Rayana could feel him before she saw him, and had to roll her eyes. The man is an attention whore of legend, she thought as she turned to go and speak with the most arrogant man that she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. The room was empty, save for a few devout, and the guards, as the restaurant was always supposed to be when the Phoenician was in town. On the stage was a beautiful Korean woman so petite that Rayana could fit her in her pocket. Even without her spatial magic, of course. She was dressed in a beautiful robe of red and white, while the man kneeling beside her beat on a drum, equally garbed in Korean attire.
"Mr Yoon," she said, putting on her most dazzling smile. Rayana always felt the need to take a shower whenever he looked her up and down; it was part of why she hated having to meet the man. Worse yet, the Phoenician had made it a point to dress her up for this very reason. The red dress she wore was crawling further and further away from her knees by the second, and it fit so tight that she was one sneeze away from disaster. Rayana did think that she looked good, though; she could give herself that much credit. Her makeup accentuated her almond-shaped brown eyes and high cheekbones, and her long brunette hair had been styled by professionals who seemed to know what to do with it better than she ever did. Her fair skin was almost as pale as his in this lighting. "I hope that the amenities were to your liking?"
He stood before her, a few inches taller than her 5'5", but he would've been staring at her full and pink lips right then had she not remembered to wear flats at the last minute. Better if I had, she smiled to herself; the man could use some humbling. Rayana dismissed the thought as foolish, for if he were the sort of man who did not need humbling, he would not be here.
He continued to stare at her with his dark eyes, and she could take solace in the fact that he had gone through the trouble of looking good as well. However, she was not that deluded—Mr Yoon did not do this for her, she knew, but because he was Mr Yoon. His hair, dark brown and straight, had been combed into perfection, framing his square and very angular face. His skin was pale and without blemish, and his lips were as full as hers, although she doubted that they were as natural as her own. "They were… satisfactory," he said, surprising her. She had wondered how they were going to communicate. Not due to language—of course he had long learned English—but because any time she had to deal with him, he usually refused to speak with her. He often left it up to his aide, Hye-won, to communicate on his behalf. She had heard his voice before, of course, on the rare occasions that Mr Yoon and her benefactor were in the same room.
"If there is anything you need," she bowed her head, remembering that Mr Yoon did not like when servants looked him in the eye. "Please, let me know and I will assist you imm—"
"I am ready," he said softly. "Lead me to your master."
She bowed her head again before turning to lead him to the rooms reserved for when the Phoenician was in town. This particular restaurant had been made to replicate the speakeasies he had frequented during his last visit to America. As they moved past the stage, Mr Yoon stopped for a moment, a slight furrow of his eyebrows was the only time she had ever seen him express his displeasure. Usually, he would have leaned over to whisper something into Hye-won's ear and she would have said it on his behalf. The singer would go from singing-to-talking, then back to singing again, and each time she would hold a pause and an awkward second would go by, unnoticed by those patrons who sat at the front, talking and laughing amongst themselves. She had thought, for a moment at least, that he was about to say something, but as quickly as he had stopped, he continued on again. They walked to the booths on the western wall of the establishment, where the man she had sworn to serve sat around a round table, talking to a beautiful woman who would be replaced by next week.
Charbel Khoury—known to foes and friend alike as the Phoenician— had hidden his big brown eyes behind his shades, but even then, his grin and the smile lines around the shades were indication enough of the genuineness of his happiness to see them. He stood up, his lean figure poorly hidden underneath a grey suit that he had tailored for hours and hours before coming here. He was a few inches short of six feet, but he did not need them to clear Mr Yoon. He removed the shades to bow to their guest, his black and white hair, long and thinning, seemed damn right unkempt next to Mr Yoon's. His skin was fair as well, but nearly as clear as hers or Mr Yoon's, as he had had a bad bout of pox as a child. The Korean man returned the bow. "Mr friend," Charbel said, gesturing the seat across from him where the woman, scantily dressed, occupied her fake ass. "Come, please. Know that you are welcome here."
The woman—a Brazilian with a tattoo over her cleavage—furrowed her eyebrows in offense, and for that act alone Rayana was prepared to kill her. Master Khoury proved himself more patient. "Forgive me, my beautiful Anita. Please, wait in our room for now, and think of ways in which I can make this up to you."
She said something in Portuguese that made her master frown and touch his chest with a wince. "Oh my, such language? In front of my guest too?" Anita continued, speaking faster and with more passion this time, and because of this, the Phoenician sighed and said, "Okay, okay. I hear you," before using an invisible force to pull her into his grip; his hand clamped around her neck. She did not even get a chance to scream before Charbel's hand punched through her chest and out her back, her beating heart in his hand. Anita's head was in his other hand as her body fell onto the couch, and Rayana gulped, having never seen the move that decapitated her. He sighed at the sight of her seated body and turned to Mr Yoon. "Look at this," he said sheepishly, before tutting and shaking his head. "Even in death, she dares to defy me."
He laughed alone, but that did not seem to bother him, before he turned to Rayana. "My dear, you look as beautiful as the first day I saw you," he cooed at her, and the compliment made her forget all about the headless body haemorrhaging blood all over the place. "Please do tend to this," her master gestured to Anita, and seemed to be leaving, before grinning. "And find for me another woman, if you can."
She bowed her head and turned to snap her fingers. The dispatch had not gone unnoticed as one of the patrons pushed the screaming woman in his lap to the ground, and jogged to appear before them. "Get the cleaners out here, and quickly," she said; the cloth and seats would need some work, but handling the body was easy for her. "Pocket open," she said, her hand outstretched to cover Anita's body with her magic, and slowly, the black hole her powers manifested appeared on the woman's chest, and began to suck the corpse in, like a toilet being flushed. It took only ten seconds, a task that would have been easy to complete even if the woman were still be breathing, since she lacked the magic to stop it.
Mr Yoon stood there, unfazed and somehow not at all covered in blood. Master Khoury turned to him and led him to a different booth. She had thought that her place would be tending to the cleanup, but she heard her master's fingers snap and turned to see him beckoning her to join them. She hurried to join them, humbly accepting the offer of the seat next to her master. "Mr Yoon," he said, seated as comfortably as he had been in the other booth. "I am so thankful that you have come all this way."
Mr Yoon sat back and crossed his legs. "Yes, my family was tempted by your offer. None of us could work out what made you think we would ever side with you, extremist that you are. But we will admit, you sparked our curiosity. We saw fit to send a representative."
"And that representative was you," her master said, a smile appeared like it had never left his face. "I must admit, I had thought that maybe they would be sending your brother, Seo-joon. I had so looked forward to—"
"Your display of power," Mr Yoon interrupted. "It was not nearly so great that I would suffer insults. Especially not from a madman known to ramble on and on, wasting everyone's time."
She stifled a snarl. Rayana's magical reserves dictated how much she could afford to keep in her inventory, and by the grace of the Gods, her reserves were substantial, and through Master Khoury's tutelage, her precision was even better. But even all those advantages were null against Yoon, who would kill her in a battle if it came to it. He had a habit of letting his aura out, and for good reason. The man wished all around him to know that he was dangerous, and the hairs on the back of her neck were rising, screaming of said danger. But the Phoenician only laughed and humbly bowed his head. "Forgive me once more, my friend. I was only teasing," he said, slowly pulling off his shades. "I wished to see if you had that fire, is all."
"And you have your answer," Mr Yoon said, sitting back once more. "What is your offer, Phoenician?"
Charbel grinned. "Right down to it, ay? Pleasantries be damned. Good, the only one time serves is that gorilla, Nerva. So allow me to offer a full invitation."
Mr Yoon raised an eyebrow and waited, and waited, and waited still, until her master sighed and said, "You seem less enthused than I had been hoping."
"Your hopes are as deluded as you are, Madman," Seo-joon said, pulling out his phone. "You have brought me all this way, to read for me an email?"
Her master surprised her with how hurt he looked. "An email?!"
"Which is what this meeting should have been," Mr Yoon said, standing up. "Our time is precious, Phoenician. We take any waste of it as an insult. Have your servant prostrate herself before me, and if her forehead touches the floor well enough, my family and I may yet forgive you."
Rayana was certain that if she attacked him, Charbel would let him kill her. He loved her, she knew this, but she was not so deluded as to think that her master would not sell her life for his ambitions. But even so, it took all her restraint not to focus her shroud into her fist to try to punch Yoon's jaw off.
Her master was unexpectedly calm, meeting the challenge with calm as he searched his pockets, pulling out several boxes of different cigarette brands before finally settling on a Korean brand and pulling out one. "You all call me madman," he said, snapping his fingers to bring a flame to life to warm its end. "And I agree. I am out of my mind."
He blew the smoke up in the air and nodded his head. "To embark on what I am prepared to embark on, is madness. And I ask you to join me in this madness."
Mr Yoon said nothing for a moment before snorting. "And why would I? We hold to the Council, as we always have. Why break with them to side with a zealot?"
"Because," Charbel said, "The world is deteriorating into a state fit for another great war. Because, your family is high in money and status, yes, but lacks the prestige and age to be powerful in our world. Because, the Council and the old families that populate it will not make room for any of you. Because, the boom in population has convinced many who had been on the fence the last time around, like your family, to come on over to our side."
Her master inhaled deeply, evaporating the cigarette before exhaling so much smoke that for a time she could not see either him or Mr Yoon. By the time the smoke cleared, Charbel sat on the booth's backrest, right behind Mr Yoon. "Because if things go my way, I will remember you spurning me. And if I win, you and your family will suffer dearly for it..."
Mr Yoon did not turn his head; instead, he pulled out the packet of cigarettes that had been in her master's pocket moments before, and pulled one out for himself. "And what if the other side makes an offer?"
"Then you must choose a side anyway."
"And what if we declare neutrality?"
"I have made the offer plainly, Seo-joon," her master said. "A no or yes removes your cloak of neutrality."
Mr Yoon slowly nodded his head. "If you are so powerful, then why do you need us? We, who are of little renown and prestige…"
Master Khoury looked out onto the stage, the singer and drummer still going, still giving a performance that Rayana was unsure she enjoyed it. "This is a beautiful opera."
Mr Yoon raised an eyebrow and turned to see if the Phoenician was being serious; slowly nodded his head when he saw that the man was. "Pansori," he said, snorting shortly after. "Tell me, do you bring out your best beer when you seduce the Germans?"
"Despite being in a room that neither cares nor pays attention, the singer sings and performs with all of her heart. The drummer has been nothing short of flawless. Some will ask why bother? Can they not see? No one cares. No one is listening. And yet, the performance goes on. Beautiful, and haunting…
"And still, something is missing. Despite all their preparations, despite all their skill and hard work, they need something from us to bring it all together."
Mr Yoon's eyebrows furrowed before slowly rising with realization. His confusion gave way to a great burst of laughter. When one of those awkward pauses arrived, Mr Yoon immediately shouted out something, and the drummer shouted something back that made Yoon laugh even harder. And with that, like his laugh had been an incantation itself, the singer and drummer both came alive. Any doubts on whether they were good or not were answered in Rayana's mind.
"The Gods have a story to tell," Charbel said, with a seriousness that she seldom saw anymore. "A performance that needs us. And perform it I will… will you be with me?"
Seo-joon Yoon turned to face Master Khoury, who met the outstretched hand with his own. "I hope that you will not screw us, Charbel. I know that you're a madman, but they say that you are a mad man with a plan. So, tell me that they are right…"
Charbel Khoury, the Phoenician, smiled. "My dear Seo-joon, have faith…"