Chapter Text
The road flew under Lady’s motorcycle’s tires as they sped down the empty highway. Speed limits had little meanings now that most cops were either dead or had found a sudden desire for a career change now that the danger to their lives became real, and those few left wouldn’t waste their time bothering two armed women zooming across the country. Shades firmly in place, Lady kept her eyes on the road while Lucia kept her arms around her driver’s torso.
Lucia had taken two months before calling back, giving Lady just enough time to conclude she never would, and maybe that was for the best. She already had to adapt to the Order’s straight-laced goons all the time, inviting another dutiful, bleeding heart fool into her life hadn’t been the idea of the year. Then the phone had rang, and a twinge of excitement had twisted her stomach when she had heard the heavily-accented French voice on the other line. Her little bonjour bird had called after all.
They’d worked small jobs together since, falling into an easy rhythm. Lucia frontlined, her twin blades flashing as she danced between demons, her supernatural healing closing the wounds she could not dodge. Lady blew everything else she could to smithereens, the Kalina Ann cleaning out hordes faster than any other demon, before joining the fray with her pistols. Very little withstood the two of them for long, and the one powerful devil who had faced a transformed Lucia, white feathers covering her body as she ripped through it, too fast for Lady to properly follow. She should be used to it by now—Credo had his own angel form, and Nero sprouted deadly grey wings as easily as he breathed—yet seeing her partner, an actual demon herself do it…
It didn’t help the echoes of her past that Lucia had taken occasional residence at the Devil Never Cry—after a summary cleansing of the place, anyway. She’d been confused about why Lady hadn’t, at first, and when told it reminded her too much of her old partner, Lucia had hesitated. But Dante was gone. He wasn’t coming back. Lady needed to get that through her thick head, and having someone else around would help. She insisted, and every time she walked into the office to Lucia’s singing some beautiful French lyrics about the sea (this morning it had been Je voudrais voir la mer, a sure sign that she was about to vanish for a few days on a road trip to the coast), Lady felt the past clinging a little less tightly to her and this cursed place.
They didn’t have a proper mission today, but when they’d been to Hampton Heights a week ago to clear out a small horde, the remaining locals had muttered a lot about some now-dead Demeck guy who’d owned a collection of arcane odds and ends, blaming him for the outbreak. Usually Lady dismissed that sort of thing as gossip from desperate people, eager to place blame somewhere and cling to an illusion of control and understanding. But this Demeck guy? She was pretty sure he’d hired her in the past. He might not have brought demons to everyone’s doorsteps, but she hoped they’d find something interesting in his shop. Lady had gotten an address out of the locals, and since the Order wasn’t calling for any big job, the two of them had figured they could check it out. And if there’d been nothing to it, well, Lady loved long motorcycle rides anyway.
The Heights had been left in a pitiful state by the roaming demons—cars overturned, roads blocked by debris, entire tenements blown in—and Demeck’s shop had not been spared. Lady had expected as much. What she hadn’t expected, however, was that “Demeck’s Magical Emporium” designated not some weirdo’s collection of creepy and worthless baubles, but an entire store of old vinyls. Boxes and boxes of them, some still on the shelves with shattered glass scattered across them, others spread across the ground after an unfortunate crash. Rare editions had once hung in glass cases on the wall, and few of those had survived the assault on the shop. Lady turned off their ride’s motor as she contemplated the scene through the broken bay windows, her frown growing.
Behind her, Lucia gasped, slid down the bike, and sprinted inside, so fast Lady barely caught the grin across her face.
“It’s music!” she exclaimed, her boots crunching glass as she slowed to a stop a few strides in. “Old music.”
She sounded like a child showered with gifts—like Lady would, running into a fully-stocked armoury. Her gaze swept through the shop, then she spread her arms and spun on herself with a short laugh. Lucia barely ever smiled, and nostalgia clung to each of those. Lady had no idea what to make of her now.
“It… is,” she volunteered.
Lucia turned around. Hair escaped her braid from the long ride, and although it still masked half her face, it didn’t hide her grin. If anything, the frazzled strands added to her strange energy. “How unfortunate that we came to search it, yes?”
Lady couldn’t hold back her own laugh. “Terrible. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you take the front st—”
“Yes! Of course.” She set a hand on her hip. “But it is best if I finish with the records, I think. It would not do to get lost in the meticulous work.”
“Great. I’ll take the back, then.” Lady didn’t find the idea particularly thrilling, but Lucia’s enthusiasm had a contagious quality to it. At least one of them would get something out of the store. She readjusted the Kalina Ann on her back and started towards the storage room. “Keep your guard up and leave no stone unturned. Who knows what treasures you’ll find.”
Lucia’s hand slid from her hip to the hilt of her stiletto. If she’d sensed any demons around, she would have already warned Lady, but it paid to be extra careful. On that, at least, they both agreed.
“I promise, partner. I will not allow demons to sneak upon us.”
Tiny needles prodded Lady’s heart at Lucia’s very serious use of “partner”. Dante only ever called her that as a joke, mocking her when she scolded him for being so unreliable. He’d thought it was funny and would quickly let her know he hadn’t asked for a partner if she annoyed him too much—which was often. He’d lost a lot of the energy he’d had when they’d encountered one another at the Temen-ni-gru, his failures pushing him into apathy instead of her own stubborn determination. She’d fought a lot with him, even though they made a deadly team when working together. By contrast, Lady didn’t fight with Lucia. They had disagreements, no more. But at the end of the day, both Lucia and Dante would have her back no matter what, and wasn’t that what truly mattered, for demon-hunting partners?
Lady wrapped fingers around the handle to the storage and glanced back at Lucia, already rummaging around the till. Serious, efficient, deadly, loyal. An ideal partner, really. Lady just hoped that unlike her last one, Lucia would let her have Lucia’s back when the time came, too, instead of vanishing into the night.
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Lucia needed to quell her excitement and focus on the important things, but it was hard to. Her mind always felt fried after long rides on Lady’s motorcycle, holding her partner tight as the wind blasted her face and buffered them from all sides, the countryside flashing on each side. The continent was so huge! She did not know how she would ever get used to it.
It had made her feel small and insignificant at first, and she had lost herself in the exploration of it, despairing that she would ever find anything to help her grow more powerful and defeat Argosax. Matier had encouraged her to travel and yet, away from her people, Lucia felt aimless and unmoored, adrift without her anchor. Without Vie de Marli, she was only Chi, a demonic defect fated to hurt others. She needed her clan, and she had almost returned to the nest before she had remembered Lady’s calling card. It was not yet time to give up. Perhaps she only needed a guide.
It had been the right call. The Devil Never Cry had become new stable grounds, a tiny island she could return to. She and Lady flew out of it for missions, and now the world’s hugeness felt like countless opportunities rather than a monster that would swallow her whole.
Still, there were times she missed the sea smell on a breeze, the taste of salt in the air, and the relentless winds wrapping around her as she stood on a cliff, watching waves crashing below. The need grew within her, rising like a tide, until its pounding through her veins became impossible to deny. When that happened, Lucia left the Devil Never Cry with a note and travelled back to the coast, spending days by the water until she could breathe and think again, her need sated. The spirit of Dumary Island lived within her, and it needed the ocean to thrive.
She’d felt it rising again, these past few days, the quiet pang of nostalgia growing more defined. Not enough to make her toss and turn at night yet, but Lucia would be glad for an excuse to return to Matier and the sea. It wouldn’t feel like failure anymore, either. Lady was always moving, always going somewhere, searching. Lucia might not know where they were heading, but her partner drove ever forward. She had asked, once, but Lady’s only answer had been a vow to kill every demon on this plane and the next. The sharp pain slicing through her tone had convinced Lucia not to prod further.
Lucia redid her braid in quick, practiced movements. Their Dumary home had had a tourne-disque, though Matier rarely managed to find vinyls to play upon it and have them shipped to them. It had never occurred to Lucia that a whole boutique of them could exist, let alone be abandoned and free for anyone to take. She could already picture Matier’s smile as she discovered them. If Matier even had a tourne-disque to begin with. She certainly couldn’t access the beautiful gramophone they had owned on Dumary Island.
The reminder dampened Lucia’s mirth, but she’d seen a few around the shop. They might be cheaper, but they’d do. Anything would do, at this point, and the gift would ease her maman’s nights after long days organizing and defending their people.
She focused on her search, going through the cashier’s counter for anything that could clue them in to an arcane collection—notes, keys, strange objects (though Lucia had discovered over the last few months that she found a lot strange that others called mundane). The only morsel of interest, however, lay in the trash can. It had been tipped over, but when Lucia glanced at the title, she found a plethora of magazines and newspapers, none of which had anything to do with music. Strange disappearances, supernatural conspiracies, murder investigations… and many articles had been cut out. Lucia gathered a few of the papers and set them on the counter, to be examined later. This man certainly had an eye for more than music.
Unless he’d hidden something among all the records he meant to sell, however, Lucia doubted she’d find much more in the front area. Which meant it was time to see what kind of eye for music Mister Demeck had to begin with.
Humming to herself, she moved through the rows of displays, sometimes thumbing a few of the records when she spotted familiar names, but her focus remained on the broader categories until, finally, her eyes rested on the International section. Lucia picked up her pace, her heart fluttering at the potential discoveries. She felt childish, and yet… Dumary Island did not truly have “shopping”. The rare shipments reaching their community had limited supplies, meant to cover the needs the almost self-sufficient Vie de Marli couldn’t provide for by themselves. Nothing so frivolous as shopping. Lucia hadn’t cared—it hadn’t even crossed her mind that this could be something she’d enjoyed. Now that she got to browse, however, and for a gift… it felt like those treasure hunts Matier had organized for her as a child all over the island.
And then she finally spotted it: France’s three-striped flag painted into the front of two distinct shelves. Two strides carried her in front, and her fingers flew through the records, flipping them one after the other so she could read titles and singers. Lucia’s heart soared, a laugh floating in her throat, barely contained. They had so many! Charles Trenet, Edith Piaf, Félix Leclerc, Maurane, Baschung, Daniel Bélanger, Jean Leloup, Karkwa, and—gasp—
Lucia pulled a 45 rpm record from the lot and held it up like the most precious treasure. Its sleeve featured a tire, viewed from the side and zoomed in, and in the golden wheel offset where the most precious and terrible words: Ça plane pour moi and Plastic Bertrand. Matier knew plenty of beautiful lyrics and heart-wrenching interprets, and she liked to pretend her taste in music always ran towards the refined. But then something like Plastic Bertrand or Mario Pelchat would come along, and nothing would stop her from belting out Et si je pleure dans la pluie or shake her ass to Ça plane pour moi. Not that anyone had been privy to the latter, as far as Lucia knew. It was their little secret, born from the years living together. Now that Dumary’s decimated population lived in a more communal space, however… Lucia smirked. If she provided the music, she doubted Matier could resist it.
Not that she could. Even thinking of these cursed earworms brought the melody to her mind, and she found herself singing to it as she flipped through the records, applying all her willpower to choose which she wanted to bring back with her, and which would need to stay, at least for now. She was still sifting through her options when Lady tapped a shelf besides her, startling her. Lucia jumped to her feet, an old Brassens record clutched between her fingers.
“Kept your guard up, huh?” she asked, her smile dampening the reproach.
“There are no demons.” She would have sensed them, even deep in her search.
Lady leaned on the records’ shelf and crossed her arms. “Demons are not always the most dangerous thing.”
Lucia frowned. She must mean looters. She had seen it happen, yet it remained a difficult concept to her. Vie de Marli always stood united, tightly knit no matter the odds. Even in dire straits, she did not think they would hurt one another for even basic survival needs.
“You are right. I got distracted by these.” Lucia gestured at the piles of records around her. “The owner also had several magazines and newspapers from which he had cut various supernatural stories and articles. Have you found anything?”
“Oh yeah. We got a whole treasure cove of potential info down there. We might wanna stay the night to read most of his stuff.” Her gaze travelled across Lucia’s mess of records. “You’re in charge of the music. He’s got a turntable down there, so just grab whatever you want to play.”
Lady’s treasure cove turned out to be a small room with several file cabinets, many half-open already. A huge billboard covering the back wall while shelves with all sorts of objects—some of them definitely demonic in nature—lined the others. A strange blue and pink glow lit the room, emanating from two globes on opposite corners and giving the place a surprisingly cozy ambiance. Lady explained what she’d surmised so far: one cabinet had information on objects for sales, another on found artefacts he’d meant to buy, and a third contained clues about unexplained arcane phenomenons of all sorts and Demeck’s personal theories regarding them—their personal jackpot, in short.
“He even had a whole file on Dumary and Ouroubouros,” Lady commented. “Left it out for you.” She pointed to the desk, and Lucia noticed two other files besides it, labelled The Devil’s Tower and Tony Redgrave. Lady must have traced her gaze, as she immediately added, “Been involved with these. It’s a good way to judge how good this guy was, if any. Lets us know if anything else is trustworthy.”
Although curious by nature, Lucia did not like to pry. The lightness in Lady’s tone had been forced, the way it always got when her past came up. One day, perhaps, they would be more than hunting partners and Lady would share her story, but until then, Lucia was content for the company and guidance. She nodded and strode to the turntables, placing a first disc upon it.
“Pagliaro is an old rock classic in my home. He has some English songs, too.” Lucia could not quite hide her smile. “Perhaps it makes him a good introduction, yes?”
She didn’t think Lady cared what played, within certain limits, but she still laughed. “As long as you sing.”
Heat climbed to Lucia’s cheeks at that. She had not been aware Lady enjoyed her singing, or even that she had particularly noticed it. Her voice tended to rise all on its own, a little piece of home she offered to herself, a tiny proof it wasn’t all gone. Embarrassed, she hurried to put the record on and let the first notes of Pag’s music drift into the room.
They set to work after that, sifting through the numerous files on potential demonic happenstances or sources of power. Lady took her own notes on the most promising source of profits or sometimes marked down those she’d solved since, hired by locals. Lucia inevitably sang, though she had to force herself not to stop every time she noticed, self-conscious about the smiles it brought Lady. She was not used to someone listening in silence; Matier always joined in.
After a few hours of browsing through dusty paper notes and files, they left the shop and went hunting for dinner. They found the skeletal remains of an apartment complex, the two-lower stories all that remained, with half broken floors, partial walls, and debris scattered all over that offered plenty of cover and platforms to jump to and from—a perfect spot for a few rounds of sparring. Lucia went without weapons (if she could land a bare-handed hit on Lady, then she certainly would have managed a sword strike, too) while Lady kept only her pistols, which stung but could be easily healed from, and they spent a good hour in a constant game of cat and mouse, Lucia trying to combine cover and speed to get to Lady while her opponent did her best to keep her at bay with an array of bullets, or went into melee when Lucia got too close. Lady had years of experience fighting demons with superior speed and strength, and it showed in her how she moved across the battlefield, making the best of every environmental advantage available, or how she guided Lucia with her bullets, forcing her path towards Lady to follow specific lines and leading her directly into a powerful kick. By the time they called it off, Lucia shook from exertion and remembered pain, her breath heavy but her mind filled with a pleasant buzz. Judging by Lady’s vague and persistent smile, she’d enjoyed the exercise just as much.
They tackled Demeck’s billboard upon their return, and it quickly turned out to be their best lead. The oldest article on it dated back almost 80 years and detailed the first official reports of a strange phenomenon in the small mountain town of Lavia, where almost thirty people vanished overnight. At first, baffled and heartbroken survivors had no explanation for it, commenting only that they had woken up to find loved ones missing, but a child returned midafternoon, her leg broken, and said the last she remembered was a beautiful, melancholic song. The article concluded with a retelling of the local legend of the siren temple, a long-lost shrine at the heart of the valley in which lived a creature as deadly as it was beautiful. Another clipping detailed how the locals now always slept with music playing in the background, noise cancelling headphones, ear plugs, or a combination of several means to keep themselves from hearing the song. Then there was this article from a decade ago, about a stormy night in which the electricity had gone out and during which all residents without earplugs had vanished.
“Last news they found is from a year after the Tearing,” Lady said, holding a piece of paper that had yet to be yellowed by age. “Not surprising. People are too busy trying to survive to do fancy articles about it now.”
“It is unlikely to have stopped. This village, Lavia. It is still in danger.”
“No more than eighty years ago.” Lady set the piece of article back on the billboard and stretched with a yawn. “Sounds to me like they got so used to their demon neighbour, they might even have a little souvenir stand about their night-time siren. You expect them to pay us to help?”
“They have lost loved ones.” Lucia crossed her arms. Lady always asked the question of pay, but in this case it felt irrelevant. “You told me the gold was secondary. That you wanted to kill demons. That one must be powerful.”
At first, Lady’s only response was thoughtful noises. She scanned the board again as Edith Piaf’s voice filled the room, the rhythmic chorus of L'accordéoniste an oddly fitting counterpoint to their discussion of a musical demon. Her hand reflexively fell to the pistol at her hip, and she thumbed it in silence.
“I do believe we should go. Strong demons also sometimes yield items of power.”
Lady began undoing the board, placing all relevant clippings into a file. Lucia could have helped, but her mind stayed glued to “items of power”. Could those help her defeat Argosax? Would she be allowed to keep one? Lady might mean to sell it.
“My issue, Lucia, is that this quaint little town is quite a ride inland, and this mission will drain our resources. But fear not—” She snapped the folder close with a grin, and the characteristic shine of an exciting idea lit her mismatched eyes. In the background, Piaf’s song came to its climactic end, its lyrics demanding for “all music to stop”. “I know exactly who could pay us for ridding the world of a dangerous demon.”