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This really isn't what I'm here for was something that I wanted to speak into the phone after I got the call and heard Vergil Sparda—the scowly, non-rambunctious Sparda twin that looks closer to disemboweling you so much as breathing wrong—urging that I visit their humble abode amongst River Trails, a trailer park north of Chicago. He called insisting on a terrible fog clouding his judgement and hindering his senses to a debilitating level that threatened his work. I suggested he check-in with an actual doctor, but his curt, conspiratorial adamance that this was something more, some evil force casting an ill-feeling upon him, coerced me into a house-visit.
Plus, suppose I owe him and his family a favor after they saved my hide numerous times.
My multi-colored Volkswagen sputtered into a stop as I parked along the worn tracks among the field where the Sparda's family resided. I stopped by a few times before during a birthday or holiday, when neither of us were knee-deep in supernatural dealings, but this would be the first time it would be just Vergil and I alone without his amiable brother acting as a buffer between both of us.
I see him open the front door to the trailer and nods his greeting, even polite in its wordlessness, then scans behind me. Satisfied, he lets me in and closes the door encasing us with just the privacy of their trailer.
"No one followed you. Good," he confirms, voice more hoarse than he conveyed on the phone.
"Course not. Should I have kept a lookout on the way over here?" I inquired to which it struck a nerve, unintentionally. It was expressed subtly on the slicked white-haired man with a deeper knit of his brows as he partially looked at me, intentionally not meeting my eyes. I continue, "So, what exactly do you think's the issue? How're you feeling?"
"I do not suspect; I know. We shall talk about this over tea," he suppresses, then fails to suppress, a sudden coughing fit that breaks his rigidity. Vergil seemed to spite himself for it and return to his pillar-like posture with proud shoulders drawn back. Maybe within he wanted me to forget that lapse in weakness happened and ignore it ever happened. "Have a seat, it will be a moment."
I oblige on the couch facing a television with a small coffee table in the space between. I was not one to turn down a free drink or food. Also, he is the Sparda I do not want to piss off. Call it the feline-type of fierceness I feel lurking within that prim and professional air he exuded.
After he returns and sets two cups of tea, he occupies the other half of the couch. "Thanks for the tea," I pick it up and take a sip. A nice Earl Grey, perfect for someone that takes class in a higher regard than most people. The warmth offers a nice comfort that I needed after the hazardous drive over here with my run-down Blue Beetle and the imminent threat of rain. "Now, what happened?"
Vergil rests a leg over the other, reclining into his seat. To my surprise, he did not remain straight-backed the rest of my visit. A flushness that breaks his taciturn demeanor and pallor makes it apparent he is not feeling physically well. Or he feels hotter than he lets on in his multi-layered suit. He takes a sip of his tea, drawing in a shallow, careful breath to not stir another coughing fit: "It begins with yet another call for Devil May Cry. I cannot offer the specific details as per client anonymity, but it brought my son and I into a house containing an underground lair. It was made of stone so I assume it was there prior to the house itself.
Thus the trail of deception begins… it was a laboratory for alchemy, and within one of the rooms were multitudes of demons. Eliminating them was not an issue, although one—" his jaw clenches as if admitting this was information that had to be pried out of his stubborn hands— "a mage out of the bunch, struck me with a spell. I had honed my body to endure any such tricks, yet this one—" the suppression crumbled like a dam collapsing and the surge of coughing ensued, some phlegm sputtering up into his throat. He used his handkerchief on his person to discreetly wipe it away. I was reminded of a Victorian gentleman that thought even a sneeze was a rude attack of etiquette, who needed a reminder it was okay to show vulnerability you could not control. But, I bit my tongue. Call it a hunch when interacting with Vergil. He continues, the redness of his face easing save for the heat on his cheeks, "This one struck me and persists with its malicious effects even now. I suspect it has to do with a binding spell, or perhaps manipulating the blood within me to render me weak, siphon my powers." That last thought disgusts him with his evident sneer. He drinks from his cup again. "It is also what compels me to cough like this," he sniffs and I catch a glisten from his nostril.
After some consideration, I notify him with a tap of my own. Vergil scrutinizes me in slight confusion before dabbing the snot away with his handkerchief. If he was embarrassed this time, it was overpowered by his frustration. The Spardas were a resilient bunch. May it be their origins and special blood that ran through their bodies, but it was peculiar something this strong affected them. "Right," I begin, not wanting him to dwell on any shortcomings, "So, this all started from that meeting, right? When was it?"
"Two days ago. I was resisting its effects, even attempting to do some rituals I was familiar with to cleanse the blood within my body and rid any hexing or curses."
I nod, ruminating on that. I tried to envision the extreme he went with bloodletting his ailment, only to end in failure. That crosses out what this situation could have been for the Sparda, and confirmed my original suspicion. "So, how's your health been otherwise? Sleeping well? How was the lab you guys were in? Was it damp or cold?"
"My health was optimal. I was able to still awake at 4am each morning to tend to my morning rituals and meditation. I suppose the lab was damp and cold…" Vergil considers over his tea, then sets it down. "Harry, I would prefer you aid me in using a spell to absolve this." His words are suggestions, but his tone is a commandment that bears the illusion of choice.
"Wait, you wake up every morning at 4AM?"
Vergil nods, stiff in more secret attempts to hide his sudden coughs.
That confirms it. In truth, I could seldom feel anything when Vergil first presented the problem on call. In actual visitation, seeing him confirmed it. Wizards have an intuition if someone is hexed or cursed as it carries like a heavy cloud over the affected; there seldom was any heavy weight on Vergil, otherwise I would have picked up on it from the get-go.
"I have just the thing." I smile at him, then procure him my film roll container. Wrapped around it was tape written with black sharpie that read: "Ailment Cure". Its contents jiggle and those who know the sound would think of the seven little plastic squares in a row, labeled for each day of the week.
Vergil did not express any annoyance as he took the container and opened it, observing the pills. "What is this?" I suppose he was more unaware of things that any average human Joe-schmoe would know; it was endearing to him, really.
"The perfect remedy for what you've been feeling. It'll wipe away the sickness. I used this concoction as a staple to my own collection before. It was after a case I wrapped up got me feeling the same way you did. Same symptoms and all. Oh, uh— Don't ask what its contents are; things alchemically produced work out better that way so you don't overthink it."
I wondered if Vergil will buy it or claw my face off like a cat that realizes it has been deceived. Maybe if he were a little better than he let on, he would have succumbed to that, but seeing he was fighting off another coughing fit, he accepts it with little enthusiasm.
"Tell ya what, if this solid-mixture doesn't work, just give me another call. Rest assured, this brew is the best catch-all. Just be sure you take it easy. The ingredients work better with rest. That's just the case for most things."
Vergil bristles at that and I feel close to setting off a mine in a field in actual conversation. His fingers clasp around the container he covers up again. So many emotions were lurking within him, but it seemed more calm.
"Very well." He conceded and I felt an invisible blade to my neck ease up— purely my own paranoia and antsiness though.
"Great. Take two now and see how ya feel. Though it'll take a bit for that mixture to digest. Also, be sure to take two every four hours. No more than ten in a day. Swallow it whole, too, and it's best taken after you have something in you to buffer out the intensity of the effects." I reconsider all I'm telling him. "Don't think about it too much."
Vergil stands up and I half-expect him to swing at me and break through the trailer, seeking my head on the edge of his sword for attempting to deceive him. First the DMC call he did that got him sick, now with the Wizard he called in confidence to heal him; at least with the latter I maintained certainty this would work.
"Thank you, Harry."
I ease up, unaware of my own tension tightening up my shoulders slightly. I manage a partial smile. Despite all his socially-awkward interactions that I could recall a handful of, Vergil was an interesting fellow.
"You're welcome, Vergil."
It was days later that I got another call from the Sparda's home. Vergil's voice came up from the other end, clear and less lethargic and congested as last time I heard him: "Harry."
"Vergil! It sounds like you're feeling better. Did the mixture work?"
"It did," he says but was hollow of any enthusiasm one would have with being healed from a sickness. I considered if I did something wrong or if it was a Vergil-exclusive attitude. "Nero told me." He continues without me needing to say anything. Perhaps he did not want me to speak. "I will not be deceived again, Wizard." The title is spat out like he addressed a disgusting lowly cur. The now-healed Sparda twin hangs up but something in me said I was, thankfully, not on the upper echelon of Vergil's shit list. Although, I guess this cancels any of my invitations to their house ever again.
Of all times technology had to work on me, why did it have to be now?