wouldn't like to watch. However, that study isn't owned by anyone whose photo I'd place under the definition of 'normal', and who actually is showing only a shiny bald top of his head above the back of his armchair, turned away from me.

'I'm here', I announce casually, as if I had just returned from shopping in the nearby supermarket. Well, as you see, I'm not very effusive as well.

The armchair creeks quietly and turns left a bit, letting the person sitting in it come into the circle of light. The brightness of my personal charm sparkles on the glossy sleekness of his skull, flickers shyly in his long hair starting on the occiput (years before dark, now in a very advanced state of going gray), lazily slides down his furrowed, old face, then smoothly reaches that half of his skeletal, sinewy body covered by a maroon shirt and a black vest. The rest – his long, stick-thin legs – is hidden by the desk, but I'm certain that nothing has changed – Klaus is still the same old, spindly, twisted weirdo I left here. And he still needs a monocle to take a closer look on me. The round glass twinkles shortly when he raises his head higher.

'Sit down', he shows me the chair in front of his desk with a gesture of his dry hand.

I'd rather choose the wide sofa, soft like a water-bed, on which I'd lounge unceremoniously, with my legs on the headrest and my head buried deeply in the pillow, surrounded by the bookcases like by towers. Every princess needs one. However, I know how Klaus hates desecrating his sanctuary by such informal acts (especially kicking his lair with my dirty boots), and I don't want to wind him up today, I was getting on his nerves the whole morning after all. I obediently sit on the simple chair, which is so old that it probably stood next to the Round Table.

Klaus observes searchingly how I settle on the well-worn, red pillow.

'Are you comfortable?, he asks in a surprisingly sweet voice.

'Not much', I admit honestly. 'But no problem, it's good for the buttocks. At least I won't get the cellulite…'

'So, you found some time', he remarks with the same unnaturally nice voice, interrupting me hastily.

'Yeah, yeah', I throw lightly. 'The brats went about their own business, they're probably having fun in the city now, and Dante… he was taking care of something in the post office, then he was going to get down to Lambert's journ…'

SNAP.

I choke with my own breath and swallow the end of the sentence, falling down onto the floor and holding my face. My cheeks burns as if it was touched by the red-hot iron. Through the tears of pain, I see the armchair pushed away to the wall, which knocked off some books from the windowsill, and the fair legs of Klaus' trousers; him standing above me now. I raise my eyes to him slowly and cringe involuntarily, seeing his stare which should have crushed the monocle, being so hard.

'Do not dare to lie to me again', the old man growls like a furious bullterrier, I see an artery pulsating wildly on his neck.

'What are you talking about?!', I choke out, feeling the skin around my jaw getting swollen.

'You won't manage to sneak out?!', he yells, drops of his saliva sprinkle onto my face. 'They're hard on your heels the whole day?! You'll drop in when they stop spying on you?!'

'But I'm here!', I scream dependently, though it makes my mandible ache more. 'I came! I've got King Basilisk!'

'I should order you to chew his amulet and swallow with all your teeth for every lie you try to feed me with', Klaus drawls icily. He looks as if he had an attack of apoplexy; his wrinkled face is red, swollen, a net of veins is pulsating on his temple. 'My people saw you on Spittelberg while you were chirping with Dante Vale! And it didn't seem like you had been trying to rid yourself off him if you took him onto the Stephansplatz later!'

He takes the wind out of my sails. In fact, I had a hunch that I had seen a Suit… but I ignored it, he disappeared in the crowd so quickly that he could have been taken for a mirage. Meanwhile he was flesh and blood and like a faithful dog, he grassed me up to Klaus, saying that I was hanging around Vienna with Dante. Though he overdid that chirping part… I'm not some f*cking lovey-dovey.

'You wanted it', I whisper; that way speaking isn't so painful. 'You wanted him to lose his head for me. I'm just fulfilling your orders.'

'You are not a high school student to rendezvous anyone! You are not supposed to befriend him, just to seduce him! I guess I do not have to explain it to you! You know exactly how to make it! You proved it many times!'

A shiver of abasement shoots through me. Yes, that's true. I'm not a model of virtues. I had more men than I can count on my fingers. But he shouldn't point it out to me, given that he was the one who arranged the meetings with them. He was putting me up like some kind of commodity, and who wouldn't take an occasion getting into his hands? And what woman would protest against being a nicely wrapped gift, knowing that if she rebelled, she'd find herself out on the street, where she'd have to end up as a girl-to-get, only without the whole luxurious surrounding?

I swallow the tears of pain and humiliation; however, apart from their bitterness in my mouth, I also feel the taste of the cheesecake on my back teeth. So that's the whole sweetness I can have in life? A piece of cake and some short moments of physical pleasure, if I'm lucky enough to have a proper victim who won't treat me like a slice of meat, quickly losing freshness and attractiveness?

No. There's also a honey-colored gleam of Dante's eyes, shining warmly to me above the table… offering me the seat and the cake, complimenting me, looking at me as if… as if he couldn't get enough. The first person who considered my hair beautiful. No one has ever told me that I'm beautiful. That there's anything beautiful in me. They were always announcing that to me by lustful panting into my ear and pushing their hands into my pants. But Dante only stares. He stares and smiles, such a gentle, good smile which I can't understand, but which embarrasses me even more, more than if he suddenly started to touch me up…

'What is holding you back?!', Klaus' voice interrupts that vision sharply, not allowing me to finish the thought; it stops and vanishes. It leaves just a faint, now sourish taste of the cheesecake, which doesn't bring even a bit of sweetness of that memory soothing the pain of my cheek just a moment ago. Now there's only a nondescript blink in the café; another ordinary couple blabbering nonsense in the common rendezvous place… Nothing special, just a short break during my mission, which would end up like always… What differs him from the others, after all? Isn't ruffling his feathers just a sophisticated way to make me more willing to take my clothes off for him? Is it worth resigning from the task which will bring me good fortune and prosperity?

No. The gold of Dante's eyes won't buy me affluence.

'Nothing', I whisper powerlessly to the knot on the panels. 'I'll settle it this evening. This time for sure.'

My voice sounds somehow strange. The quiet splash, caused by the wagging tail of something living in the aquarium next to the wall, seems way more familiar.

'That is good', Klaus speaks up eventually. 'That is very good.'

The crack of his knees also doesn't suit the situation. It's very rare for him to kneel down to me. In fact, he has done it only three time since I know him. He hit me way more often. I twitch when he embraces my shoulders and lifts me up. I hope he didn't feel it. I want to be as cold as a rock for him, not let him know that he injured me in any way, though my cheek still hurts like hell. I won't give him the satisfaction. It doesn't bother me. I'm high above it.

Klaus tenderly brushes my hair away when he examines the swelling.

'It is nothing', he says gently, almost humbly. 'It will disappear without a trace soon. I will take care of it in a moment.'

He goes to his desk, leaving me as I stood – unmoved, stunned, lifeless. I observe emotionlessly how he draws out a swab, soaks it in some bluish liquid and comes to me with the prepared compress. I hiss when he puts it next to the swelling, and I pull back, closing my lids tight. He keeps me in place.

'You know it must go this, sweetheart', he whispers helplessly, placing the compress on the red circle and stroking my hair awkwardly with his hand twisted like a claw.

I nod automatically, like a doll. I feel the tears sneaking out from under my eyelids and sliding through my skin. I know he's not talking about the compress. And I also know that I'm not crying only because it hurts so damn much.

He hasn't called me 'sweetheart' since I turned 13.

The same day, 21:01

Karlsplatz

Vienna, Austria

Dante hadn't experienced such a crazy escapade yet, and he had already go through many extreme trips. He hadn't imagined that seeing Vienna's most famous points in one day was possible, but it had just gotten dark and he had already been in every part of the town. He was certain that taxi drivers were cursing the troublesome tourist, who told them to give him a lift in another direction approximately every hour. However, sometimes following Zhalia's instruction that way was impossible, so he was getting into the trams unceremoniously and jumping off some stops later, forced to make his way through the passengers and landing on the pavement at the last moment, when the vehicle was pulling out.

First, he had to get to the Hofburg Palace. When he had already been here, a bit crumpled due to the crush in the tram, the next hint led him to the Museum of Natural History, where he had spent an hour, waiting for the message which had had to be delivered by a 'loud fellow'. It had turned out that the paper with the tinier was stuck onto the tooth of a reconstructed allosaurus, which was moving and roaring in even amounts of time. When Dante finally had gotten the scrap (though it hadn't been easy to get through a bunch of kids, astonished by the dinosaur), he moved to the Town Hall, and then, making a circle, he had gotten back to the Stephansplatz; The National Opera and Albertina amazed there. Later, probably due to some kind of black magic, he had taken a walk in Belvedere for the second time in two days, but Zhalia hadn't let him rest there. Thanks to the information written cleverly among the children's chalk splotch on the pavement, she had ordered him to find Schonnbrunn. Then he had gotten lost for a while in the local orangery, unable to find any tip despite his detective zest he had been examining the area with. The riddle had been solved when after an hour, Zhalia had sent him a short message: You deserve a break. You'll be rewarded if you find Karlsplatz on your own.

Breathless, sweating profusely in the June heat and frustrated by her constant runaways, he had been cursing under his breath, however, the chase had woke him up and refreshed him. In a while, he hadn't had an opportunity to forget about all his worries and simply enjoy the weather, the beauty of the city and a crazy pursuit of the girl who had been coming and going, like awill-o'-the-wisp, leading him astray. Faster she had been running away, more he wanted to catch her… He felt like Alice chasing the White Rabbit, who was more similar to a very naughty Playboy bunny, though. Especially when he imagined her lingering, hazel gaze staring at him above her shoulder and luring him: Come on, chase me!

So he did. And finally, after so many efforts, he had reached the finish.

Not due to his own swiftness or brains. At some point, he just had had enough of wandering blindly and simply asked some people on the tram stop how he would reach the destination the fastest. Then he had caught the first tram from the long list they advised him, and eventually, after several minutes of coughing and nudging from the other passengers, he had waddled onto the pavement on the Karlsplatz. On the right, he had a high, glass pavilion, on the left a fast food stand, which made his stomach rumble. A square building stuffed between a few similar small shops seemed like an oasis on the desert. Luckily, it didn't turn out to be a mirage, when Dante leaned on the counter with both of his elbows, pushing his head through the narrow window.

'Anything, just quick', he panted, dying from hunger.

A guy bustling about among the pots turned around and smiled mockingly at the sight of his tired face. He reached to his pocket and handed Dante a folded paper towel without a word.

'Thanks', Dante murmured, brushing sweat from his forehead and observing how the guy's yellow T-shirt comes back to the area of the stove.

'A lost tourist, hm?', the boy guessed without any effort; his English, though with a characteristic accent, was quite good. Vale even suspected that the guy may have been some talented student, earning money during his holidays. He got embarrassed a bit that it was so easy to tell that he was confused.

'Yeah', he admitted nevertheless, swallowing his pride.

'There's a lot of them', the boy stated carelessly, preparing something on the table so quickly that Dante didn't see what exactly it was. He just hoped it would be eatable. After a moment, the boy turned around and giving him a considerable hamburger, he leaned on the counter. 'Are you looking for something specific?'

Dante hardly swallowed a huge bite and responded just half-clearly:

'A woman.'

The student seemed to understand it.

'Who don't', he grinned, stopping to chew a gum for a moment. 'Anyone concrete?'

'A brunette, very original hair color', Dante précised between another bites. 'Slender, quite tall, very shapely figure. An olive skin. She wore…', he racked his brain; he wasn't Dior to be confident in clothes matter. He just remembered that she had put on jeans today for sure. Zhalia always wore jeans.

'Enough, that's enough', the boy interrupted him cheerfully. 'You passed the exam. Someone like that was here. Kate Moss in her best years!', he smacked his lips in acclaim, then he continued: 'She said that I'm supposed to pass a message on to some ugly guy in a lame duster. You fit the description', he added bluntly.

'And that description was Zhalia's composition for sure', Dante smiled crookedly, throwing the hamburger tissue to the dustbin nearby. 'What message is it?'

'That your lady is waiting in the pavilion', the student informed him. 'That's it', he pointed at the glass building standing on the other side of the street. 'But seems you're late. Today it's already closed. I'm done as well, there're not many customers now. Only late ones like you', he added.

'Thanks', Dante said gratefully, placing a banknote on the counter. 'Keep the change.'

He turned away and headed towards the pavilion with his hands in his pockets.

'Damn, it was worth staying here after hours!', the boy shouted to his back, probably counting what a high tip he had gotten. 'Good luck! And drop in again!'

Dante smiled to himself and waved, not even turning back. Then, in a flush of enthusiasm, he ran through the pedestrian crossing, though the green light was already twinkling, and managed to jump onto the pavement on the other side of the road before the red one got lightened. He came to the pavilion's door and pulled them pro forma; the inscription on them was saying clearly that the attraction was closed at 16:45 from April to October. However, if Zhalia had changed the meeting point, she would have written to him about it for sure… if only it wasn't just a joke and she hadn't been sitting in the hotel for a long time, laughing his naivety off.

He shrugged; if he was already here, it wouldn't hurt to check if he was going here for nothing.

'Farslip', he murmured, putting his finger next to the door; a thread of bright yellow energy slipped into the keyhole, the lock cracked quietly. The handle yielded with ease. Dante looked around if anyone didn't see him and creeped inside like a shadow, almost pinching his duster.

For some time, he was afraid to breathe louder, aware that building like that usually had some kind of alarms and various other ways of protection. However, it seemed that they were switched off when he opened the door without using force. He started to walk the long corridor; his steps rang against the tiles like in a church. He opened another door and walked under a glass dome; moonbeams were coming through it, spreading gentle, silvery light.

It was almost as if he had traveled few thousands of kilometers west in a flick, entering some Southern America jungle. He was surrounded by tropical plants, twining around and creeping up exactly as if they had been growing here for a long time, sowed by exotic birds, not by human hand. He twitched when something brushed against his cheek, like a fleeting touch of a lacy handkerchief. He looked around, but he didn't see anything. He made few steps forward and the feeling that something moved around him increased. Some spots of colors were flashing in the moonlight; they glittered like specks of dust… coming up and down, fluttering their glistening wings…

'Butterflies?', he whispered in awe, raising his head and taking in the amazing view.

Yes, those were butterflies; tiny, rapid shadows, stealing through the leaves, flying right before his face, sitting on the flowers and drinking their juices. For a moment, he felt as if he had been discovering the beauty of the Brazilian back and beyond or sinking into the mysterious depths of Amazonian rainforests again… like in the old days when he had been just a brat, hanging around his carers and absorbing the riches spreading around him greedily…

He stopped dead, unable to make a move, overflowed with a wave of memories which, though sweet, had also developed a bitterish taste lately. However, he forgot about it here. He wanted to think just about those sunny days in the forest asylums of Turkey, the smell of soil there, the aroma of flowers, the puffs of wind ruffling his hair, and falling asleep to the accompaniment of the quiet music of cicadas…

An off-key accord sneaked into the melody of the past; a quick, shallow sob, a breaking sigh.

Dante opened his eyes and abandoned the beneficial pleasure of coming back to the good old days, looking around. Then, he just realized that in one of the convex, stained-glassed windows, on the wide windowsill, a petite silhouette had curled. She seemed very fragile, almost transparent, as if the moonlight had been coming through her slender, hunched back. The light was breaking in her loose, dark hair, decorated by a small wreath made of a twig falling onto her forehead; a white orchid bud faltered at the end of it. And suddenly Dante thought that in any forest on any hemisphere, he had never met such a charming nymph. Even if any nymph had never been modern enough to change her flimsy green tulles for a pair of navy jeans which didn't spoil a tiny bit of her womanly subtleness and grace.

'Zhalia', he said under his breath, and the happiness which had dared to rise in his chest only increased.

She was the one who had led him here, after all. She showed him that extraordinary place which was like an album with old photos, an alley of memories, a time machine, taking him back to the missed land of childhood. That's why he could forget about all the spite she had been treating him with. That's why he was so glad to find her finally, to understand what was the prize she had promised him.

He approached her, stood next to her hideout. She made him a seat without a word, he sat gratefully.

'It's beautiful', he whispered warmly to let her feel honesty in his voice.

She smiled lightly, just with a corner of her mouth.

'I left the best for the final', she responded as quietly; none of them wanted to destroy the mystical aura of that calm refuge. 'Alright, second in my ranking. My undisputedly favorite place is the zoo, but it's besieged by the kids during summer.'

'The zoo?', he was surprised. Liking a zoo didn't fit the mature, reasonable operative. He couldn't imagine her standing next to the cage smelling of monkey fur. She would even talk the parrots to death.

'Uhm', she murmured approvingly, a bit perversely. 'I like to visit the herpetarium.'

'Oh, so that's the way it is', he nodded. It sounded more convincing that raving over the meerkats. Zhalia looked as someone who prefers more rapacious pets, and a boa she could dream about wouldn't have feathers and be easy to twine around her neck without a risk of being choked. It was enough just to look at her Titans – Gareon and King Basilisk belonged to the reptile family for sure.

'It's not bad here, though', she judged. 'I'm picky, but I like it nevertheless, that means something.'

He didn't admit it out of politeness. He took a closer look at her instead. His happiness was fading slowly, forced out by the concern increasing every minute. What had happened to that morning Zhalia, that lively, energetic girl who hadn't needed a ton of make-up and perfect looks to amaze him with her cheerfulness and spontaneity? She had disappeared somewhere, taking away everything charming and appealing and leaving only an empty shell, spirited away. The woman's eyes were fixed on the city lights shining in the distance; the lamps were reflecting in them like a thousand stars. Too clearly. Dante noticed suddenly that her lids were surrounded by reddish spots; an obvious sign that she had cried.

He cupped her chin gently, trying to turn her face to him; she threw him an attentive, frightened glare and yanked aside, involuntarily uncovering her right cheek, hidden behind her hair until now. The right side of her lower jaw was inflamed, swollen; a bruise was ripening on it and even a curtain of strands, quickly brushed back onto its place, couldn't hide it. He raised his hand, lit a flickering flame, wanting to examine it more carefully.

'Bolt…'

'No!', a hoarse yet determined voice interrupted him. 'You'll hurt them…'

With a gesture of her hand, she pointed at the butterflies which would burn in the fire like a piece of paper.

'You've been already hurt by someone', he remarked, still staring at her with anxiety.

'You spend too much time skimming through your files', she smiled patronizingly. 'I just tripped on the pavement, that's all.'

'You know that's how my clients explain themselves at first?', he responded the same way. 'Even those who later cry openly, talking about their abusive lovers.'

Her smile faded like a blown-out match.

'I'm not your client', she reminded him coldly.

'No', he admitted. 'Someone more than that. We're working together, we're partners, you supported me during many dangerous missions, yesterday you rescued us… and now I'm supposed just to watch how you struggle with some personal troubles? Don't expect me to do so.'

Zhalia just curled, bending her knees to her chin; a gesture of a defenseless little girl who tries to cut herself off from the whole world, hide in her small solitary spot and forget about everything evil.

'You didn't run away from a comic', she said very quietly, forgetting to apply the previous haughtiness to her voice. 'Don't play a savior of the aggrieved party.'

'That's not it', he said quickly and stopped. Zhalia looked at him expectantly, as if she also had wanted to know what he meant. He saw her tense muscles, the question in her eyes. How was he supposed to tell her that? That despite his formal words, he had been looking at her not only like a mission comrade for some time? That seeing her so sad, he felt an impulse piercing through him, a desperate need to hug her, simply embrace her and stroke her hair, say that everything would be alright…?

Words failed him; he reached his arms out impulsively, but Zhalia stopped him with a quiet hiss, backing a bit.

'Don't move', she whispered, looking somewhere at his shoulder.

He got stunned, paralyzed, with his hands raised stupidly, then lowered again slowly. He also peeked down, not moving his head, and noticed a greenish shine on the collar of his duster. A small butterfly was opening and joining its wings every half of second, glistening like an emerald. Zhalia took a closer look and an envious expression appeared on her face.

'That's not fair', she murmured. 'I visit this place regularly and it hasn't happened to me even once. You're here for the first time and they act as if they knew you.'

As if to deny those words, a lone butterfly fluttered above her head, hesitating, then it sat on one dark strand, faltering like some kind of an odd hairpin. She noticed it with the corner of her eye.

'What color is it?', she asked Dante.

Trying to hide his embarrassment caused by the previous failed excess, he observed the brave insect, which was climbing persistently to the white orchid's calyx.

'Dark', he stated. 'Black or brown, with some white on the edges.'

'I knew it', she replied, then she shook her head fiercely, scaring the intruder away. 'There's a superstition', she started, seeing Dante's asking gaze. 'What color will be the first butterfly you see in the spring, that will be your whole year.'

'It's summer already', he remarked gently, treating such superstitions with leniency. 'You must've seen many other butterflies.'

'I don't remember any of them so clearly. Just this one', she insisted, observing the herald of her fate with dislike.

Dante sighed, knowing that there was just one way to convince the woman. He checked if the green trinket was still sitting on his shoulder, then he surrounded it with his hands cautiously, closing it in a loose cage made of his fingers. Then he reached it out to Zhalia.

'Here you go', he said encouragingly, giving her the little butterfly, tickling his hands with its legs. 'You saw it first.'

'Luck isn't something you can relinquish', she smirked wryly.

'But you can always use it to make the others happier', he responded warmly. 'Take some of mine. I have plenty of it. Especially today. That's your merit, so you fully deserve sharing it.'

She raised her eyes at him, still a bit blurred by tears. They seemed so large in this light, darker than usually. Frightened or just surprised? He didn't know. However, he felt her slender fingers trembling when he tried to put the butterfly between them. Her nails scratched the bones on his thumbs when the girl rapidly backed her hands and jumped from the windowsill all of the sudden, startling a bunch of exotic insects.

'Release it', she threw domineeringly, returning to her usual, commanding timbre and walking under the dome in a quick pace.

In the alley of light coming down from the glass roof, she looked like an actress followed by the searchlights; the wings of the butterflies flying here and there played the camera flashes, twirling around like a colorful confetti. Zhalia acted as if she had really tried to turn out well on the photos for some magazine – she brushed her face with an impatient gesture and straightened up, walking proudly and confidently like a model on the catwalk. A highflier would never let herself show weakness when the paparazzi were around, just waiting for her mistakes.

Dante sighed, observing that brave march painfully. Then he looked at his hands and placed them next to his mouth.

'Bring her some happiness, alright?', he whispered; his warm breath stroked the tiny hair on the butterfly's body. 'Don't let her down. You owe your life to her, without it, you would burn in Boltflare's fire. Don't forget about it.'

It felt a bit stupid; talking to some insect, as if it really could have changed anything. He didn't even believe in such superstitions. He shook his head and quickly released his winged prisoner. He watched it fly to the roof, on the background of the bright moon.

'You coming?', Zhalia asked from the distance. 'Hurry up or you'll have to spend the night here! You won't come back on your own, remember!'

It was a bit calming that she had used her usual annoyed voice, but it didn't help him scare away his worries completely. He followed her, though, knowing that she shouldn't be alone. That he didn't want her to be.

I really wish I could see her smiling more often, he thought, but he knew that no butterfly could make it happen. It was rather a task he could try to fulfill…

The same day, 22:29

Huntik Foundation Hotel

Spittelberg

Vienna, Austria

He didn't dare to asked her about the bruise again.

It was catching his attention like a magnet, though. All his thoughts were focused on it. Any ancient secret had never absorbed him as much as a gloomy mystery of the bluish crescent on Zhalia's cheek, now hidden behind her inky hair from the curious glare of the taxi driver and a few passers-by wandering around Spittelberg at that hour.

Why hadn't he just hugged her? Why hadn't he tried again? Maybe then that burden, which was raising between them every time he tried to get closer to her and understand why she was changing her attitude towards him so often, would disappear? Sometimes he had a feeling that they were on the right path to stop being just acquaintances; and a moment later something happened, pushing them away to the different extremes, so distant that for half an hour, the woman hadn't found any urge to speak just a word.

'Zhalia', he said her name so gently that his breath wouldn't make a leave move.

However, he didn't have time to continue. The driver braked sharply. When the car just stopped next to the Foundation hotel, Zhalia jumped off it rapidly. Dante quickly paid to the taxi driver and followed her, covering her with his duster from the rain and opening the door in front of her. She looked at him; the drops on her cheeks could be only a drizzle because her eyes were already dry.

'Listen…', she started before she came in. 'Let's forget about it, alright? I mean, the overemotional part. And don't tell the kids anything, OK? I don't need their comments.'

'As you wish', he responded, observing her worriedly. 'But you know that if you have any troubles, you can always…'

'I know', she smiled palely to her hands. 'I know. You're just that kind of guy.'

It closed Dante's mouth. He thought intensively what he could add. What was that supposed to mean? What kind of guy he was in her eyes? He wanted to ask, but he was interrupted by the guests coming from the hotel – as it turned out, their next door neighbors. A tall, broad-shouldered man was embracing a long-haired (and long-legged) blonde in the waist, probably expecting them both to fit in the narrow door together. Dante and Zhalia backed, giving them way. The woman threw them a lingering stare and smiled knowingly. Exactly as if she had guessed that they also were a very noisy and playful couple, absorbing everyone around into their erotic life by their loud smooching.

Dante regretted that he didn't know any silent way to signal them: 'No, we're not like that'. He didn't want anyone to suspect them of romance, it could disparage Zhalia, make her situation worse, especially now when she was dealing with some mysterious troubles.

Zhalia found a speechless way to cut the gossips. She just filled her lips scornfully, making the blonde get embarrassed; hurrying her partner up, she cleared off. Then agent Moon crossed the doorstep and ran up the stairs without any break. Dante caught up with her on the second floor and managed to come into the room before she closed the door. That way, they both faced the two young Seekers, who furrowed their brows at the same time, seeing them.

'Where have you been?!', Sophie burst, leaning to them with her hands akimbo.

'We were looking for you!', Lok joined in, crossing his arms on his chest.

'You didn't even left a scrap of info!', the girl continued.

'We were calling you, any of you didn't answer or write a message!', the boy added.

'We thought that the Suits got you!'

'We were almost preparing the ransom!'

'I did', the Casterwill corrected her pal, accentuating trenchantly who held the fortune.

'Nevermind!', Lok bridled. 'We were worried about you!'

'It's unbelievable you acted so irresponsibly!'

Dante had a stupid feeling that a change of roles occurred – it was him and Zhalia who were supposed to tell the kids off for their recklessness, however, Sophie and Lok treated them like a pair of unreasonable teenagers who had returned from the party too late. What, as Dante stated, was an overreaction…

Luckily Zhalia, like many times this day, knew what to do. Or rather – what to say.

'Oh, f*ck off', she murmured, passing by the youngsters. 'I'm fed up with your row.'

She came into her room, slamming the door behind her violently. The crack of the frame sounded like a gunshot in the evening silence of the hotel.

The same day, 22:45

Huntik Foundation hotel

Spittelberg

Vienna, Austria

I couldn't.

I just couldn't.

I know that the atmosphere was perfect – a silent, moonlit evening, a romantic place in which we were alone, smells mixing around us like an aphrodisiac, privacy… Too perfect. I couldn't deny myself just that one amazing, unearthly moment of isolation from the reality, from Klaus' expectations, from my mission; spoil it by pouncing at Dante rapaciously and screw violently until dawn. Not there. That place means too much for me to desecrate it with an empty, meaningless sex.

On the other hand, I couldn't allow myself to have some sensitive, wonderful intimacy, that one which happens only in the books and movies. It would make me fall apart completely. I've gotten too soft already if Klaus had to put me back together in such a drastic way. It might have been that right then, in such a submissive part of the cycle, in such a passive state, I'd take a liking to Dante's caresses. And maybe even a strange thought would appear in my head: that it would be a pity to resign from them just for the Professor's discretion…

Ridiculous, right?

I don't even like him. He's just a puppet in my hands, I'm pulling his strings the way I only want to. And I should do it harder just because he was the one guilty of making me soften like this. And forcing Klaus to hit me. Yes, that's all his fault. And he should regret it.

I want it to happen, but in a different place. Let it be some neglected motel. Or an elevator. Or even a public toilet, a comfort station. It doesn't matter, it should just happen in the environment I wouldn't even like to think about, let alone calling back. I want that act to be disgusting, obscene, bawdy, miserable. Not something I would want to return to. It should outshadow even the charm of this day, humiliate Dante in my eyes, sling mud at him, blend him with those who were earlier, whom I despise so much.

I just don't want to think about his amber eyes, clear, deep and so tender… so worried when he lightly, gently like one of the butterflies floating around us, placed his hand on my chin with a pleasant, friendly gesture…

I simply couldn't have done that. Not when he took pity on me. Sex out of mercy is disparaging.

I will have to lie to Klaus again. And again, risk a slap. Nevermind. It bothers me less than another matter.

Why it's so visible that it's hard? That I'm breaking apart? Even that stupid slut from the next room, who made quite a concert last night, looked at me as if she knew. But she doesn't. No one has a slightest idea. Even Dante. He thinks he solved my mystery, but he's wrong. He lives in a different world, knows nothing about the real life. He sinks in fame, admiration, luxury. He's a Don Kichote who fights windmills but can't even imagine real hardships. How could he know what it is like when you can't manage your ass on your own? When you're just a tool in someone else's hands? A living equivalent of a rubber doll?

I sink onto the floor, leaning on the door, falling onto my butt and hiding my head in my arms.

'It must go this way, Zhalia', I repeat Klaus' words, clenching my teeth and swallowing tears. 'It must…'

Though I have been biting my lower lip till it started to bleed for some time, now I have to bury my face in my elbow; I can't let out the cry which wants to leave my mouth despite all the rubbish I'm trying to make myself believe.