Behind the servingwomen, a mysterious figure restrained her firmly, one hand clamped over her mouth to prevent any outcry. The stranger's touch was surprisingly gentle despite its firmness.
"SHHH!" his voice whispered into her ear, warm breath tickling her skin. "Do not be afraid," the voice continued, melodious, resonating like delicate harp strings in a summer breeze. "I mean you no harm. I stand as your ally. If I release my hold on your mouth, can you promise not to scream?"
His voice caressed her senses—the most soothing timbre she had ever encountered. Something in those dulcet tones melted her initial panic. Mesmerized by the unexpected gentleness, she trembled slightly but managed a hesitant nod.
The stranger's grip loosened gradually, fingers lingering momentarily as if reluctant to break contact. She spun around, heart pounding, to confront her mysterious captor. Before her stood an extremely handsome being—a Whiteman whose features defied age, exuding a hypnotic charisma that made her breath catch. His eyes, deep and knowing, seemed to penetrate her very thoughts.
God, he's very beautiful! she gasped in thought, a flush warming her cheeks as she absorbed his otherworldly perfection.
"Yes, I get that remark a lot," the newcomer remarked with a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Awareness flickered across his features as he realized his misstep—revealing his ability to perceive her unspoken thoughts. He quickly amended, "I mean the expression. People often regard me with that particular look."
She remained transfixed, her gaze unwavering as if enchanted by his presence. The slip in his words passed unnoticed, her mind too captivated by his magnetic aura to register the peculiarity of his initial response.
Back to the present, inside Winers & Beerers, Gozie interrupted Raph's story. "Just out of curiosity," he inquired, taking a slow sip of his amber drink, "who's the newcomer?"
"That's not imperative," Raph replied placidly, his eyes fixed on a point in space, as he stared at nowhere in particular.
"Why don't you just tell him?" interjected another voice nearby, its tone laced with subtle mockery.
Both Raph and Gozie twisted sideways. The intruding speaker sat at the nearest table with his back toward them, alone, savoring his glass of Russian vodka whisky with deliberate nonchalance.
"What are you doing here?" Raph challenged the intruder, his normally composed demeanor giving way to visible tension.
Ordinarily, Raph would have detected the intruder's essence before now. But somehow, this uninvited guest—who turned out to be a Daemon—had veiled his aura with some arcane magic, effectively shielding it from vibration detection. The realization sent a chill down Raph's spine.
"You know him?" Gozie asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, still unaware of the stranger's true nature.
"Unfortunately, yes," Raph muttered, his fingers tightening around the container of his drink, squeezing it effortlessly.
"Let him join us, then," suggested Gozie with innocent curiosity.
"Trust me, you don't want me to do that," Raph warned, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"Why?" Gozie pressed, leaning forward.
"Because I'm notorious for telling the truth," the intruder answered, swiveling around to face them with a predatory smile, "the naked truth."
Gozie froze, his face draining of color. He tensed, preparing to spring up—and lounge at the intruder—but Raph quickly placed a restraining hand on his arm.
"You don't want to do that either, or you'll be creating a scene," Raph cautioned, his eyes darting around the crowded bar. "Just chill, please."
"Chill?" Gozie echoed between clenched teeth, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Three months ago, I killed this dude in my dream and—"
"Correction, my boy," interjected Baalzebub the Daemon—his once gruff voice now replaced by a refined, musical tone, his once demonic dark eyes now human-normal—as he invited himself to their table without yet being invited, dragging his seat along with him, his drink and tumbler in tow. "The kill wasn't in the dream. It happened for real. But Mr. Do-Gooder here simply altered that reality into the Realm of Dreams—all for your benefit."
Raph eyeballed Baalzebub scornfully but said nothing. If looks could kill, Baalzebub would have been dead. Even so, Immortals were nigh impossible to kill.
"How is that even possible?" asked a very puzzled Gozie.
"Oh, you puny-minded ignoramus," Baalzebub insulted boringly with superior pleasure, "what do you know?"
"Enough to say you have a big mouth, dude!" countered an aggravated Gozie, leaning forward while still rooted in his seat.
"Calm down, Gozie," Raph pacified. "You're doing exactly what he wants: to upset you."
Gozie's temper somewhat receded at this realization as he leaned back. There and then, he silently decided to deny Baalzebub any further pleasure—though Baalzebub grinned cynically, clearly observing the young man's inward effort, his mocking eyes studying Gozie.
"You know," Baalzebub said, still wearing that cynical look, "that would be the second time you have killed me—bodily, that is, if you know what I mean. That's a credit to my record, boy, 'cause it goes to prove that I trained you wel—"
"Enough, Baalzebub!" Raph intercepted.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Baalzebub teased, gulping his vodka as though it were water. If the poison ever burned his throat, it never showed on his expressive face. "Do I detect a pinch of jealousy at the fact that I trained him brutally well?" he asked Raph in afterthought.
"What does he mean by the second time I have killed him?" Gozie asked Raph, his brow furrowed. More out of confussion than curiosity.
"It's a long, long story," Raph replied, "one that I have to tell another time."
"Yeah! Make sure you do that," Baalzebub imposed. "And by the way, you still haven't answered his question about who the newcomer was."
"What's your problem, Baalzebub?"
"My problem, Raph, is, you still haven't answered his question. And if you're not going to, I will."
"Since you're so blunt and insensitive, why don't you answer it yourself?" Raph replied, obviously worked up.
Baalzebub grinned like the devil he was, palming his chest proudly with a theatrical bow. "My pleasure. You see, the newcomer was none other than yours truly—" he gestured humorously toward Raph—"him! Raphael."
Gozie could no longer take it. "You existed in Fifteenth Century London?"
"To us Immortals, centuries, millennia, and eons are but a moment," Baalzebub replied for Raph who was most reluctant to talk that deep yet.
Gozie became thoughtful. "Of course, Raph is short for Raphael," he muttered more to himself. But he wasn't fully convinced. Something was amiss. Something didn't fit in. So he decided to check it out. "Back then, you were White, right?"
"Yes," Raph replied reluctantly, tinged with placidity.
"And now you're Black."
"Yes," Raph replied
"How come?"
"A simple optical illusion technique," Raphael continued, gradually becoming more forthcoming. "You see, I can readily manipulate my skin pigmentation and adjust my physical form to harmonize with my surroundings. In Alchemy, we call this practice skin-shift."
"Or more popularly, body-blend," Baalzebub supported, grinning.
"Body-blend, huh? Do you actually expect me to believe that?" Gozie challenged.
"Promise me you won't freak out, and I can demonstrate—" Raphael was saying when Baalzebub scoffed and interrupted.
"I do not concern myself with what you believe, my boy, or what you don't. My only concern is to make you strong enough to face your destiny."
"My destiny?" Gozie asked.
"You are who you are, and there's no escaping your destiny!"
"You've said that before, and again this afternoon—and you nearly strangled me to death with it," Gozie reminded.
"Aww! I was only messing with you. Anyway," replied Baalzebub. "Now, I'll leave you boys to continue your folktale while I attend to other pressing matters."