Tall and lean, the man appeared to be in his forties. Wavy, light brown hair fell to the crowns of his shoulders and was neatly hemmed behind his ears.
A slender moustache trailed around his mouth and down his chin, fitting the patch of hair below the middle of his bottom lip. He remembered me as a pirate. A very outstanding one.
He was also Earthbound.
"Mr Brandon," I whispered as he offered his hand to wiggle.
I took it and struggled not to flutter too hard at his ring. Normally Earth-bound rings are green or blue, but he was unusual—green near his skull, shifting to gold toward the outer edge, with minor, shimmery bits discontinued inside like gleam in an heirloom snow planet.
"Just Kyle is nice," he retorted in a low monotone.
I stopped gazing at his ring, only to discover his own eyes overhauled above my head.
When Earthbounds first meet me and discern my tiny silver ring, they are usually cautious or uneasy. He was not. Matching my stare, bold and candid, he discretely raised one eyebrow.
"I guess you will both discover," Father Ben said with a kind smile, "that the three of us have some questions that crisscross. Isn't it incredible when we can discover something new?"
Incredible? I was not certain about that. But it was certainly overwhelming. I marvelled if Kyle was the purpose that Father Ben had never squeezed me too hard about the lineages of my silver ring. Next to his, mine appeared almost pedestrian.
After Kyle let go of my hand, I acknowledged we had been trembling far too long. My palms were heated and sweaty; I dabbed them on my jeans as I crouched down.
Instead of taking the more convenient seat across the table, Kyle sat in the vacant seat next to me. A little too close. I did not want that.
"I am afraid Dotty is not a photography cognoscente," Father Ben mumbled as he grabbed his chair closer to the table.
"She acquires a bar back in Ceura. It's got a fascinating reputation."
Kyle's eyes flickered to mine, but he did not say anything. Vinculus Star Lounge was not the only demon-friendly tavern in Ceura. Okay, maybe it was the only one with binding magic being utilized, but still, I doubted he had learned of it way out here, and I certainly would have recollected watching him in my bar.
I encircled my hands around my coffee cup.
"I did not think you would be …" What? Another Earthbound, like Father Ben?
The first person I had always met with a ring weirder than mine? So good-looking?
"So immature," I finalized.
"You either." His eyes meandered away as he grabbed a silver cigarette case out of his denim jacket pocket.
Sceptical whether that was a spike or not, I strived to keep my face void to imitate his. He held up the open cigarette case in offering—valrivia. Its pungent, earthy fragrance was inviting.
I faltered, then complied and took a skinny cigarette. He offered the case to Father Ben with an inquiring chin nod.
"No, no," Father Ben announced with a shake of his head.
"I have told you before, it does not get you stoned. It is only comforting. I don't think God would measure it as a sin," I pestered.
"You are presumably right, but I just don't comprehend the attraction." He fluttered the case away.
"I have difficulty staying awake as it is at my age—I don't desire anything to make me
calmer."
I crouched forward while Kyle flicked a creamy, carved metal lighter for me. His hands were tan and strong. From that and the golden bristles of hair at his crown, I speculated he spent a lot of periods outside.
Maybe for his job. I evaluated him while he exchanged a few courtesies with Father Ben. He had a devoted, arrogant look about him. Long, concave cheeks sat between deep-set eyes and an angular jaw. Nice bones.
"So," Father Ben let out, getting to the point, "as I clarified on the phone, Dorathi is seeking knowledge on an unusual Porphyric demon. Explain to him what it looks like, dear."
I reiterated what Ralph had told me.
"It is an albino demon—white skin and hair, light pink eyes. Four arms, each with long hoofs. Double the size of a normal human. A long tongue that rolls up like a party favour and dangles outside its mouth, and an enormous set of flowing horns."
I took another puff from my cigarette.
"Do you remember the degree of demon?" His small eyes dwindled.
Uncertain. "I have run across diagrams and illustrations of many albinos. It is a compatible pigmentation disruption that could transpire in any class. Just like humans."
His inconsistent attitude infuriated me. Distinguished photographer, I thought. Proud bastard. Even though he was adorned casually in an ink-stained T-shirt and a denim jacket with a slash in the pocket, he was also donning a broad silver watch on his left wrist that appeared valuable. Snotty, too, I put into my mental list of his feasible sins.
"I don't know the degree of demon," I answered with involuntary patience, "but I do have a little knowledge about the seal."
I seated my cigarette on the rim of the wrought-iron table and searched around in my handbag until I found a pen and an old envelope that I tore up for the paper.
After outlining a few symbols and letters, I slipped the paper over to him and put the cap back on my pen. "I am not certain how knowledgeable you are with summoning seals, but I remember them pretty well, and this symbol here"—I pointed—"narrows it down to about fifty or so grades of a demon."
He examined it for a few seconds and then conveyed it back to me.
"You can hold it," I said.
"No need. I have already learned it."
Show-off.
"Then the only other thing I understand is that the demon uses his claws to gut his casualties from breastbone to pelvis—rips the torsos open in one, perfect swipe."
He gave me an empty look. No excitement whatsoever. "Can you assist her?" Father Ben asked as he held
his paper cup filled with hot tea.
"Don't know."
"She is a decent gal, Kyle. I would not get you implicated in this if I did not believe her."
Kyle leaned his head to the side and deliberately rolled his cigarette between his thumb and index finger.
"Why do you wish to discover this demon?"
Because my parents' lives rely on it, and maybe mine too. I could not explain that, though. I ran through numerous explanations in my head and replied, "I just do. It's important."
"You planning some kind of vengeance against someone?"
"Just the opposite."
"What does that imply?"
For God's sake.
"The demon … has some evidence that I want."
Kyle gazed at me for some moments until I became uneasy and had to attempt not to look away. Then he shoved back his chair and got up.
"I will think about it."
"Think about it?" I reiterated in scepticism.
"I am begging for your assistance, Mr Brandon. I will reimburse you if that is what you want."
"It's Kyle like I already said to you, and I don't need your money."
"Then what do you need?"
"I just need to worry about it."
"Why do you require to think about it?" I inquired, thoroughly aggravated by his blasé manner.
"You sound like a parrot, rehearsing everything I say, Miss Wells."
A bizarre, rather hostile smile strived to raise the corners of his mouth but did not quite prevail.
Handsome or not, he was pissing me off. I felt insulted at that point and possibly looked at it as well.
"It's Dorathi, not Miss Wells," I taunted.
"And if you need me to plead, you can fucking neglect it. I can locate someone else to assist me."
Aware that Father Ben was dissatisfied by my vicious outburst, I yanked my handbag off the back of my seat and ground out my cigarette on the side of a closed metal junk can before throwing it inside.
"Can you, now?" Kyle's smile was getting enormous. I was frantic, but he had a point.
My back was against the wall, and I could not afford to let my arrogance get in the means.
I puffed out a demoralized breath and struggled to calm down.
"No, not certainly," I conceded.
"Will you assist me?" I strived to say please, but I just could not.
It took him many seconds to answer.
"I will contemplate it. Whom should I call?" His eyes flicked between the two of us.
"Dotty," Father Ben said softly, "why don't you convey him your number, dear?"
I growled and dug the pen back out of my purse, then doodled my cell number on the back of the torn envelope paper that I had struggled to give him before.
We latched stares as I stiffly offered it to him again; he took it without peeking at it —just squeezed the paper under the flap of the slash breast pocket of his suit, valrivia cigarette dangling between his lips.
"I will be in sight either way. After the weekend," he said, then twirled to go.
"Wait! I need the data immediately then that."
He halted and stood in place, but did not turn around.
"Please," I eventually said, conceding in and gritting my teeth.
With a quick nod, he gradually walked away, rounded the intersection of the house, and was out of scenery without a reasonable explanation.