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The castle had seemed just too quiet these last few months.
The boys were now 18, had been for a number of months now, and had finally been allowed to stretch their legs (and wings) beyond the family home for the first time alone.
Honestly, Eva couldn’t be more proud of her boys- they had changed so much from the scared 8 years olds that had, against the odds, managed to survive nearly a month stranded and separated after the attack on the home they grew up in, before sparda manged to track them both down, and yet they were still her little boys.
The scars along her abdomen pulled uncomfortably as she stretched and got up from her spot in the garden, dusting off her designated gardening apron and scooping up a basket of cut flowers.
There was some rain clouds making there way over the tops of the mountains that ringed the impressive estate that made up what she jokingly called Sparda’s bachelor pad, aka the rather Dracula-esqe gothic-y castle he’d lived in before they found out she was pregnant with the twins. She hadn’t expected him to suggest moving closer to civilization, let alone to the outskirts of a major city, when they’d found out, but as he had put it, raising the boys around humans would hopefully help train them in the ‘humans are friends, not food’ mindset.
And as her husband had admitted to her after the boys had been safely delivered, he’d taken a long hard look at the amount of somewhat not child friendly artifacts and decor he’d acquired over the years, and realized that it would be easier to just use some of his vast wealth to buy and tax a new property than it would be to even begin trying to baby proof the place.
It had been an adjustment, moving two traumatized 8 and a half year olds across the country into somewhere they’d never been before, but they’d managed.
and now they were both out in the world, following their interests.
How time could fly, huh?
-
The rain on the stained-glass windows in the hall made for a nice, soothing background noise to go through the mail to.
A lot of it was various magazine and newspaper subscriptions her and her husband had, how he managed to get a Japanese tabloid delivered all the way out here she’d never know, but today came with two nice surprises, in the form of letters and postcards from both boys.
Vergil had, after a long think and a discussion with Sparda about certain locations and the best ways to go about getting access to them, had decided to take himself off on what she could only describe as a study trip.
He was going on a grand tour of various libraries, institutions and more than one dark archive, in an attempt to get a better grasp of his emerging powers beyond what his father could teach him.
Or at least that was what he told them.
Sparda had quietly admitted that he had an inkling that there was some other driving force behind Vergil’s motivations, but so far he had been keeping his nose clean and writing back weekly like clockwork, so they were letting him be for the time being.
Dante, on the other hand, had decided to do something very different.
He had, after a couple of sleepless nights trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic, announced that he wanted to move back to one of the cities in what was lovingly called the hell triangle (Redgrave, Capulet, and Jewel) and set up a demon hunting/paranormal problem-solving business.
Apparently, he was expecting more push back, but as she’d lovingly put it to him, the writing had been on the wall for a while now.
That boy had been sneaking out of the state to hunt and work in the surrounding towns since he was 15 (aka old enough to fool most people into thinking that he was older than he was) and even before that he’d managed to package himself off on one of his father’s ‘business trips’ when he was 10 and a half. (a story for another time)
So in their eyes, it was just a matter of time before he decided to go official, and they were both happy enough to let him make the choice of when by himself.
Which led back to the letters they’d both sent.
Vergil’s was short and sweet, detailing that he was still in Fortuna (she heard Sparda let out a small grumble about cults as she announced that to him) and that the he’d discovered a seafood based pasta dish that he actually liked, and was trying to work out the recipe so he didn’t have to use a chunk of his monthly stipend they sent him to buy the dish from this clearly tourist focused restaurant by the harbor.
And that Dante had sent him the address to the shop he’d brought.
(Sorry in advance if he hadn’t told them yet.)
Dante, on the other hand, was the one behind the postcard, confirming that yes, he’d finally found a nice former bar and (allegedly, according to stories) brothel/gambling den that was nicer than it sounded, and slap bang in the middle of a major paranormal hot spot. Apparently, it was a bit of a fixer upper, but there was a lot of potential, and he’d already gotten a handful of good jobs despite not even being open yet.
Including the one this postcard was from, which was somewhere up in the Trossachs.
“Possessed cows, huh?” Sparda flipped the postcard around to admire the picturesque vista of loch Lomond on the front. “Not seen that for a while.”
“guessing possessed barn animals are not the norm, then?” Eva had seen some weird shit in her time as a paranormal researcher, but she had never encountered a possessed animal bigger than a large dog.
“Most people figure out pretty quickly that smaller animals are easier to contain and control. Rats and birds are going to do a lot less damage to the unwitting warlock than a half ton of sunday roast with horns and hooves.” Sparda pointed out. “Well, the ones that survive the half ton of horns and hooves figure it out, at least.”
There was no such thing as a stupid warlock, due to the fact that the stupid ones had a habit of dying quickly and messily before they became a problem.
“Well, at least the two of them are enjoying themselves.” Eva mused, adding Vergil’s letter to folder they were keeping the correspondence the twins were sending in. “and keeping themselves out of trouble.”
“Please don’t jinx it, dear.”
-
“What did you do.”
Dante gave his brother one hell of a side eye.
“That should be my line!” he whined, and winced as a loud thud echoed though the half wrecked building they were currently hiding in. “you where the one who called me here.”
The screeching of an unknown amount of shambling, twisted bodies was slowly getting louder, as a mass of undead former people stumbled into view on the street below them, apparently drawn in by the howls of the freshly released avatar of rot. The freshly released avatar of rot that Vergil swore blind that he had not meant to free from its bindings. That avatar of rot.
“I said that I’d found something that I might need your help with.” Vergil sniped back, nose crinkling at the encroaching smell.
“and then you went and messed with said thing before I could even get here!” Dante hissed back.
The avatar of rot howled again, causing the horde of undead to scream and screech even louder, and start to claw there way up the side of the building they were huddled in.
The stench of rotting, diseased flesh that rolled up from the mass made them both gag.
“Vergil. When we get out of here, you are paying for the dry-cleaning bill.” Dante grumbled, jabbing his finger into his brother's chest to make his point.
Vergil grimaced but nodded stockily as he drew Yamato in preparation for the coming brawl.
“So be it." He sighed. "Just don’t tell father about any of this.”
“That you decided to dick around with cursed artifacts? Naw, I’m not telling him about that.” Dante promised. “I am telling him that you fed the idiot cult leader who was dicking around harder to the thing he summoned, though.”
“… he’d class that as community service.” Vergil pointed out.
“exactly.”
Dante cocked his gun and stared down the oncoming reeking mess.
“So wanna get this over with before he turns up to investigate?”