Chapter Text
For a Friday night, the bar is empty save for a few of the same faces who haunt this place every night—the divorced man who hits on lone women, the two recent graduates who know the owner, and the frazzled secretary who works at a nearby banking firm.
At least that's what it looks like to someone who just so happened to pass by. But you see the creatures who hide inside their shadows, the evil spirits who are attracted to a run-down place like this—where hope runs dry and people wash down their problems with the strongest liquor they can get their hands on.
You spent the better half of the last twenty something years trying to ignore their presence, but no matter how hard you try, they always seem to find you. It’s not like there is some rule book where you can easily find the answers you seek. Nobody around you can tell you the reason for these strange occurrences. All you know is that there is very little that sets you apart from the devil himself, or so that's how most of the population views witchcraft. The devil's work. Satan worshiper.
Downing the last drop of your gin and tonic, you try to grab the bartender’s attention but find that he is currently hitting on the drunk secretary; leaning over the bar on one elbow, towel over his shoulder. You turn your head away at the sight only to spot a new patron sitting directly across the bar from you. And he is only looking at you, swirling an old fashioned in his hand. You would recognize those vermilion eyes anywhere.
Before you know it, you're finishing the rest of your drink before heading straight to him. A moth to the flame; you never were able to stay away from him. Distance and time are not a thing when it comes to him.
"It's been a while, sweetie." Sylus continues to swirl the glass in his hand, his eyes dropping down to your chest for a moment. "Care to join me tonight?"
You frown, not in the mood for his shameless flirting. Taking a good look at him, you note that he hasn't changed much since you saw him last. Thinking back to that day—polaroid cameras, wide smiles, and proud parents—you feel a pang of nostalgia in your heart.
Even back then he dressed nice, but you appreciate the tailored suit in favor of designer hoodies. With slicked-back silver hair and a designer watch on his wrist, he looks like he walked straight out of a fashion magazine. Yes, he looks good, but in the tacky atmosphere that surrounds him—he just looks out of place. There's something more rigid about him now, polished and clean. Too put together like he’s trying to hide something behind his grin.
Just what is a man like him doing in a dingy dive bar like this? This is your place of refuge when you feel shitty about yourself, downing a drink or two before leaving. Guys like him shouldn't be here—unless they are after something in particular.
"What do you want, Sylus?" He laughs under his breath, deep and rich as it vibrates in the lower depths of your own sternum.
"Ever so clever, aren't you?" He places his drink on the sticky surface of the bar. "I'm sure you remember our dear friend Zayne."
Zayne. The awkward kid with glasses and a know-it-all attitude? The one who would always get you into trouble for collecting frogs and other creatures in the woods? The kid who always refused to help you study? Your jaw clenches at the memories.
"I only remember how much he hated me,” you reply, bitterness coating your tongue.
"Well looks like he's gotten himself in a bit of a bind recently."
Money problems? Zayne was too calculated as a child to grow up into someone who fell into debt. A run-in with the wrong crowd also seems unlikely, you couldn't imagine him getting into trouble like that. Sylus, however, is definitely the type to secretly run a shady business. Did Zayne get tied up in whatever Sylus is doing? Now that would be more believable.
Shaking his head like he could read your racing thoughts, Sylus pats your head. "I forgot you always had a wild imagination."
Your blood runs cold, your breath suspending in your lungs. What the fuck?
"I didn't say anything."