The man poured him a shot of whiskey.
“How did you know what I wanted?” Marcus asked the barman with short, spiky black hair and eyes that matched, aside from an odd fleck of burnished gold that winked at him. He sipped the whiskey, enjoying the bite.
“I’m good at my job. Do you approve?” the barman asked.
Marcus tilted his head to the side and sipped again, savoring the rich liquor and allowing it to wash over his tongue as he contemplated the smoky flavor. “It’s exquisite. What is it?”
“It’s one of the best. Balvenie, a fifty-year-old single malt scotch whiskey. All the way from Speyside, in Scotland, to be exact. It’s a rare one, only eighty-eight bottles in existence.”
The information intrigued Marcus and he rested his arms on the bar. “How much do I owe you?” He pulled out several notes from his wallet. There inside lay the picture of Ella holding Nate and it caught him, drowning out the noise around him until the barman spoke with his cold voice.
“I don’t want your money. It carries no weight here. Besides—you possess something of far more value.”
Marcus eyed the strange man once again. The chatter stopped and when he turned his head to the side, the people filling the basement stood frozen like statues. What the hell? Flicking his gaze back at the barman, he noted they were the only ones unaffected. The man poured him another drink, as well as one for himself. Right away his hackles rose and his shoulders stiffened, taking more account of the slim man behind the bar who stood around six foot, with a proud nose and cleanly shaved square chin. Quite unremarkable, and yet his beady eyes never blinked. Accepting the drink, he knocked the barman’s glass and drank the alcohol, letting the liquid work its magic. Now for some answers.
“What is it you want?” Marcus asked.
The stranger swirled his drink. His gaze saturated him with its intensity, as if he could read his most private thoughts. The man tapped his finger on Ella’s picture, which magically faced him on the bar. “Give me her soul. It’s entwined with yours. Set her free, and I’ll let her live.”
Marcus’s heart hammered inside his chest and he slammed his glass on the counter, sliding it away. What kind of dream or nightmare was this? Who was this man?
“Where is she?” Marcus growled, forcing himself to calm down.
The barman finished off his drink, rinsed it in the sink below, and wiped the glass with a towel before setting it back on the shelf. “If you don’t give me what I want, the Morrigan will, and you will lose Ella forever. I thought you loved her?”
Just hearing the mention of the Morrigan made a pain shoot from behind his eyes. His anger detonated. “I love Ella more than anything in this world.”
“And yet you were so easily seduced by another.”
Marcus shot forward to grip the man’s throat, but the barman moved faster, standing right in front of him, dressed in a sleek black suit that fitted him in all the right places and a crisp white shirt beneath, lighting a cigar. “Release her soul—you have the power to do that. I’ll bring her back and you can live a life together, until the time comes. And the time will come, then her soul is mine.”
He stared at this creature who looked a couple of human decades older than him. But as he noted the lines around his eyes and strands of gray in his hair, he knew he wasn’t human. The spectacle puffed on his cigar, creating perfect circles of smoke. What kind of mutant was he? Marcus pushed away from the bar, analyzing the people frozen like mummies, questioning what he was seeing. A million questions circled inside his mind.
“Who are you?”
The man withdrew his cigar from his mouth and his eyes glowed with a ring of fire. He pointed the pungent stub at him, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve been called many names. Lucifer. Morning Star. Prince of Darkness. All quite dramatic, but I am merely a collector of souls. Although I do have a penchant for rare things.”
Marcus had faced many enemies before, but not one like this. One he felt could end him with the flick of his wrist, crushing him underfoot like a worthless beetle. But he wouldn’t give in without a fight.
“Why do you want Ella’s soul? What is she to you? Is she here or does the Morrigan have her?” Marcus needed answers, not that he believed this creature would give them, but he asked anyway, trying to glean some information that might prove helpful.
The man laughed and strolled around him, waving his hand out in front; the scene before him changed to a dark, misty landscape filled with jagged, steep mountains and narrow, swirling valleys. A place picked right out of a fantasy book and not one he recognized or had read. A glimmer of bright light glowed in the distance. Without needing confirmation, Marcus knew this place existed outside of the human realm.
“I’m as old as time. I’ve seen and experienced everything. I’ve been watching Ella for quite some time. She always endures no matter what she faces, which is unique, but eventually, she’ll break, and I want her broken…”
“I’ll kill you first.” Marcus lunged at the man, gripping his throat with both his hands, squeezing as forcefully as possible. He poured all his strength into killing the soul-collector, but he vanished, as did the scene around him. Only laughter echoed in the darkness that shrouded him.
“Wake up, Drayton.” Hands shook him, and he opened his eyes, staring at the witches, back
