“Friend him or not, he’ll help us.”
The bearded man, with prematurely white hair and a black leather jacket, leaned forward. “How? He has his little goblin friend searching the library to no avail. I did not ask him to do so.”
The elven woman with eyes as dark as midnight and skin as pale as moonlight, answered in a voice as cold as her eyes. “For someone so suspicious, you are always the one who asks others to do tasks no one else can complete.”
The man cleared his throat. His tone was as dark and cold as his eyes. “I had no choice. The eyes of the city were upon us.”
The woman’s tone remained cold and distant. “If we fail in our mission, your lack of trust will not matter.”
He reached for the bottle on the table and poured a shot of whiskey into a dirty glass. “That’s why I take what measures I must.”
She leaned forward slowly and scoffed. “And to think, I thought you had some intelligence.”
He chuckled and took the shot. His laugh was filled with sarcasm and disgust. “It was a strong brew, at that.” He slammed back the shot and poured another. “At least, now, I will know for certain about his allegiances.”
She settled back into her seat, remaining silent and still. There was the skin of a flask of liquor between her hands. She took the shot and she let the liquid burn its way down her throat. Her lips were pressed together, as if holding back her unending rage.
He continued to pour another shot. He downed it in one gulp, relishing the burning feeling in his throat. “After all, we don’t negotiate with the enemy.”
She turned her head to the side and laughed. It was deceiving, as a small smirk played on her lips. “You mean, we do.”
He slammed his fist on the table. His eyes met her piercing gaze and without any fear, he continued. “The Lion will have his answer.”
A deep frown covered her face and she drew her blue silk shawl closer to her. She muttered something into the corner of her mouth and stared intently at the man. There was a glare of hatred filling her eyes.
The man lowered his glance and looked to his hot and sweaty fists on the table. He cracked and rolled his knuckles. He downed another shot and then another and another. After letting the last one burn through his throat, he looked back to the woman. “We are on the same side, after all.”
She put her hands up and frowned. She turned her head and laughed out loud. “Keep drinking, my friend. I doubt you need any more fire in your heart.”
He rose from his place and left the table. He walked past the bar and towards the back room. The small and dimly lit room was empty. There were no chairs and no tables. The only furnishings were a small couch and a shelf with a small radio. The man pulled away a dark cloth and an even darker bag came into view. There were many bottles and vials in the opaque bag.
The man untied the bag and began to throw the bottles and vials on the floor. Next to the couch, he grabbed a small silver corked bottle from the ground, and uncorked it with his fingers. He poured the contents on to the marbled floor. It was dark brown, resembling dirt.
He then reached for a bottle labeled as “Pressure” and poured it into the marbles. There was a slow, heavy rain of small rocks and dirt.
Next, he grabbed a bottle labeled “Boiling.” It was thick and red and the consistency was more like blood than water. He poured it in to the stone cocktail and the floor began to heat up. It was not the heat of fire, but rather the burning sensation of being sauntered in the desert. It gave off no smell, only a hot and dry sensation.
He looked to the back of the room as if he was being summoned. The dark shadows of the back room were moving and taking form. There appeared to be some kind of wood in the middle of the room, with red hot coals surrounding it on all side. Blue and white smoke rose from the coals.
The back of the room began to grow in size. It was as if the room was expanding. The walls were quickly getting smaller and the floor was growing longer. Instead of just seeing a room, it was as if he was inside a steaming box. It had a red light that did not hurt or tire the eyes. The man felt the amethyst shawl on his back glow a red as well.
It was as if time was slowing down. The man was not at all affected by it, however. It was as if he was wearing a coat of red fire. The heat inside of him was growing. His insides felt like they were being marinated in lava. The heat was rising and the blue and white smoke gave him the appearance of an inferno.
The walls and floor, however, did not seem to melt. It was as if the smoke was cloaking their melting. Without fear of the smoke, the man walked closer to the center of the room. The shadows of the shadows were moving and taking shape. The room began to shrink in size outside of him.
The silence and darkness in the room mirrored the room outside. The exception was the coals. They were burning hotter and harder than before. It was as if this was the first place that the shadows were able to take form. Only the coals were not burning.
They looked upon the man’s face and all of the shadows stopped their movements.
