Spellbound Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Speak Softly Love
Tagging: nvswift @blooddrop-palace @foxterra @veenus-ow @vixenindecay @music-of-chaos @fuckyouseratonin @harlot-of-oblivion @yepps @sirenrayne @death-muffin @storminwomanform If you wish to be also tagged for future chapters, feel free to let me know!
AO3
Vergil x Witch!F!Reader Word Count: 14,788
Song for this fic: Parla Piu Piano (Speak Softly Love)
Vergil couldn't help but dwell on the witch’s words, finding himself going back to them despite his best attempts to try and focus on literally anything else. No matter what he tried, his mind found itself being haunted by his beloved witch’s words.
“Tell me, Gwen...if he’s an abomination for what dwells within his blood, then what the hell am I?”
Although a part of him wanted to dismiss it as having been nothing more than a poetic or philosophical question meant to nag at the lesser witch, there was still something that didn’t sit quite right with Vergil. He still had yet to ask her about how she came to inherit her powers since she was of the rarer variety who had been born with them, not outright needing to create an official pact with a patron to get to where she is now. Even as the two had simply enjoyed the remainder of their day together over tea and sweets, Vergil couldn’t help but linger on such thoughts.
Oddly enough she seemed more quiet after the incident with that Gwen woman, almost as though attempting to build up whatever walls had previously cracked and thawed between her and the ambush in the alley. Though, during that more calm and quiet time together, he couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion in her eyes, noting the dark bags under her eyes along with the increased lethargy in her movements, as almost entirely drained of energy and in dire need of rest. He knew for certain she had drained herself from the demon ambush, though it would be of no surprise to him if the added encounter with Gwen didn’t help in restoring her magical energies either.
As much as a part of him wanted to poke and pry her for information, he didn’t wish to exhaust her any more than he already had. Though, being no less curious, Vergil decided after long and hard deliberation to turn to an alternative source that knew her far better and longer than he did. All of which leading to him sitting across the amethyst eyed, leather bound demon that was the witch’s infamous partner.
“Well well well I was hardly expecting for you of all people to treat me to a brunch date so soon. I’m truly flattered,” Zane teased with a wolfish grin as he sipped from his cappuccino, glancing over his slim black sunglasses. “Should I expect you to take me to dine and dance next, kind sir?”
Vergil’s eyes narrowed unamusedly, huffing slightly as the demon simply continued to smirk tauntingly. “I’m starting to see what she meant that my brother’s antics were child’s play.”
The demon merely snorted in response as he sat himself up, chuckling. “Oh, kiddo, your baby brother has nothing on my antics. Though give him a few hundred years or so then we’ll see how close he gets to matching my own chaos...Though, we’re not exactly here to talk about me, now are we?” Zane said with a knowing grin, his narrowed brow having zeroed in on the Dark Slayer’s intentions a mile away. “As much as I love to talk about myself and hear my own voice for the next hour, I think we both know who the real topic of conversation is given recent events. Though I can’t say I expected the desperate ginger ex to make an appearance this early...” he sighed, voice trailing off as he casually sipped his coffee before turning his attention back to Vergil, his casual doggish grin returning once more. “And judging by that silence of yours, I’d say I’m about right, aren’t I?”
Vergil said nothing, momentarily averting his gaze from the demon as he closed his eyes, arms folded across his chest as he sat back from the demon. “Anything else you’d like to read from me while you’re at it.”
“Hmm...Your zodiac is Scorpio, you like long moonlit walks and have a slight bias towards cats...Oh and you have a private locked up collection of trashy Victorian era Harlequin novels stashed in a locked trunk under your bed.” Zane didn’t even have to look at Vergil to sense his increasingly annoyed aura as he merely laughed, clearly having fun verbally poking him with every passing moment. “There, there, Ice Queen, I’ll answer your questions. Think of this as just getting the payment for it done with. I sadly have not had my own brother to mess with lately and so will have to do with you instead. You two are similar enough after all to be a suitable replacement for the time being.”
Vergil’s eyes narrowed, clearly unamused by the demon’s childish antics. Despite his curiosities regarding this other demon in question, that thirst for information would have to be quenched at a later date. “I want to know more about Y/N. She said something the other day that seemed different than normal.”
“Mhm...You want to know what makes her so special from the other witches, don’t you?” Zane hummed, tilting his head as he let his long black hair slip beyond the dark violet scarf wrapped around his neck. “What it is that makes her spark so unique...what it is that makes her just so damn desirable to both demons and covens alike...” Zane’s voice trailed off as he paused to take another sip of his cappuccino, wiping off the remaining milk from his lip from his thumb. “I assume you’re aware of the two main kinds of witches there are, yes?”
Vergil nodded, now having sat up and arms leaning against the table. “Those who are born with it and those who require an outside source in which to gain it. A ‘patron’ as they call it.”
“Aye, that’s it alright. Though that’s not to say the first don’t take patrons either, especially with the chance of amplifying their powers and that of their future lineage through other means,” Zane nodded with a slight smirk, his fingers toying with the rip of his coffee cup as he continued to speak. “While our dear witch in mind has been fortunate enough to not have to resort to this herself, it’s something she’ll have to consider at some point. A witch can only rely on her own natural born abilities for so long in a world such as ours of both demons, humans and everything else in between.”
“So where does that leave her exactly if she continues without a proper patron?” Vergil asked, brow furrowed as he stared down at the leather bound demon.
Zane merely shrugged, sighing as he looked over to the elder son of Sparda. “Honestly who can really say? Nothing is ever really set in stone, but then again there’s nothing to say anything is really impossible, now is it?” Vergil didn’t know what it was exactly, but there was something in the demon’s sudden change of tone that didn’t sit well with him, the spark in his eyes dulling to be less of mischief to now be that of genuine concern. “Even with her mother’s own bloodline of magic, as much as she hates to say it and would probably shoot me for even mentioning this to anyone,” Zane began with an exasperated sigh as he leaned back in his chair, “it’s ultimately thanks to her old man’s blood she’s been able to resist it all as well as she has.”
There was something in Vergil’s mind that piqued at the mention of that. While he had heard quite a bit from his witch regarding her mother, any word regarding her father had been all but non-existent. Was this where the reach of her power came from? If her mother was just a human witch with a lot of power at her disposal both naturally and otherwise, then what the hell was her father then? Vergil could tell there wasn’t a single drop of demon blood in her, that much he could have sensed a mile away from his first encounter with her. Though, looking back, there was always some part of him that sensed something else, something he had never quite seen or dealt with before, and therefore could give no name for it.
“...Are you implying that Y/N isn’t--”
“Completely human? Well, technically depending on who you ask, witches aren’t necessarily entirely human by themselves for having magic, but that’s a different debate for another time,” Zane chuckled with a shrug as he toyed with a small pink macaron. “But no, she’s not. Most witches naturally born with magic almost never entirely are... what ? Did the idea of her being so comfortable around you so soon and naturally not stick out to you? Not to say a human wouldn’t be fine with hanging out with a demon, though surely it couldn’t even then have stuck out in the slightest as to why ?” Vergil didn’t respond, merely opting to avert his gaze from the demon as his brow only continued to furrow, confusion buzzing around his mind like a hive of flustered bees. “That said...there is a particular reason why healing magic tends to be her main front first and foremost. As much as she enjoys embracing her own inner chaos, you could say this other side is much more interested in the idea of protecting, nurturing, guiding and healing. Much like...”
“...An angel,” Vergil said, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes widened in realization as his eyes snapped to the demon in front of him. “Are you seriously telling me that her father was--”
“An angel? Oh yes, but there’s more. You see the old bird wasn’t just any low tear canary with gold and silver strobe lights and a halo. He’s what we would consider one of the very top dogs of what humans refer to as ‘heaven.’ Much like how ‘Hell’ is actually the Underworld, Heaven’s true name is the Overworld, where then the human realm then sits ever so neatly in between to fill the gap in-between the two. But then again, I doubt someone like you even considered them to actually exist seeing as how demons are really the only ones who can’t go an hour without making themselves known to mankind.” Zane paused as he finally popped the soft pink pastry into his mouth, all too contently enjoying the sheer look of bewilderment on Vergil’s face. “Oh, but that said, try not to hold any of this against her. You have to understand, half angels like her, Nephilim as we call them, are a rare breed. A breed hunted after more than you Cambion. God’s favorite little unintended abominations as some of the upper world like to call both you lot--which, mind you, were supposed to be wiped off the face of the Earth with the great flood, but thankfully it turns out even the big guy upstairs can’t always have his way. Though they’re more likely to give your kind the slip--after all it’s only within a demon’s crude and vile nature to spread its seed wherever it can.” Vergil hardly had to strain to hear the venom in Zane’s voice upon making the statement as he did little to hide the roll of his dark violet eyes. “Demons and angels alike won’t hesitate to tear any of the Nephilim like her to ribbons, if not worse. Demons seem to think them a more than pleasant meal alongside that of witches and humans. After all, there’s a good reason why so few will ever immediately reveal their secret to anyone, human, demon, angel or otherwise--though it’s usually much harder to hide that divine spark from the true borns of the latter two, especially other angels. They can smell that sort of thing a mile away.”
“And the city’s coven is aware of this?”
“Hah! Oh trust me, they couldn’t be more aware of it than they are now. Why do you think they harass her incessantly to go back to them and mindlessly tolerate their abuse? Do you have any idea how powerful a Nephili’s blood can be to any powerful enough witch? The very list of things they could summon with one trained in the art of the arcane is practically limitless depending on how advanced their skills mature to be--much like our dear witch.”
“So that’s the real reason why they’re so intent on dragging her back in? Purely because her father was a powerful angel and her mother just happened to be a particularly strong witch with years of expertise?” Vergil asked, his voice growing less and less pleased by the minute.
“ Tragically , yes. Though, as you might have guessed, it’s only part of the much bigger picture.” Zane toyed with another of the pink macarons, rolling it between its fingers. “Unfortunately due to the predatory nature of things that are demons in particular just by itself, not even counting rival covens, most witches don’t have much of a choice to go without some kind of patron. Unfortunately it’s the best way to insure their safety and decrease the chance of being hunted for someone’s late night meal at best. And no, I will not be elaborating on that last statement.”
Vergil felt something in him twist and snarl in disgust at the very thought of some lowly filth attempting to make a meal out of his dear witch. He knew from experience that she was more than smart and capable of defending herself against just about any foe, though, nonetheless he knew all too well that even then, there’s always a bigger fish lurking in the depths.
Waiting, lurking, watching...Simply staring from the distance as they wait for just the right time to swoop in and pounce; heartbeat pounding, flames consuming, claws sinking and tearing into delicate flesh as deep crimson paints the earth and shattered screams pierce the air like glass, helpless to fight back...Just like h--
“Oi! You still there, blueberry?” Zane asked, snapping Vergil from his twisting train of thought, somewhat oddly grateful for the distraction despite the obvious annoyance at the childish nickname. It was only when he followed the demon’s violet gaze that he noticed that his right hand was shaking. It was only after he tightly took hold of it, taking a moment to calm his breathing that the shaking finally ceased.
“...I’m fine,” Vergil coldly replied, going back to his normally sober expression. “I’m hardly the one that anyone needs to be concerned for. I’m not the one at risk.”
For once there was no teasing or mocking remark from the much older demon, who simply stared at the Dark Slayer, his brow deeply knit and contemplative. If there was something he wanted to say, he certainly didn’t make it known, though there was something in his eyes that Vergil noticed. Not the same spark of mocking mischief that sought out chaos, but rather something much older, calmer, and in an odd sense...understanding? He did not breach the subject further, merely grabbing his cappuccino before taking another deep sip of it before gently placing it back on the small matching plate it had come with. “I entrust you with this knowledge, Vergil, eldest son of my late pupil and friend, for a very good reason. There are few in this city I trust to look out for my old ward and student. I’ve looked after that girl before she could properly speak. I’m trusting you to stand by her and help her however you can.”
“I take it you’ll tear me to ribbons if I hurt her?”
“Hah, please. Y/N isn’t some helpless kitten. Her own fangs and claws are sharp enough to tear you down plenty herself,” Zane chuckled deeply, an almost wolfish grin appearing on his face. “Besides, I think there are plenty of others in her repertoire who’d sooner tear you down even if she didn’t. He’d certainly get there long before I would.”
Before Vergil could question what the demon meant further, he watched as Zane had gotten up, placing a pair of twenties on the table before putting on his shades once more. “The world is a dangerous place, Mr. Sparda, and it’s only going to get worse with the way the winds are shifting.”
Vergil had begun to open his mouth when something stopped him. Although it was late November now, the small cold white speck of snow nevertheless stopped him in his tracks, a gentle cascade of snow now gently falling upon the city. It had been perfectly clear and sunny before, and surely it had been nearly cold enough for it to snow? It had been only slightly below fifty degrees Fahrenheit, hardly cold enough for it to just randomly start snowing, right? Vergil was only growing more perplexed until he heard a faint chuckle from the demon across him who was now smiling with amusement.
“Ah, speak of the devil,” Zane chuckled as he shook his head, adjusting the placement of his scarf as he turned to Vergil with a smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m not referring to the danger...though it may well be if you piss him off too much and hurt our favorite local witch. My dear brother tends to get protective like that. Doesn’t like it when people try to make meals out of his friends, especially if they happen to be long time business partners.” Vergil watched as the leather bound demon stretched lazily before grabbing the saxophone case he had been previously walking with. “Ironic as it sounds, there is hardly a hound of hell more loyal than the Prince of Treachery himself.”
Back at the shop, the witch softly hummed to herself as she carefully tended to a number of unfrosted cookies that just finished cooling, mixing the freshly made frosting as she hummed softly to herself. Despite the soreness in her arm, she found herself to be in an oddly good mood. Well, that was after she had managed to get Lady, Trish and Nico out of her bedroom wardrobe after three straight hours of them insisting on “preparing for the big night.” Otherwise known as trying to find the most revealing and not at all subtle dress, heels and stockings that she owned. While she had yet to fully settle on anything official at the time, she had at least managed to pick out a nice amethyst and sapphire choker that her current tea guest had gifted her last Winter Solstice as a “holiday bonus” and absolutely not a form of “let me spoil you” since he didn’t exactly have any such shortage of neither money nor influence.
Said guest of course being none other than the other demonic partner of her unofficial, pseudo-pact arrangement--who, according to the witch, was by no means in any way a “sugar daddy in disguise” as Nico so often liked to joke. Although he didn’t exactly stop by often, the witch was no less fond of their rare visits which usually consisted of catching up and gossiping over brunch with the occasional transaction of magical goods. After all, as the demon so forlornly said time and time again: “It takes more than blood and souls to heal scars and the true demonic bane of the world that are crows feet.”
“You hardly need to pay ten times the amount for a normal large package of lotions, skin creams, conditioners and spa sets,” Y/N said, glancing over to the steely eyed demon who was helping himself to a warm cup of lavender tea, an oddly tranquil look on his face as he breathed in the scent.
“I’m paying for the added brunch luxury, am I not? I’m merely paying for your priceless time and companionship with added food and drink. It’s only proper that such excellent hospitality be rewarded,” he countered smugly, his voice deep and smooth like velvet glazed in honey. His hair was dark and curly, complementing his smooth and pale skin and finely chiseled features. His finely kept five o’clock shadow and cool, steely blue eyes did little to subtract such from his appearance. Due to his natural devilish charisma, most normal people would melt from his voice and gaze like jelly, though the witch had long since been immune to his inhuman charms. Supposedly it was what drew him to her, enjoying her sharp tongue and even sharper eye. There was nothing more refreshing than one who did not fear to bark back the far bigger wolf in the room.
“Sweet talker,” Y/N scoffed as she rolled her eyes and shook her head, no less smiling at such a remark. “I didn’t think you’d be around for another month or so at least. You hardly come around this early before winter.”
“Normally, yes, but when the mention of heightened witch activity starts buzzing around your neck of the woods long enough, it hardly becomes something you can just casually ignore,” the demon replied with a deep sigh. “My offer is still on the table. Even if I do something, they can’t do anything to you. Not unless a few dozen other demons want their own insides served to them.”
“Murder isn’t going to solve a three hundred year old blood feud and you know that,” the witch countered as she placed the bowl of icing down with a hard thud, brows knit in annoyance. “I swear every time someone calls you my sugar daddy and I tell them to fuck off, you try to embrace it to mess with me. Honestly, you are truly terrible, Markus Frost.”
Markus, or Malice as the demon world called him, great prince of treachery, malice and frost, merely smirked as he shrugged, face turned away. “My dear, I haven’t the faintest idea as to what you could be referring to. I’m merely guarding my trusted and most dearest friend and business partner away from those who’d try to make a toy or snack out of her...if not both.”
“Yes, because friends casually dump checks of two million dollars into their bank accounts once a year when they’re not looking and leave them no way to reject it,” she grumbled as she leaned down onto the counter, brow slightly twitching. “Are you sure you’re not trying to financially seduce me into something here?”
Markus merely laughed as he sipped his tea, toying with a small cat shaped cookie. “Please, if I was that interested I would have done that years ago when you first originally summoned me to your aid. I’m here to ensure those chains stay off you, my dear, not replace them. Besides, someone had to help provide the funds to repair the place when that damned tree showed up. You can’t make your precious remedies and such if you have no gardens for ingredients intact--much less with a mostly shattered roof and enough demon blood to stain paint the entire place head to toe twice. Last thing I need you of all people is in chains to some loan shark or corporate shill.”
The witch couldn’t help but snort at the idea, shaking her head as she merely continued to laugh, turning back to the butter knife and bowl of lemon icing. “Next thing you’re going to tell me you plan on sending my imaginary children through college.” She stopped as she looked at her companion who only smirked at her, a dangerous sparkle of spite in his eye, hardly one to resist such a challenge. “I swear you’re just looking for a constant excuse to spend money. Didn’t you just fund the opening of three new hospitals the other week for your annual monthly financial repentance? Or is this some weird money spending kink that I’m somehow not aware of?”
“Do you really want to know?” The devil grinned, the witch narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him before letting out a faint huff and returning to the plate of cooled cookies. “My dear, in all honesty when you’re already the devil who has everything and way too much money and free time on their hands, the value of it all hardly means much. After all, I’m the prince of treachery , not greed . I hardly need an unending pit of gold and cash to get my goals achieved--enough it does make the clean up much easier.”
The witch merely snorted at the sentiment as she picked up one of the leaf shaped cookies, carefully applying a reasonable layer of icing along its surface. “All that money and power and you spend it all on everyone and anything that isn’t you. Are you sure you’re still a demon after all these years?”
“Hah, trust me, my dear, when I told them I wasn’t going back to those pretentious and self-righteous halo wearing idiots, I meant it. Besides, I’ve plenty of other crimes and sins to keep me down here. Besides, if I went up there, I wouldn’t be able to grace you with my charming and wonderful presence.”
Ah, there’s that demonic pride of his, the witch silently smirked to herself with a faint chuckle as she shook her head. She could sense he was in town the moment the gently falling snowfall had caught her eye as she had been in the middle of tending to one of her apple trees outside. The fruit themselves weren’t as big as they were in previous years due to having to replace the trees thanks to what happened with the giant demonic tree that was the qliphoth, though they were nonetheless perfect for picking. She could already hear Nero and Kyrie waiting for when her infamous apple fritters, cider, tarts and pies would be available for ordering. Kyrie always bought about a dozen of the fritters and tarts for the kids they had adopted following the incident in Fortuna a while back.
“That said,” the smooth voice of the Markus said, looking over his tea cup to her, a foxlike grin written all over his face, “A little birdie told me you made a new friend as of late. A certain son of Sparda no less. Very impressive.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment, quirking a brow as she watched the demon carefully. “Oh yeah? Did this little birdie also wear leather pants and emit lightning to the music of AC/DC?”
“Now, now, there’s no need to curse my dear idiot brother just yet, even though it would be quite amusing to see what unique hex you throw at him this time. Turning him into a toy poodle for a month, though, was VERY entertaining I will say. The matching pink bow was a very nice touch too I might add,” Markus chuckled smugly. “I’m just curious is all. It’s rare to see a demon, let alone a half-demon, showing up to your doorstep more than just a few times a month. I hear he makes regular visits down here--how very gentlemanly of him.”
“...Where is this going?” She finally asked with narrowed eyes, knowing all too well how Zane and his brothers are hardly ones to make conversation without some motivation behind it. While the eldest brother was nowhere near as chaotic as his dear middle sibling, even he was not immune to his own share of mischief and chaos.
“I also happened to hear that you two are having dinner this evening, and as your business partner and right hand man--”
“Markus, so help me gods if you--”
“--Wish to impart upon you a gift in which to help your endeavors,” the demon finished, snapping his fingers for a large black shopping bag to appear, hanging idly by his fingers as he smirked knowingly at her. “I merely wish to see you excel where others failed to help you succeed, my dear friend.” Y/N watched with wary eyes, all the while exchanging glances between him and the bag. “Don’t worry it’s nothing lewd . I’m here to help you wine and dine first and foremost, not skip straight to the sheets. Not exactly my idiot brother, now am I?”
The witch remained quiet as she slowly approached him before hesitantly taking the bag, weighing it in her hand before walking back a bit. Opening it and peering inside, she couldn’t help but feel her eyes widen a bit. The design was more simplistic and modest, though the certain shortness of the dress, stopping about a couple inches beyond her thighs. The sleeves stopped at just about a little past the elbow. Though that was minor compared to the notable v-shaped cut, giving just enough of a view of her chest. Although normally such an outfit would hardly bother her, the witch couldn’t help but notice the increasing heat filling her ears and corners of her face. She knew it was relatively tame compared to some of the other “suggestions” her dear friends had proposed earlier--hell it certainly tame compared to what Zane had “jokingly” bought her in the past and added to her closet for ladies’ night fun. Though, something about it made her face burn bright at the thought of greeting her dear Dark Slayer with it for a simple dinner occasion for two that was purely for two friends.
Was this even appropriate? After all, they’re nothing more than close friends at best who meet for brunch and like to talk about books, hardly a thing to dress like this for? Would she be coming off two strong or risk giving him the wrong idea that she simply wanted to bed him and nothing else? What if--
“You’re doing it again,” Markus spoke up, snagging her from her runaway train of thought, blinking in surprise as she heard the demon call out to her, who now was looking at her with a mildly amused expression. “Now, now there’s no need to overthink it. After all, there’s no shame in looking your best when having dinner, regardless as to who its with.”
“You said--”
“And it still isn’t my pure intention to get the two of you entangled in the throws of passion via your bed sheets. Though, if that does happen, well then it’s just a happy coincidence on your end. As to what the two of you do beyond the eating and drinking is entirely up to you, my dear lady.” Markus smugly sipped at his tea as he watched her conflicted expression, chuckling to himself before letting out a soft sigh. “You don’t have to wear it of course. If you wish to stick to your beloved simple black turtleneck and black jeans, that’s entirely up to you.”
“..Why do I let any of you have access to my wardrobe again?”
“Because sometimes, my friend, it’s best to help those of us give you the necessary shove needed to go beyond all those pesky walls of icy hesitation you seem so determined to put up. Although winter approaches these months, there’s no shame in looking to find spring sooner than later,” the demon smirked, taking one of the moon shaped cookies and dipping it into his tea. “There’s nothing more infuriating than those who hesitate in the face of longing for that which they desire most. I don’t need to be Asmodeus, lord of lust and debauchery, to sense that much off you at the very mention of this young man.” He paused for a moment before looking at her, a hint of devilish delight sparkling in those icy blue grey eyes. “After all, as a wise man once said, ‘ he who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence’.”
The witch remained silent at the line, sighing deeply as she closed her eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter in defeat. Gods, why did they always have to be right about things? And just why did he have to mention that exact line from William Blake, reminding her exactly of a certain dark haired poet that she had longed to see again since his descent deeper into the Qliphoth with Nero and Dante. Although she didn’t get to spend too much time with him beyond a few weeks, she had nonetheless grown to care for him, and for a time she was so sure that he felt the same. Though looking back, there was much she was rethinking as to what was truly real.
“...Malice, can I ask you something?” her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and would likely have been easily missed had it not been for the demon’s unnaturally keen hearing. “Is it possible for someone to lose their memories upon being remade whole? Even if the one with those memories while separated served as the actual half containing the person’s consciousness and memories?”
“Mhm...Not by natural means, no,” the demon said after a brief moment of thought as he refilled his cup, lightly stirring the drop of honey he had added. “Usually the memories are not so much lost or wiped but are more so likely displaced or repressed. It’s usually quite hard and takes a great deal of magic to actually wipe someone of their memories. Even most amnesiacs are rarely truly robbed of their memories, even if the mind simply refuses to release them to the front most center of the mind’s consciousness.”
“So you don’t think something went wrong with the rejoining itself?” Y/N asked, eyes widening in a mix of intrigue and relief, though not also without at least a twinge of concern.
“Not on it’s own, no . Though, magically induced from an outside source however...” Markus’s voice trailed off as his brow furrowed, hardly needing to continue for the witch to see where he was clearly going.
Markus could see just from the way her fingers tightly curled into fists on the countertop, the faintest hint of ice in the air clearly telling him all that he needed to know. Her powers had always been tied to her emotions, as much as she hated to admit it. He and his brother had trained her countless times to help counterbalance this part of her, but even he knew all too well that she could master her emotions completely and still it would find a way to get through the cracks. The only other “solution” would be to shut down and stunt her emotions completely, which easy to say both demons were against entirely. Such a notion had only been brought up by Matron Calyssa at times, trying to cut the young woman off from her humanity, likely hoping she could be little more than a pawn and tool at that point rather than a person. Although there were plenty like Matron Calyssa, demons and humans alike, who’d sooner damn humanity for their so-called weaknesses like these, the prince of treachery found a certain beauty in it. It made them shine not with that of an overbearing sun, but rather with the unique and pleasant glow of a star. And what good was the night sky without the stars to decorate the sky? For despite all of humanity's shortcomings and faults, many of which even he had toyed with and exploited plenty in the past, even he could not help but admire and appreciate the gentle tenacity that made humanity what it was to begin with.
“The longer you make that face the more likely it’s going to stay like that,” the demon sighed teasingly with a slight smirk, snatching the witch from her thoughts as she stared at him. “I can’t say for fact as to who or why the person responsible did this, though if there is one thing I do know, a curse is not too dissimilar from a lock, and where there’s a lock—”
“There’s a key,” Y/N nodded, her features softening as she deeply breathed, her magic calming before dispersing entirely. “I wouldn’t suppose you’d know where I’d even begin to find this key? Let alone be able to make one myself?”
“Something cannot be made out of nothing--this much I hardly need to explain to someone such as you,” Markus smirked as he began to rise from his seat, gently setting aside the small fine china tea cup he had been using. “The trick will be to find the source and exact nature of this lock. Learn how it was made and how it works and not just what exactly it’s meant to conceal. Once you have that information in place, then the real work can begin.” Slipping on his black blazer and adjusting it with a satisfied nod, he began to approach the witch, that infamous foxlike grin on his face as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving it a soft yet reassuring squeeze. “As for the creator of this lock...Well, just focus on fixing things with you and this lover of yours. Leave the instigating gnats and fleas to me.”
The witch wasn’t sure to be more thankful or concerned by the demon’s wording, though given what they knew regarding this type of magic and the list of covens who would even consider using such magic--well, it wasn't exactly hard to say the wording wasn’t exactly accurate. Although she dared not say it out loud, a part of Y/N seemed to know all too well who was exactly behind this mess. Though, it still left a number of questions in her mind: why do this? Why do it only to him? If they want her away from all the sires of Sparda, why not do the same to Dante and Nero as well? And why not at least try to meddle with her own memories? If this was Calyssa and the others, just what exactly was it they thought they could gain from targeting Vergil alone?
“Oh, and here, before I go,” Markus quickly added just as he was about to exit the kitchen, snapping his fingers as a large, ornate wine bottle materialized into his hand.
The witch raised a curious brow as she exchanged looks between the man and the bottle. “Did your ‘little birdie’ tell you about that too?”
“Hah, trust me you don’t need a bird to tell you about broken glass and dried wine stains with traces of demon blood in an alley. The story there tells itself, or smells itself I should say,” Markus added playfully as he carefully handed her the bottle. “It’s one of my Sicilian collections--Malvasia. Thought someone of your expertise would approve.”
“...I suppose it’ll suffice for tonight. It should go well with the Torta Carpasse I’ve made for tonight. Though you already knew that, didn’t you?” Y/N turned to eye the smugly grinning demon, who was now gone from sight, merely left alone with a small card left on the witch’s counter:
“A good gambler never reveals his secrets.”
Vergil stood in front of the mirror, brow furrowed in contemplation as he looked himself over. He wanted to make a good impression with his dear witch, wanting to look just as good as the dinner she was so kind as to prepare for them. However, it wasn’t as though the Dark Slayer had the largest wardrobe available to him either. He had contemplated about a dozen times now whether to simply wear his usual attire or perhaps try something new. He could swear that if he stared any longer at his closet that he was going to end up burning a hole through it. His eyes trained to the neatly wrapped bouquet that he had sitting in a nearby vase by the window, which he had been carefully looking after while waiting for this day to come, not wanting to ruin this plan in the slightest. That said, none of this exactly did anything to help with the flutter of anxiety and frustration that had been buzzing about inside him the more he thought about it.
It’s simply a dinner between friends, nothing more... Vergil could feel his brow ever so slightly twitch as he opened the closet door, retrieving a simple, form fitting black turtleneck along with a pair of matching pants and boots. He didn’t want to overdress for the occasion, though he certainly didn’t want to pass up the chance of making a good impression on the kind lady. It was only just seeing as how she’d not only be giving him a free meal as an unnecessary apology for her partner’s antics, but also be the one making the meal to begin with. The least he could do was show up well dressed beyond his usual attire along with the flowers Kyrie had so generously helped him pick out.
As he applied his cologne, he couldn’t help but ponder her reaction, cool blue eyes glancing back at the flowers he bought for her that lingered not too far in the vase he had set for them. Though, for some strange reason, he couldn’t help but feel his gaze linger on the small blue blooms that were the forget-me-nots, unable to help but think back about what Kyrie said. He knew they resembled remembrance and that they were considered a treasured favorite to his dear witch, but he couldn’t help but wonder as to why.
Grabbing the long dark gray blazer from the nearby chair and sliding it on, he gave himself one last glance over, running his hands through his hair to make sure it stayed in order. Grabbing Yamato with one hand and the bouquet in the other, he began to head downstairs, closing the door behind him while paying little mind to the faint playing of the jukebox downstairs. Vergil was about halfway to the door when a whistle from behind him stopped him in his tracks.
“Oh man does someone look fancy tonight! Going to your date, lover boy?” Dante asked with a laugh, that infamous teasing grin as present as ever, earning a faint “tsk” of annoyance from the older twin. “Ooh, you even got the lady some flowers. Didn’t know you were such a proper gentleman, Verg.”
“As if such things were ever of your concern, Dante,” Vergil countered coolly, resisting the urge to try and wipe the smug look on his brother’s face, not wanting to risk damaging the flowers meant for his dear witch. The last thing he wanted was to risk having to disappoint her with ruined flowers thanks to his brother’s own foolishness.
“Now, now, no need to be so moody before your big date. Hah, and here Lady and Trish were worried they were going to take over your wardrobe for the night,” Dante laughed as he reclined in his seat, legs propped up on his desk. “Just try not to get carried away! I’d hate to have the little lady have to portal your drunk ass back here agai--” Dante began before quickly ducking out of the way to avoid the incoming summoned sword aimed for his head.
Vergil didn’t bother to say anything at that point, instead opting to head out and quickly greeted by the crisp autumn air that nipped at his features as he strided to that small and charming shop. The sun was approaching the end of its setting, fading out of sight as the dark shawl of night instead began to take hold. The fallen leaves danced in the air in a methodical waltz, rising, dipping and falling with the wind as it softly howled in the Dark Slayer’s ears. The faintest hint of starlight peaked from between the breaks in the clouds overhead, the snow having thankfully left some few hours ago just as bizarrely as it had first arrived earlier that morning. He still hadn’t fully wrapped his head around the idea of demons whose very presence was strong enough to affect the weather itself, though if his witch’s descriptions of them were anything to go by with their age alone, Vergil surmised that perhaps he shouldn’t be too surprised that such demons exist. Though, in truth, the only thing he was most glad for was that they were on her side and not at the coven’s disposal.
With the shop being little more than a few feet away at this point, Vergil paused, closing his eyes briefly, breathing deeply in an attempt to hopefully compose himself before heading inside--though not before switching the ‘open’ sign to closed as he entered. The atmosphere inside the shop was as warm and pleasant as ever, the faint scent of freshly ground herbs and spices in the air, causing Vergil to let out a sigh he didn’t realize he had been holding. This place never seemed to fail when maintaining its homely aura between the warm comfort and soothing smells that came the moment you opened the door. Between that, the various plants and almost fantastical pieces around the shop, it would almost feel as though Vergil had stepped into a scene from a fairy tale book.
The faint sensation of something brush against his pant leg stole him from his thoughts as he looked down to notice the familiar white haired cat with bright green eyes. The cat was staring up at him with a mixed look of curiosity and what Vergil could almost swear to be mild annoyance. Was there ever a time that this strange feline fey familiar wasn’t judging someone at all times?
“I’ll be down in a minute!” the familiar voice of his witch called from above, causing Vergil to look up towards the stairway leading to the floor above. Vergil barely had a moment to reply as the sound of footsteps from the stairs was followed by an image that stopped him dead in his tracks, breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened, unable to help but stare.
Compared to her usual attire, his witch was dressed in a form fitting black dress, that while simple in design, looked no less stunning on her as it perfectly hugged and accentuated every curve of her body in just the right way. The top of the dress was relatively low cut and even dipped into a slight V shape, showing off just the slightest tease of her chest as the dress stopped a few inches below her thighs, showing off the pair of black stockings that complimented her legs perfectly. The pair of fine black heeled ankle boots with it did little to lesen her appearance as she made her way down the stairs. Trying to pry his gaze, Vergil’s eyes noted the way her hair beautifully gleamed in the lamp light, eyes popping with the faint layer of smokey brown eye shadow and matching dark lipstick. For a moment it felt as though the Dark Slayer had forgotten how to breathe as her eyelashes fluttered as her lips curled into a warm smile. With the way Vergil’s heart was now pounding in his chest, it almost felt as though it was going to burst out at any given moment. He could practically feel all traces of that cold, steely reserved composure melting away like an ice cube under a heat lamp. Yet not once did he dare look away as she approached him.
“Sorry for making you wait. I was hoping to be down here to meet you, though it seems I lost track of time,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I hope I’m not overdressed since this is just a simple dinner for two.”
“Not at all...I was simply caught off guard. I didn’t realize the moon could shine more radiant than usual--though once again it seems you’ve proven me wrong,” Vergil replied with a slight smirk after finally recollecting his confident persona. A soft giggle left the witch as she stared at him, eyes bright with anticipation before looking down, eyes blinking in surprise. “Speaking of which, these are for you,” Vergil added with a quick clear of his throat, trying his best to try and ignore the developing twinge of warmth in his ears and cheeks. He watched as her eyes widened in surprise, mouth slightly agape as she gently took the flowers from them. She said nothing for a moment as she looked them over, looking as though she wanted to say something until her eyes landed on the cluster of forget-me-nots. For even the slightest second or two Vergil couldn’t help but noticed the way her eyes seemed to almost glimmer with a certain sadness as she exchanged glances between him and the flowers, almost as though hoping to find something as she seemed to search his gaze.
“Is something wrong?” Vergil asked, doing his best to repress the slight trace of worry that was beginning to bleed into his voice. “Kyrie mentioned to me that these were among your favorites.”
“Ah...I see, how thoughtful of her,” Y/N said with what Vergil could only describe as a partially forced smile. “Thank you for the flowers. I hardly know what I did to deserve these, but I’m deeply grateful for them. Just give me a minute to get some water for these lovelies whilst you make yourself at home.”
Vergil watched as she disappeared through the kitchen doorway, siding off his coat as he hung it up on the nearby coat hanger. While he was pleased to see how the flowers made her smile, there was something about that brief look in her eye that didn’t quite sit well with him. Kyrie had said they were her favorite type of flower, and he doubted she would trick him into doing something to offend his dear witch. Was it perhaps that he was missing something? Was there something between them that he hadn’t quite picked up on?
His train of thought was interrupted upon being greeted by the scent of rich herbs and fresh bread paired with the scent of garlic and tomato, causing the cambion’s mouth to salivate slightly as he slowly approached the kitchen. The kitchen was neatly set with a fine dark blue tablecloth and finely polished silverware that gleamed in the dimmed light of the room. Fresh bread coated in a layer of butter and shavings of garlic and parsley. The large bowl of steaming fresh pasta in the middle did little to curb that hungry growling in his stomach, his eyes scanning over to the neighboring plate of grilled chicken paired with what Vergil recognized to be thyme and what he assumed to be a lemon sauce.
“Feel free to make your plate if you want. I’d hate to make that stomach of yours wait anymore than it already has,” Y/N smiled as she glanced over at the not so subtly staring Dark Slayer. “I also have both white and red wine depending on which you prefer—though I do also have water if you wish.” Vergil hardly had to look far to notice the teasing grin on her face at that last bit.
“The red wine is more than suitable,” Vergil slightly huffed as he took his seat, brow narrowed slightly at the comment as he picked up the bottle and nearby corkscrew. “My stomach simply wasn’t as full as it should have been at the time.”
“Mhm... whatever you say, handsome ,” she hummed playfully as she shook her head, placing the flowers inside the vase before setting them by an empty spot by the windowsill. “A pity you didn’t indulge in any of the chocolates I offered you with them last time. The girls ended up devouring the rest of it for themselves, unfortunately. I’m sure it would have done you wonders that night.”
Vergil could tell by the way she was speaking and from the notable smug smirk on her face that she was teasing him. She was lucky he had such a profound fondness for both her charms and her cooking. Or at least that was what the Dark Slayer told himself as he found himself inching towards the food adorned dinner table that lured him like a siren luring a sailor to his doom. Not that he’d have the power to stop her, knowing all too well of her resilience and knowing that if a blood thirsty demon or the persistent abuse of a powerful coven couldn’t intimidate her, even Vergil’s most intimidating glare would simply pelt and roll off her like rain drops falling on slates of steel.
“I wasn’t sure how much of an appetite you’d have personally, though with how many times I’ve fed both your son and brother, I figured better to have leftovers than not enough,” Y/N grinned with a playful wink. “Guess I picked up more from the dozens of local grans that come to me from around here—not that my own grandmother would approve of having any guests of mine go hungry. It’s only proper to be a good host. That much even the gods themselves can attest to,” the witch chuckled as she joined him at the table, grabbing the bottle of red wine and uncorking it with surprising ease.
“Your grandmother? Not from your mother?” Vergil asked curiously, though stopping upon noticing the sudden moment of hesitation and what Vergil could only describe as a pang of sadness, even if it was only for a few seconds. She had no problem speaking of her mother in the past when they had traded secrets over tea. Did he miss something regarding their relationship, causing him to somehow offend her. Did he—?
“I...Uh...a-actually never really knew my mother. At least, not enough to really remember her the way most of my other siblings or anyone else who knew her does.” Despite her best attempts to conceal it, Vergil could sense the tiny cracks in her mask of a façade, doing her best to quickly recover and conceal her pain on the subject like an injured animal trying to conceal a wound to seem strong. “I was barely even a year old when she was killed.”
Vergil’s brow narrowed as he watched her in a mix of shock, anger and unusual empathy. Hell, even while his last memories of his mother contained some level of jealousy and resentment, at least he and Dante were able to remember their mother. Meanwhile his dear witch seemed to only know of her own through mere photos, antique journals, and the words of other people. The silent pain in her eyes as she spoke told him as much as she did her best to regain her previous more confident composure.
“I see...My condolences. I didn’t intend to bring up such unpleasant memories. Certainly not during such an occasion,” Vergil said somberly, mentally backpedaling on his last statement in hopes of salvaging the mood for the evening. He could practically feel Nero yelling at him the moment he should find out about this—which of course was assuming Lady and Trish weren’t busy verbally tearing into him first for potentially upsetting his dear witch--especially with all the hard work she had put herself through just for them...
“Hah, it’s fine. You couldn’t have known and it’s not as though I’ve told a lot of people. I mean, people know she’s dead currently , just not so much entirely aware of when she died exactly. Because of this, people like Matron Calyssa like to take advantage of it, trying to twist all knowledge of her against me. Speaking like she truly knew my mother better than anyone else...” Vergil hardly had to strain his ears just to feel the venom that dripped and oozed from her words at the mention of Calyssa and the coven. The more he learned about this vile hag of a woman, the more Vergil desired to see this woman for himself, perhaps give her a more than permanent lesson in manners to say the least.
“But--! Thankfully I’m no longer weak to her manipulation. I’ve long since been able to see past her smoke and fog. I have met people who actually knew my mother. People who don’t need to lie about the kind of woman she was. Hell, it was thanks to Zane I got ahold of some of her old diaries and the journals she used for her occult and arcane studies. It’s thanks to those that I’ve gotten to really know her for who she is rather than listen to someone like Calyssa, lest I become tethered in her web of lies again...” the witch fell quiet as her gaze trailed off to her nearby wine glass, brow slightly furrowed as a heavy silence filled the air between them, a deep and solemn look emanating from her gaze.
Vergil could only stare as he studied her features, the dull glow of the small, overhanging chandelier giving her features an almost holy glow. For even the briefest of moments she seemed almost beyond him, so saddened and alone; slowly and silently strangled in a tightening noose of webs of lies and abuse carefully woven by the spiders who desired to only devour this poor bird. Vergil was never a master of knowing what to say, this much he knew to be certain, and although he hardly knew exactly what he was doing, he found his body moving unbeknownst to him, his hand reaching out to her before gently taking her free hand in his. It was seemingly so small and insignificant, but even Vergil couldn’t deny the softly growing warmth of a spark spreading between the two of them, watching as the witch’s body relaxes and her gaze softens at his mere touch. He always thought his mere touch to be so rough and cold, and yet, despite that, it seemed to provide the warmth needed to burn away the webs that constrained her so.
“But enough about that. I’d hate for things to sour the mood. Nothing’s worse than trying to enjoy good food over depressing topics,” the witch laughed, quickly recovering her seemingly carefree facade as she smiled at the Dark Slayer. “I’d hate to have gone through all this effort to make things up to you only to ruin it over such unpleasant conversation.”
Vergil couldn’t help but find himself scoffing in reply. Here he was having been the one to accidentally bring it up and yet she’s the one apologizing? Once again she continued to mystify him at every turn. Oh whatever was he to do with his dear witch?
The conversation turned to a more casual and relaxed tone as the pair moved on, relaxing more as the pair carried on with their meal. Vergil couldn’t help but admire the amount of skill that had been put into every detail, ranging just from the right amount of herbs blended and cooked perfectly within the pasta’s marinara along with just the right amount of subtle sweetness of the wine that was paired with the slow cooked blend. Vergil had lost track of how much he had eaten, despite having originally planned on trying to resist eating too much. It had been so long since he had such a well made home cooked meal. There were occasionally the days where he and Dante would be treated to meals by Kyrie and Nero, though nowadays such times were rarer than not. To say enjoying her cooking beyond just her baking was a refreshing change was an understatement.
Vergil couldn’t help but feel his heart grow warm and flutter about in his chest each time he’d make her laugh, noting the way her eyes would lit up with delight as they’d continue to talk. From exchanging tastes in classic authors to perfect tea blend combinations, the two found themselves talking late into the night, and before long they would find their plates practically cleaned, left only with the lingering remains of spirits and sweets as they found themselves now lounging in the living room.
“I’m glad to see you’re holding your spirits better than before,” the witch teased with a playful wink as she watched the Dark Slayer from over her wine glass. “Perhaps all those carbs did you justice after all.”
“Like I said before, I just hadn’t eaten last time we drank together,” Vergil countered with a slight grumble as his brow slightly twitched in annoyance, earning another laugh from the witch.
“Mhm...yes and surely not at all because your lovely local healer and magical baker chose a less potent blend,” she teased before taking a long sip from her glass. “I’d hate to see my poor dear devil fall asleep on my couch while the night is still young.”
“You consider eleven o’clock young?”
“You’ve never dined with Greeks or Italians clearly,” Y/N chuckled as she smirked at him. “Anything before the witching hour is hardly anything in comparison.”
“Oh? And then how do you plan to end tonight’s festivities? Making potions with eyes of newt and wings of bats?”
“Mhm I was going to suggest stripping down and going off to dance out and about with the devil in the pale moonlight. Though I suppose we’ll have to wait till at least May before we go there just yet,” she smirked in reply, already drinking in the sight of the developing layer of noticeable heat in the corners of Vergil’s cheeks. “I’d hate for my dear friend to catch a cold.”
“Tsk. I’m hardly so frail as to fall prey to the mere chill of autumn,” Vergil grumbled as he tried to dismiss the growing warmth pooling in his cheeks, trying to wipe his mind clean of the distinct image of his dear witch’s bare form dancing in the open wood, moonlight so perfectly hugging each and every curve of her body.
“Mhm, so I see. I suppose it would spare you the trouble of me tending to you if you did get sick,” she winked, Vergil almost swearing to have caught a rather foxlike grin curling at the corner of her mouth.
This woman is going to be the death of me, isn’t she? Vergil thought to himself, internalizing a conflicted groan as she continued to tease him. Though, despite her smug teasing and playful jests, there was still something that didn’t sit quite right for the Dark Slayer. It would come in brief flashes, easily missable to the untrained eye. He mostly noted the brief flickering of her eyes, noting the pauses in conversation as her eyes would trail to the window, deep in contemplation before quickly realizing the notable silence between them, quickly flashing a clever smile in an attempt to distract him. There was clearly something on her mind, trying hard to rise to the surface, only to be quickly pushed back down soon after.
“Something on your mind, little bird?” Vergil asked, causing the witch to blink in surprise amidst another one of her pauses.
“Oh—I—No, no, it’s nothing to worry yourself with. It’s just some seasonal coven nonsense,” she half laughed somewhat nervously as she attempted to regain her previous composure. Though, the more she tried to distract and deflect, the more she found his gaze staring at her more, raising a brow at her skeptically. Letting out a deep sigh, the witch found herself gently putting down her wine glass before running her fingers through her hair. “Well, there’s this seasonal gala that a number of the local covens and various witches are expected to attend. While I’ve begrudgingly attended in the past because of this, I’d of course much prefer to not be involved with any of it this time.”
“But?”
“ But... much to no one’s surprise, they’re not letting me get away without putting up a fight,” the witch sighed, rubbing her temples as she leaned back in her loveseat. “And of course the place will be crawling with any number of the various inhuman patrons they’ve made contracts with.”
“And because you’re a powerful witch with no ‘patron’ to speak of, your soul is little more than open season,” Vergil said, brow furrowed in thought as she silently nodded in agreement, brow furrowed deeply in annoyance.
“Precisely,” she muttered with a soft groan. “One way or another they intend for me to attend this damned gala, especially with the fall equinox quickly approaching. And knowing what I know, demons will be far from the only thing waiting for me there. They’re hardly the only powerful beings out there seeking their share of minions and personal slabs of meat to do their bidding and so forth.”
“So what do you intend to do about it?” Vergil asked quietly, brows furrowed curiously as he leaned in closer to her, elbows resting on his knees.
“What else can I do? As much as I’d love to find and make myself a nice little demi-plane of existence or temporary pocket of reality to escape to for that next month or so, I can’t exactly just hide from them forever here. You already saw how stubborn Gwen was the other day,” the witch groaned at the mention of the ginger haired witch, her left brow twitching in annoyance. “Whether or not I go isn’t the question anymore since knowing them, I’m going to be dragged into it one way or another. And it’s certainly not like I can just burn any of them at the stake without serious consequences from both the society of witches and normal human society.”
“In other words then, you’ll need someone to accompany you,” Vergil replied, eyes now gleaming with a mix of wariness and curiosity. Just what was it that made this particular coven so potent and worrisome, Vergil couldn’t help but wonder. Who were their patrons? What lords of hell did each of them serve? Could any of them be enemies of Sparda that could come to be a problem at some point, if not for him, but certainly for his beloved witch. Either way, he certainly couldn’t just stand by and risk having her walk straight into the lion’s den like a blood soaked stag.
“Then it would be best if I accompanied you. It would hardly be beneficial for you to just go in with any one, let alone that electrified fool of yours,” Vergil said with a light huff of annoyance, earning a soft snort of amusement as his dear witch shook her head at him.
“Are you sure? I can’t imagine you being a son of Sparda would do you a lot of favors there. Knowing Calyssa and her sisters, they’d undoubtedly have a number of patrons who’d happily try and take a swing at your head if they saw you--let alone smelled you,” Y/N countered, though no less smiling as she stared at the Dark Slayer curiously. “Though, if you do intend to come with me, there is likely one other person who would be joining us to make sure as little violence breaks out as possible. Someone not even Mundus’ most loyal supporters would dare try and challenge him in public. Especially not without their forces behind them.”
“...I wouldn’t suppose this would be that idiot’s brother he had mentioned previously?” Vergil asked after a moment to pause, eyes narrowed warily.
“He’s arguably the strongest card I have in my deck. Not even Mundus tried to go after him when in his prime back in the day. Though I suppose that’s only wise when dealing with one of the strongest demons of the modern era. Few people dare to try and pick a fight with none other than the prince of treachery himself,” the witch scoffed as she picked up her glass again, sipping her wine as a slight smirk curled at the corners of her lips. “Why? You’re not at all worried about him are you?”
“You just mentioned he’s among the strongest these days.”
“Yet somehow I don’t think that’s the thing that’s bugging you the most,” she countered, already having noticed the slight shifting in the cambion’s posture since the prince’s name was first brought up. “You needn’t worry about Markus. Unless you plan to do either one of us harm, I doubt you’ll need worry much from him. Besides, he has plenty of other deals and contracts under his belt as is, he hardly needs to try and trick people into working with him. Saves him a lot of time and paperwork that way,” Y/N smirked with a soft chuckle. “Besides, you should be giving him some credit and gratitude just for this evening together.”
Now Vergil was intrigued, brow already quirked as he stared at the witch questionably as she merely continued to smile mischievously at the Dark Slayer, merely letting him be the one to piece things together as he studied her closely. He couldn’t help but note the way she seemed to cross her leg over the other, arms hugging her chest as the fine black dress seemed to only continue to accentuate her curves, her black stockings and matching heels only adding to its temping effects . He knew well enough from the gleam in her eye that she knew exactly what she was doing.
“I will admit...the man does pass on having a decent sense of taste for vintage spirits,” Vergil said with a slight smirk as he sipped from his glass. He first thought Lady or Trish had somehow managed to pull such a high quality outfit together, though now he wasn’t sure to be cursing or thanking the demonic prince for his “generosity.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t offered a deal for a witch of your caliber,” Vergil scoffed, eyes scanning around the room as his eyes glanced over the various hanging pots of small blue and violet flowers and small crystal statues of various animals. He particularly liked the pale blue crystalline wolf figuring in a standing position to make it look as though it was mid howl.
“Oh he has, and has always made it known that it’s on the table if I’m ever interested—though rest assured he’s never tried to trick or pressure me into such arrangements,” the witch added, noting the not so subtle flash of concern in the Dark Slayer’s pale blue gaze. “Like I said, he’s more gentleman than demon, contrary to popular belief.”
“I see...” Vergil mumbled, his face resting against the knuckles of his fist as he watched her curiously, trying to make heads or tails of his dear witch and this supposed “demonic business partner” of hers. “It’s a shame we’ll be unlikely to be able to enjoy such an event—I can’t imagine they’ll be sparing much in terms of finances for something this significant for you witches.”
“Oh but of course. It’s practically expected to spend at least a small fortune for those hosting the galas for the seasonal shifts such as the fall equinox and the coming of All Hallows’ Eve. Otherwise good luck showing your face for the next year at least as far as the upper class covens are concerned.” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. “I remember when I was in my early twenties and there was this one coven matron who had 6 of her 12 prized geese turn to solid gold statues while the remaining ones were cooked for the guests. All while holding up apple shaped crystal bottles held in their mouths for the wine and champagne mind you. And yes, it was very much as tacky as it was obnoxious. I remember getting a mild migraine with how overly polished some of those gold and silver statues were...Definitely the most overly expensive winter galas I was ever dragged to.”
Vergil wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh as he simply stated in disbelief in hearing this. He figured a number of these coven leaders probably had a lot of wealth due to the power gained from their deals, but this felt like something out of a novel, fantastically ridiculous almost. “And yet I’m assuming that’s far from the most bizarre one you’ve ever attended.”
The witch couldn’t help but let out a loud snort in reply as she waved a hand at the Dark Slayer. “My dear Vergil, I could literally fill several novels with some of the most bizarre and audacious things I’ve seen and heard at these events. Trust me, it makes the stereotypes people throw around about witches seem like unoriginal child’s play, which it really is truly, but that’s besides the point,” she snorted before taking another sip of her drink. “And don’t even get me started on the things I’ve heard regarding what they call ‘the Velvet Suit’ that some of these high class coven matrons have. Those are a whole other scandal and a half. And that’s not even counting the demon orgies...”
Vergil could barely catch himself from choking on his drink as she added that last part, almost needing a moment to process what she just said and realizing the actual sincerity behind it. “I thought you said that much was nonsense.”
“Hah, oh no trust me the orgies with various other witches and demonic patrons is far from purely made up stereotypes. Especially if you have a very nice deal with a particularly charming and powerful incubus and/or succubus,” Y/N added as she leaned back in her seat again. “Though fortunately for some of us, I’ve never attended such parts of the event. I usually take my leave around a half hour or so before then at the latest depending on my mood. Plenty of time to enjoy my fill of spirits, fine meats and tiny cakes,” she winked teasingly. “I’m not keen on sharing a bed with a demon who hasn’t at least given me a good and proper conversation, meal and dance.”
Vergil couldn’t help but cock a brow at the witch as he tilted his head almost playfully at her, perhaps feeling more than a little bolder than usual with the now many glasses of wine in his system, his cheeks slightly flushed with heat as he stared at her. “So then I suppose that just leaves us with just the dance left, does it not?” He found himself leaning close to her as he spoke, his voice low and husky, just barely being spoken above a whisper. His steely blue eyes were now transfixed on hers, drinking in every last droplet of a reaction as she stared at him, blinking as she attempted to keep her confident composure, though seemingly slipping as she failed to reply, heat undoubtedly filling her features just as quickly as it had filled his.
“I suppose it does,” she whispered softly with a half lidded gaze as she gently set down her glass that was mostly empty at this point, save for a few lingering drops of deep crimson. “Though try not to complain too much if I step on your toes, handsome.”
“Too much spirits for her ladyship?” Vergil smirked as he took her hand, his thumb lightly grazing over the softness of it. He couldn’t help but allow his mouth to curl into a smirk as he watched her roll her eyes at him as he pulled her close, spare hand resting at her hip.
“Hardly,” she scoffed stubbornly as she looked up at him, face gently cradled by the warm, dim glow of the surrounding candles. The softly playing music on the nearly record player seemed to almost sense the sudden change in the room, transitioning from a slow and solemn Beethoven to the sound of a mandolin followed by the faint accompaniment of a guitar and violin. It was slow and almost solemnly bittersweet in its own strange way. A part of him could tell he had heard the track somewhere before, yet somehow unable to exactly place it. All he knew for certain was the feeling of his dear witch’s body pressed against his, the pair of them ever so softly swaying amidst their makeshift slow dance of a waltz.
It was here that he could truly admire every facet of her features, from the way the light ever so carefully gets caught in the faint flecks of color in her eyes, to the sweet and almost intoxicating scent of pomegranate paired an earthy yet pleasant scent that came with it that he placed as being the scent of asphodel. He had seen the small white flowers around her shop and clinic a number of times. They didn’t carry the same usual sweet scent like the usual flowers usually found in lavender or roses that most people bought, yet Vergil oddly enjoyed the scent. When paired with the sweetness of the pomegranate, the earthy nature of the scent seemed to do the pairing the perfect balance of an intoxicating bittersweetness. He knew both things had ties to the Greek and Roman mythologies of the Underworld—yet Vergil couldn’t help but wonder as to why his dear witch chose those, secretly knowing of her hidden ties to the realm above.
I wonder...does your wrath and sweetness match that of the legendary dread Persephone, my sweet enchantress? Vergil silently pondered, eyes half closed as they continued to silently sway in each other’s arms, Vergil’s thumb gently stroking her lower back as she remained close to him. Neither of them spoke a word in that moment, simply opting to drink in the tender silence of their closeness instead as the music played on.
Parla più piano e nessuno sentirà
Il nostro amore lo viviamo io e te
Nessuno sa la verità
Neppure il cielo che ci guarda da lassù
Insieme a te io resterò
Amore mio, sempre così
Vergil could barely stop himself from burying his nose into her hair, breathing in that fruity yet bittersweet scent that stirred about something from within him from the inside out. A part of him that practically begged and screamed for him to never let this go—to not let her slip from his grasp as he so carefully held her against him. Despite her own clever and almost fiendish charms, looking down at her Vergil couldn’t help but perceive her to be but a delicate thing almost akin to a flower. She had a much more petite form about her, even when in one in heels. The warm glow of the candlelight gave her an almost enchanting and angelic glow about her—as though she could be shattered at even the slightest fault in his movement.
Parla più piano e vieni più vicino a me
Voglio sentire gli occhi miei dentro di te
Nessuno sa la verità
È un grande amore e mai più grande esisterà
Insieme a te io resterò
Amore mio, sempre così
He knew first hand that she was hardly such a truly fragile thing, having seen first hand the kind of power his beloved witch wielded with such deadly grace and precision, even in the face of certain possible death. And yet, even still, Vergil dared not move too harshly as he held her, each movement subtle and carefully measured, gently running a hand through her long hair as his hand softly moved up her back. She was so warm and soft in a way Vergil had not known in many years now, and the way her eyes slowly blinked at him, staring at him with such an unspoken longing and warmth. The Dark Slayer was by no means used to such things during him countless nights alone and left to survive in the bitter cold, and yet he by no means made any effort to pull away from it. She looked at him with an adoration he once thought he could only dream of as a boy, and yet even now feared he’d awake to find this all be no more than a mocking dream.
Well then, if this was all some cruel dream and trick of the mind, then he hoped he’d never dare wake from it. The very way she softly hummed and whispered his name with a seductive and sinful sweetness that almost rid the Dark Slayer of all sense of reason. He did not resist as she slowly moved her hand from his arm, her palm sweetly caressing the side of his face as he’d soon find himself pressing against it in return, moving his face ever so slightly for his lips to kiss the inside of her palm. Whatever walls or internal chains that once so stubbornly held the Dark Slayer back had practically melted and evaporated, carried off by the wind as the pair quietly basked in the warm glow of the flickering lights.
No demons, covens or pesky friends or family members to interrupt them or disrupt the hypnotic melody they found themselves so carefully wrapped within. No masks, walls or need to hide from one another—the consuming warmth between them made sure of that. And yet, amidst the starved and lustful longing and undeniable adoration came something else—a bittersweet pang of knowing that this dream of theirs, much like the song, must too end at some point, knowing all too well of the cold and bitter loneliness and sorrow that would begin to eat away at the remaining remnants of kindled warmth that currently bloomed beneath them.
For no matter how sweet and wonderful the realm of the dream may be, as with the coming dawn, the dreamer too must come to wake and rise in the end. But to simply taste the forbidden fruit and drink the all too sweet ambrosia that they had been denied for so long for even a few moments longer, that alone would be more than enough.
Parla più piano e vieni più vicino a me
Voglio sentire gli occhi miei dentro di te
Nessuno sa la verità
È un grande amore e mai più grande esisterà
As the music began to quiet and come to a close, it was with the distant chiming of the nearby grandfather clock that Vergil became aware of just how late it had become. It was past midnight at this point, and just as Vergil was about to say something, he stopped. Although she had been awake but minutes before and seemed to be perfectly swaying in time with him, he still had found her softly sleeping against his chest as he continued to hold her. A part of him was almost tempted to wake her, but instead decided against it, instead softly smiling at her sleeping form, watching as she softly breathed and unconsciously nuzzled her cheek against his chest. For once he couldn’t be more glad no one else around to see this, his face and ears practically alight with flush.
Still, the Dark Slayer dared not wake his sleeping Persephone, gently lifting her into his arms before carrying her upstairs with ease. It took him a moment to find her exact bedroom, noting the slightly ajar door with the motif of asphodel flowers and forget-me-nots that were etched and painted into the woodwork of the door. The bedroom was a pleasant multi hue of blues with the occasional white, silver and black. He managed to carefully rest her down onto the cool velvet sheets before delicately undoing and slipping off her heels and quietly placing them aside. Gently moving a lock of hair from her face, he silently stared at her with a torn look of longing and frustration. He desired nothing more than to stay by her side, yet also dared not so freely join her without her express permission—even if she did imply that all he needed was a dance left to “share a bed” with her. Vergil forced the thought from his mind as he shook his head. He wasn’t some bumbling, idiotic heathen like his brother who would surely jump at such an offer. Besides it was getting late, it would be best if he quickly gathered the rest of his things and—
Vergil didn’t have so much as a second more to gather his thoughts as he attempted to move from the side of the large canopy bed, a hand having suddenly grabbed his wrist to stop him. Vergil practically felt his body freeze up as he silently glanced down to the hand holding onto his wrist, soon finding his witch looking up at him with barely opened eyes. “Don’t go...” she whispered, her voice soft like silk as she looked up at him with half pleading eyes, “...stay with me, tesoro mio...please...” Her voice was soft and quiet, speaking somewhere between a plea and a prayer, and even despite his firmest stubbornness that would normally allow him to walk away, Vergil dared not move. The way the moonlight from the window draped over her in an iridescent blanket of silver, the way her eyes stared at him almost pleadingly...not even the usually firm and stoic Vergil could find the will nor the heart to deny her.
“Very well, but just until you fall asleep, little bird,” Vergil sighed, taking off his boots and setting them aside as he allowed himself to lay down next to her. His witch merely let out a small, thankful hum and what he assumed was a soft “thank you.”
As the minutes passed and Vergil was sure by the soft breathing and lack of movement that his witch had finally fallen asleep. However, just as he began to mentally prepare his departure, he soon found the bed shift, jerking himself from his thoughts as he’d look down to find his witch sleeping contently atop of him—her head resting contently upon his chest with her body pressed against his side as she continued to sleep. Whether this was somehow her plan to keep him there, a mere coincidence or somehow simply her unconsciously sensing his plan to depart, Vergil could not say—though knowing her, it was entirely possible to be an odd combination of the three.
Once again it seems you just love to watch me squirm, don’t you, my angel? There’s no chance you’re ever going to make things easy for me, is there? Vergil thought to himself as a soft scoff of a snort escaped him, realizing she really had found a way to trap him after all. Though, despite successfully foiling his plans to escape, a part of Vergil couldn’t help but feel deeply pleased, if not entirely relieved in this moment, almost as though this was how things were meant to be. Vergil couldn’t exactly explain as to why this was—sure he had been intrigued by her and undoubtedly drawn to his little enchantress for the longest time since he had first met her that fateful morning in her kitchen, but this had to be a part of something else too, surely? The way his heart pulled and tugged at him so whenever he’d try to distance himself from her in any way possible; the way it practically melted at her slightest laugh or smile as she’d look at him, or even the way his heart would flutter with a sudden rush when she would so much as whisper his name...There had to be more that he was missing. But if so, why couldn’t he remember? Even the foggiest bits in his memory he could still clearly remember, so why couldn’t he remember her?
These questions swirled about in Vergil’s mind like a flock of confused birds before finally settling upon hearing his witch softly breath his name, still sound asleep as she gently buried her face further into the soft fabric of his black turtleneck. Vergil wasn’t sure whether or not to laugh at such an usually soft and innocent expression, her face usually painted and carved with a degree of playfulness and mischief, always happy to tease the Dark Slayer to watch him squirm. And yet all Vergil could do was let out a soft sigh of defeat, a soft smile curling subtly at the corners of his mouth.
It seems you’ve won this round again, my angel...Very well, I suppose I shall humor your wish, if not just this once, Vergil mused wordlessly as he tenderly stroked her hair, carefully tucking any stray strands away from her face before eventually coming to rest at her middle back, mindlessly rubbing small circles into it with his thumb. He was sure Dante and the others would pester him as to why he had not returned in the morning, though just this once, he thinks he’ll be willing to deal with their pestering antics. Little by little, the Dark Slayer allowed himself to drift off into a deep slumber, wrapped in a warmth, that for the first time in many moons, seemed to melt away even the foulest of his nightmares.
For the first time in months, the Dark Slayer was finally able to sleep in peace.
Translation Notes:
Tesoro Mio (Italian): My dearest One
Song English Lyrics
