Of all the people Waylan had wanted to kill during his time on Earth, the man singing up on the dingy bar stage was at the top of the list. Waylan took a swig of his beer, checking his watch for what must have been the fifth time in the past thirty minutes. He looked back up just as the server approached the table.
“Still waiting on your friend?” Her smile was wide, but fake.
Waylan sighed and nodded. “He’ll be here. Can I get another?” He waved the beer bottle slightly.
“Sure, doll.” The server turned to go back to the bar, leaving Waylan thankful to be alone again.
He cringed as the singing on stage seemed to get louder. “Of course he would want to meet here on live music night. Of course, he would want to meet here,” Waylan muttered to himself.
“What’s wrong with live music? I think you need to learn to have a little more fun, Waylan.”
The man who slid into the booth across from Waylan did not seem dressed for the cheap bar they were in. He wore a silk shirt with the top two buttons undone, a pair of fitted leather pants, and what appeared to be snakeskin boots. Silver piercings dotted his ears, though his face was surprisingly empty of any. Of course, that wasn’t his most noticeable feature.
The entire right side of his face was scarred with three long scratches, starting just a bit into his hairline and going all the way down his chin. The scars didn’t seem to impede his handsome features, though, and the man had a charming smile on his face as he reached over to pluck the beer bottle out of Waylan’s hand and took a swig from it.
“Damien. Late, as always.” Waylan’s words were dry as he gazed across the table.
“Aw, don’t be so dull my warlock. You know I’ll never leave you hanging.” Damien frowned when he took another swig of the bottle and discovered it was already empty. He sat it down on the table between them. “I just had some matters to deal with on my way.”
The server came back and, to her credit, managed not to look too surprised to see the man now sitting across the table from Waylan. He couldn’t entirely blame her, they didn’t look like they belonged at the same table.
Waylan was dressed much more casually than Damien. A simple black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the swirling tattoos that covered his arms, was paired with a pair of dark wash jeans and plain black boots. The only accessory he wore was a simple silver chain around his neck.
“Ah, good evening!” Damien took the beer from the server, earning a kick under the table from Waylan. He scowled briefly, sliding the bottle across the table before turning back to the server. “Could I perhaps have a cocktail? A Pornstar Martini, I suppose. And could we also get an appetizer of nachos to share? Thank you so much,” Damien’s eyes flicked to her name tag for a moment. “Annie. What a wonderful name.”
Annie flashed her winning fake smile, confirming the order before heading back to the kitchen. Waylan took a swig of his beer, frowning across at Damien.
“So why did you want to meet? And why here? It’s so...loud.” And dirty. And not a fun place for Waylan.
“Why not here? I find it delightful. Don’t you just love live music?” Damien flashed Waylan a grin before continuing. “As for why we’re meeting, it’s simple. I have a job for you.”
Waylan took a long gulp of his beer before placing it on the table in front of him and standing up. He shoved his fists into his pocket, fully intending to stride away.
“It’s a command.”
Damien’s words caused Waylan to stop in his tracks. His mouth twisted in a snarl before he sat back down, picking up his beer bottle and finishing it off.
“What is it?”
Damien’s mouth opened, then closed when Annie came back with his drink and nachos. He thanked her, sending her back on her way. Damien took a few moments to take a bite of a few nachos before talking again.
“I need you to look into a string of unexplained deaths. All mortals, all bloodstained, and none solved by the human police.” Damien paused again, taking a sip of his drink and grinning, clearly pleased with the taste.
“I’m not a detective, Damien. And I’m not your errand boy either. I’m a warlock.” Finally, Waylan reached over to grab a nacho himself, popping it into his mouth and chewing with a frown. “I, you know. Cast magic spells and look brooding and mysterious.”
Damien laughed, loud and gruff. “Sure. But remember who gave you that power, Waylan. We made a deal. And, as I said. This. Is a command.”
Waylan groaned, sinking down in the booth. “Fine. I’ll look into it.”
The singer began an especially loud and annoying song, causing Waylan to glare up at the stage. A line of tattoos glowed a dull blue briefly before fading back to the normal black ink. The moment the tattoos were back to normal, the microphone produced a loud pop, immediately falling silent. The entire band fell silent with the microphone, scrambling to try and figure out what happened.
Damien chuckled a bit, popping another nacho into his mouth. “That was fun. See? This is why I chose here, of all places. Of course, any place I go with you is sure to be a blast.” Damien winked his scarred eye.
With a shake of his head, Waylan stood up again. “Do you have any more information for me, or am I free to go, Master?”
This earned another loud chuckle from Damien. “I do love your sarcasm, my warlock. Yes, you can go. I’ll send you more information tomorrow to help in your search. In the meantime.” Damien slid a pouch over to Waylan. “This may help you get a head start if you would like to do some scrying tonight.”
Waylan rolled his eyes, standing up and pocketing the pouch. “I have a feeling I’m not going to have a choice.”
With that, he turned and left the bar, not looking back at Damien for a moment.
Thankfully, his apartment was only a couple blocks away. Waylan tossed the pouch from Damien onto his bed before heading into the bathroom. He turned on the shower before stripping off his clothes.
The swirling tattoos on his arms stretched over his entire body, stopping just short of his neck. They were all a deep black, as if they were new, creating lines all over his skin. Waylan gently traced one over his heart as he stepped into the shower.
Less than half an hour later he was back in his room, pulling on some clean lounge pants. Waylan remained shirtless, sitting on the edge of his bed and picking up the pouch from Damien.
It was a deep purple velvet, embroidered with a golden sigil in the front, that Waylan recognized as Damien’s summoning sign. He rolled his eyes as a finger traced the embroidery. Whatever was inside must be important.
Pulling the draw string open, Waylan tilted the pouch a bit, letting the contents slide into his open palm. A single bone rolled out, broken on both edges of it. From first glance it wasn’t clear what type of bone it was, though Waylan had a feeling it was human. He could feel the sorrow coming of it.
Standing up, Waylan took the bone to a squat desk underneath his window. He placed it in a dish before digging around through the drawers around the desk. After pulling out various crystals he set them to the side and pulled forward a crystal ball that sat in the windowsill. He took a few moments to arrange the crystals around the scrying ball, occasionally pausing to check the distance between them before going back to placing them where they belonged.
Finally, Waylan sat back, nodding at what he had set up. Placing the bone in front of the scrying ball, he took a deep breath before closing his eyes and starting the spell.
Comments (0)
See all