Death Bringer

just one young guy behind the bar restocking the shelves and watching basketball on the flat-screen TV above his head.

He looked up as they approached. “Hey we’re closed. Come back in an hour or two.”

Vadim extracted his government ID card from his wallet and flashed it at the bartender. “We’re from the SBLE. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Ella was always amazed at how quickly people accepted she was a bona fide government employee without checking her identity with a secondary source. It seemed this guy was no exception. He might be a bit nervous, but it wasn’t because he feared them, which was definitely a mistake.

“You probably need to talk to the boss. He’s not here.”

“Actually, we want to talk to the person who was behind the bar last night.”

“That would be me. I’m Mike. What’s the problem?”

Ella pulled out a barstool and sat down, allowing Vadim to conduct the interview.

“We’re trying to trace the movements of a Brad Dailey. We believe he was here last night.”

“Brad? The blond-haired guy who got dumped?”

“That’s the one.”

“Did something happen to him? I made sure he didn’t drive home. I called him a cab, and Adam, the other guy who was here, said he’d see him home to his apartment.”

“The man’s name was Adam? Did you get his last name?”

“Nope. I missed that.”

“It doesn’t matter. You did the right thing not letting Brad drive.”

Ella sensed Vadim’s magic enfolding Mike, making him more receptive to answering questions. It was a useful tool, and one she intended to borrow from Vadim’s arsenal. It would complement her empath gifts nicely.

“Was there anyone else in the bar who conversed with Brad?”

“There wasn’t anyone else here, period. It was a quiet night. Just Brad and his girlfriend—until she stormed out, and then just the two guys. They were here for about three hours until I had to shut up shop.”

“Were they drinking heavily?”

“I wouldn’t say, like, heavily. They switched from beer to shots after about an hour, and they were talking a lot more than they were drinking.”

“Would you say either of them was intoxicated by the end of the night?”

“Brad was definitely a bit worse for wear, but Adam looked stone-cold sober. That’s why I was okay with him helping Brad home.” He opened the dishwasher and steam rose into the air. “Is the guy okay?”

“Brad’s fine. We’re more concerned about tracing the guy who helped him get home. Can you describe him to me?”

“Adam? He was probably in his thirties, well dressed in a suit and tie.” Mike picked up one of the glasses from the dishwasher rack and polished it before putting it back on the shelf.

“What did he look like?”

Mike frowned. “It’s hard to say. He was pretty average—brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, no visible tats or piercings, not buff or gay, just a regular kind of guy. It’s weird...now that I think of it, I really can’t picture him very well at all.”

“If I sent someone from our office down here to make a sketch of him with your help, do you think you could do it?”

“It depends. He was just so average, you know?”

“It’s okay, you never know what you might remember when you start working with the artist.” Vadim handed over a card. “Call me if you have any further questions or information to impart.”

“Will do.” Mike tucked the card in his shirt pocket. “Is Brad going to be okay?”

Ella got off the stool and smiled at him. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“How about Adam?”

“If we find him, we’ll let you know. Did he mention if he was visiting the city, or has he been in here before?”

“I think he was here, like, for a conference, some computer thing, although he looked too well dressed to be a nerd, but you never know these days, do you?”

“Was he staying around here?”

He did mention a hotel, but I don’t remember which one.” Mike shrugged. “I generally try not to listen to everyone’s conversations, but it was a quiet night.”

“We understand, and we’re grateful you’ve been able to help us so much.”

“You’re welcome.” Mike hesitated. “Did Adam, like, steal stuff from Brad’s apartment or something?”

“He stole something, all right.” Ella wrapped her scarf around her neck. “But we’ll find him and make sure Brad gets everything back.”

“Good luck.”

She followed Vadim back out into the sunshine and walked into the nearest restaurant. She sat opposite him at a tiny table covered with a traditional red-and-white-check tablecloth. The table wobbled when she picked up her menu.

“Can you fix that?”

“The table?” He folded his paper napkin into a wedge, rocked the table for a minute and then shoved it under one of the feet. “Is that better?”

“Perfect. You don’t have a magic fixing spell, then?”

“I’m more of a destroyer than a fixer.”

“Funny.” She grinned at him as the waitress placed breadsticks on the table, accompanied by a plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “I’m starving.”

“You always are.”

“I can’t help it.” She dipped her breadstick into the oil and swirled it around. “I love to eat.” Holding his gaze, she brought the bread to her lips and slowly licked the oil off the rounded tip. His eyes narrowed and the temperature around them seemed to increase by about a hundred degrees. Very slowly she sucked the breadstick into her mouth and bit down.

He shuddered and reached for her hand. She was scorchingly aware of his need beneath her own skin, of wanting to rip off his shirt and touch his bare chest, to reach lower and grasp—

“Are you ready to order?”

Ella jumped and turned to the waitress. “Yeah, I’ll have the cheese ravioli with the Gorgonzola sauce, please.”

“And for you, sir?”

“A green salad and a bowl of spaghetti with olive oil. No cheese.”

“Thank you.” The waitress scribbled on her pad. “Anything to drink?”

“Just some water, please.”

Ella dragged her attention away from Vadim. “A soda. Any kind, I don’t mind.”

“There are about two thousand calories in that ravioli you ordered.”

“So?”

“You’re not going to die next week.”

“We’ve already had this discussion.” She picked up another breadstick and pointed it at him. “What did you think of Mike the bartender?”

“He seemed to be telling the truth.”

“That’s what I got, too.” She deliberately crunched her way down the breadstick, sending crumbs flying everywhere. “It fits in with what Brad told us, as well. Don’t you think it’s weird how this Adam guy hasn’t left much of an impression on anyone?”

“I suspect that’s part of his magic. A creature that steals other people’s faces wouldn’t want to draw attention to his own, now, would he?”

“True.” Ella contemplated the plate of oil. “I still don’t get what he wants with Brad’s face, though, do you?”

“It could be for many things. A spell, an offering to a higher being, a collection of curiosities. Otherworld