Shurgate’s direction were quite horrible as it took Ray nearly a couple hours to find her way to the bar. The city was crowded, so many narrow streets snaking in between the main roads, and not enough road signs. She never asked any strangers for help, either.

The reaper found herself nearing the outskirts of the city when she found the street listed on the directions, Crowley Street. This part of town was dirtier, and the stones were crooked and misplaced here and there. The cracked roads were speckled with scarlet flowers, something that was missing in the central part of the city. Some of the street lamps were broken or bent. There were many dark alleyways along the road, full of trash and dirt.

I think he sent me here to get killed, Ray thought as she passed by.

Finally, at the corner of the street, she saw the little cauldron-shaped sign hanging above, the words “The Coven Bar” painted on. Part of her was relieved to find it, the other part of her tensed up. The name was not comforting to her whatsoever.

The bar itself was a lot nicer than the buildings surrounding it. It felt safer, much friendlier. Ray refused to let her guard down, regardless.

Ray cautiously entered the bar, slowly opening the door to not bring attention to herself. Inside was warm and cozy. Just as the front had suggested, it was tidy and clean. A couple gas lamps were lit, the rest of the light naturally leaking in from the windows. A large woman stood behind the counter, cleaning a glass in her hand. She was quite tall and masculine, but very kind looking.

The reaper approached the barkeep, taking a stool at the counter.

“Hey there,” the woman chirped, giving Ray a welcoming smile. “Haven’t seen you around before, what can I get you?”

Ray thought for a moment. She held her suspicions close to her chest, not allowing the calm atmosphere to get to her. She chose her words carefully. “I am… looking for someone, actually.” She cautiously folded her hands on the counter, and leveled her eyes with the barkeep. “A hunter named Hemlock?”

The barkeep curiously raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What do you need that old man for?” she teased.

“I need directions,” Ray said flatly. She gave the woman a blank stare.

“Where to?” the barkeep leaned on the counter, her hands under her chin. She radiated a friendly aura. “Maybe I can help you out instead?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“Well,” the woman continued, not yet defeated, “ol’ Hemlock doesn’t really like doing private business, if I know him well enough.” She stood straight up again, tapping her finger on the counter and keeping her eyes locked with Ray’s. “So where are you going?”

She can see me, Ray thought. Her shades always protected her eyes not just from sunlight, but from nosy onlookers.

“You’re not going to trick me, witch.” Ray accused the woman, frowning.

The barkeep playfully smiled. “Guess I can’t get past a haunted like you, huh? My apologies, sweetie.” She pulled a bottle out from the cabinet behind her. “Can I offer you a drink, on the house perhaps?”

Ray leaned back a little, folding her arms. “I don’t take handouts from a witch.”

“How about a trade for one of those soul trinkets, then? I bet a little piece of soul goes for a good price?”

“I don’t do deals with witches either. If the hunter isn’t here then I am taking my leave.” Ray stood up, huffing her chest out. She turned around, ready to leave, until she remembered why exactly she was there. She sighed.

“Everything alright, hun?” The barkeep asked, watching the girl carefully.

Ray took out the letter from Shurgate, and handed it to her. “I have my own things to attend to, can you at least give this to that Hemlock when he comes in?”

The barkeep smiled and took the letter. “Of course,” she said. She then proceeded to move over a foot and hand the letter to a man sitting just two seats away from where Ray stood. The man took it with an annoyed huff and crumpled it into a pocket.

Ray was startled. How long had he been there?

The man was big, Ray felt much smaller compared to him. He wore a long black coat, and had a wide-brimmed hat shading his face. She could just make out the glint of the reflection on the shades he wore. He seemed like a shadow with his long black hair covering his head.

Ray didn’t know what to say. She turned her head back between the man and the witch, utterly hopeless. The barkeep let out a chuckle as she watched the reaper.

The man, known as Hemlock, sighed with annoyance. “What do you want, kid?” He didn’t bother to look at her.

Ray’s confused face turned to a frown. “You..?”

Hemlock took a sip from the large mug in his gloved hand. Ray swore she saw wine in it.

“What do you want, kid?” He repeated, not getting any more pleasant. “What did Henry tell you?”

Ray straightened up, narrowing her eyes. “He told me you could give me directions to… somewhere.” She glanced at the curious witch watching her.

“Just say it, she’s fine,” the man said, taking another drink.

Ray sighed in defeat. She hated to let a witch know anything, but she was not going to get by the man very easily at all. “Fine. I need you to tell me where to find the Terminus Prison.”

Hemlock stopped. He turned his scarred head ever so slightly towards her. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze pierce her. “And what do you want to go there for?”

Ray pursed her lips. “It’s a private matter.”

“There’s nothing there, you’re better off going back to Belmus.”

She was not convinced at all. “My fellow Reapers are waiting for me, I have business there.”

“There’s only corpses and disappointment.” He took a sip. This man was not going to deal with her shit.

Ray turned away from him. “I’ll go find it myself then, I don’t need your help.”

“You’ll die trying, most likely.”

“Then tell me where it is.”

“No.”

There was a pause. The air grew stagnant. She needed to find this place, and soon. No amount of faked confidence was going to help her find the prison if she didn’t even have a place to start looking. She was given nothing to work off of, and it frustrated her. The pit growing in her stomach told her she didn’t have much time to waste either. Beatrice was waiting.

“She needs me,” Ray thought aloud. “I’m going anyway.”

Hemlock this time finally turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. The barkeep looked at him, nodding her head towards the reaper. Their silent conversation befuddled Ray. Hemlock sighed.

“Reese, add to my tab, will you?” The hunter stood up, pushing the mug away. He began walking towards the front door, pulling a cigar out from his coat and clicking his fingers to light it. “I’ll meet you here again tonight, get some rest. You look like shit.” And with that, the hunter left.

Ray watched with unease, her arm tingling with his comment. She turned to the witch, looking for an answer.

“He’ll help you, don’t worry,” the barkeep said, taking the mug to clean. “Do you need somewhere to stay? There’s an extra bed upstairs, I’m sure my wife won’t mind.”

“I thought I made it clear how I feel about you witches, what makes you think I want your hospitality?” Ray said, gritting her teeth.

“My wife Alice is more of a witch than I am, honest. Besides, aren’t reapers just as much of mages as a witch?”

Ray looked at her thoughtfully. She was very much distrustful, it was what she was taught to be. But the woman wasn’t wrong.

“Also,” Reese, the barkeep, continued, “my wife could fix up that nasty arm of yours. Small price of one piece of soul?”

Always the dealers, Ray thought. She wanted to say no, but her arm was feeling quite bad. She had been ignoring its plights for hours, and the exhaustion from walking around the city aimlessly was catching up to her. She had to trust that this Alice was better than a doctor.

“Fine,” she finally said. “You’ll get your soul on my way back, but first,” she sat back down at the counter, “I think I’ll take you up on that drink.”

The barkeep laughed, and took out a bottle and glass. “No tricks this time, promise.”

Ray drank it despondently.