30- During a Cup of Coffee.

"Quays…" Dylan stopped speaking when she looked up at him.

"It's okay. He needs to hear this so he can understand."

"You trust him this much?"

"I have to try. I need to give him a chance. Don't you agree?"

Dylan turned and stared down at Mazurka, "Listen to her. What she is going to tell you, it is the truth." Turning back to Quayleigh, he gave her a nod before heading back into the kitchen.

"As he said, everything I'm going to tell you is true. I need you to listen as a friend, and I need you to forget everything I'm going to say as a cop. Is that something you think you can do?"

"I'll try," he replied as he watched Dylan in the kitchen filling up his mug.

"It's a start, I suppose. Very well. When I was nine, Ezra Nari, as you know, killed my mother, and nearly killed me, before being shot and killed by the police. When I was laying on the floor, somewhere between the worlds of the living and the dead, I saw a being of bone step from a white light. He was shrouded in a grey mist and a tattered shroud, and I watched as he gathered their souls and sent them into the light from which he came. That was when he noticed that I could see him. As he approached me, all the pain I felt, melted away. He stood over me, and I spoke to him. When I asked him his name, he told me he didn't have one, but the truth is, he has many. And to us, he is simply called Death. Maybe it was because I had resigned myself to dying, but I wasn't afraid of him. When I reached out and touched his cheek," she remarked as she lifted her hand into the air, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, "he lowered his head and rested it against my chest." Lowering her hand as she spoke, she returned it to the side of the mug she had been holding on her lap. "It was nearly as large as I, but it had no weight. I could feel his breath through my shirt, a low rumble when he spoke, and his hands of bone as he wrapped them over the top of my head were so comforting. I asked him if I was going to go with him, and he told me that I was going to live." She closed her eyes and swallowed as she reached up and removed the eye patch. "He gave me a great gift that day, in order to save my life," she said as she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

Yechiel's eyes grew wide as his jaw dropped open, a trembling gasp escaping as a wave of horror washed over him, "Y… you… you… your… eye…"

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Dylan questioned as he moved around the coffee table and sat on the edge of the bed, coffee in hand, wearing a bright, loving smile.

"It… it's green… and black…" Yechiel continued to stutter and watched as Quayleigh giggled while looking in Dylan's direction, although clearly well above his head as if she was seeing something entirely different from himself.

Setting her hand over her heart, she lowered her head and calmed herself. Placing her coffee onto the table, she picked up her eye patch and put it back on.

"Is that… is that what caused you to be sick?"

"Yes. Headaches are an unfortunate side effect. Luckily it doesn't happen too often, and I've learned how to avoid it, for the most part. I just got overtired last night. We stayed up late so Dylan could paint my nails. I didn't want my friend Shane giving him a hard time for letting me walk around with these uncovered," she explained, flashing her nails at him before retrieving her mug.

"I don't know what to say," Yechiel admitted as Dylan leaned over and slid his mug closer to him.

"Drink. It will help," Dylan remarked with a nod.

"I'm certain you have questions, and feel free to ask. I'll answer anything I can."

"How is that supposed to protect you? Did it make you immortal or something?" Yechiel wondered aloud as he picked up the mug Dylan had pushed towards him.

"No, nothing so spectacular. It just means that I will live as long of a life as Death wants me to. I'm under his protection, so to speak. Even if the killer came back for me, in the end, it would only be him that would pay."

"If that's the case, why is Kesling still alive?"

Dylan's demeanor grew dark at the sound of that name, and Quayleigh didn't have to remove her eye patch to know that Tauluthet was seething.

"What happened with Tim Kesling is a complicated story. Suffice it to say, he isn't ready for what awaits him yet. I can't help but wonder if you know the official story or if you managed to find a way to get your hands on the sealed case files without a court order."

Lifting the mug, Yechiel took a hefty swig before leaning back on the couch and rubbing his hand over his face. "I have the case file. I haven't read through all of it, but I read enough to know what kind of a monster he is."

"Once you've finished with it, then I'll explain what really happened and allow you to draw your own conclusions as to why he still lives."

"He lives because it is allowed," Dylan huffed before finishing his coffee and marching back into the kitchen for a refill.

"He has a gift for simplification," Quayleigh commented as she smiled back at him.

"Your eye has always looked white to me. Why is it different now?"

"I'm not entirely sure what causes it to change, but it will go back to being white, probably by the end of the day," she replied as Dylan opted to sit on the floor next to her legs.

"Can you see from it?"

"Yes, but not the way I see out of my other. Death's eye allows me to glimpse into the realm of the dead. I can see a person's essence, their soul if you prefer. I suppose some might even call it an aura. Yours is a vibrant aqua blue, in case you were wondering."

"And his?"

Quayleigh looked down at Dylan who nodded, giving her silent permission to say whatever she liked. Running her hand over the top of his head he leaned against the side of her leg.

"His is a pale grey and muted. Probably because of the spell that was cast on him. Like I said, we were up late, and while he was painting my nails, I was doing some research. I think I may know what happened to him, but I was careless and tried to use a rune I was unfamiliar with to help identify the components of the tattoo on his back. I think that's what triggered this to happen," she said as she pointed to her eye. "I can't be certain though. I could have just messed up the rune easily enough. Suffice it to say, it didn't go according to plan."

"You have a tattoo?"

Dylan set down his mug and removed his shirt as he stood up and turned his back to Yechiel, showing him the altered sigil.

"We've identified it as a Rowda'meth sigil, but several key points have been altered," she explained as Dylan put his shirt back on and sat down. "I was attempting to identify the central portion."

"I did this to myself," Dylan admitted as he looked down into his mug, "but I don't remember why."

"Then your memory loss might not be connected to the murder case?"

"It's too soon to make that sort of an assumption, but that's what it's looking like. Until I can identify all of the alterations though, there's no way to be certain that this and his memory loss is connected."

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. To be blunt, I need more resources, and that's going to take time for us to gather. I was planning to take him to a magic shop today before I went to work, but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tell us what you need, and we can go and get it for you while you rest."

"Oh no. There is no way that's going to happen. One look at you and the owner will kick everyone out and lock the doors. Sorry, but you're going to have to be patient on this. I promise, as soon as we have answers, I'll let you know."

"I really look that much like a cop?"

"More like you don't look like a practitioner and two of the books I need aren't going to be just sitting out on a shelf. Both the Diama'tara Svöghiir and the Athigoom Irá Tafięk, are older texts that were used by Rowda'meth when he was developing his rituals. Neither of these books would be something amateur practitioners should know anything about, let alone be attempting to acquire. We found references to both of them in the notes Dylan had made, but when we searched his place, we couldn't find them. I suspect he may have borrowed them from his mother and returned them before he did anything."

"Why not just talk to her?"

"I don't want her to see me like this," Dylan said over the top of his mug. "I don't want her to blame herself for my mistakes."

"But she might be able to help you fix this."

"Yechiel, if I fail or think this is beyond my capabilities, then we will ask for her help. But for now, I want to respect Dylan's wishes and keep his family out of this for as long as possible."

"I get it. It's a difficult situation to be in. I suppose the less people that know the less you have to explain in the long run."

"It's to protect her too," Dylan remarked as he looked up at Quayleigh. "You know my family wouldn't approve. I'll not put her in that position."

"The fewer that know about me the better. That's why I need you to forget everything I've shared with you about myself."

"I won't tell anyone. I can hardly believe it myself, and I saw the proof. I have a lot more question, but frankly, I don't want to know the answers."

"Then it's probably for the best if you don't ask. But should you ever change your mind," she smiled politely, "don't hesitate."

Finishing his coffee in a final gulp, Yechiel set his mug down on the table. "Thank you, for hearing me out, and for the coffee. And for trusting me with… that."

"As long as you understand," Dylan stated before taking a swig of his own.

"I do."

"Then you can return later."

"I'll do that, but for now, I need to get back to work. I sort of skipped a meeting to come here," he said as he stood and scratched awkwardly at the back of his head.

"Next time leave a message and don't skip work. It could be bad for your reputation if your peers think you run off to avoid your duties," Quayleigh added as he stepped around the couch and headed towards the door.

"I will try not to make a habit out of this. I just had a bad a feeling and Harlowe tells me to always follow my instincts. I didn't think this was the time to be second guessing them. Guess they aren't always right though," he explained as he bent down and put on his shoes.

"Actually, I think your instincts were right on. What you believe has merit. It's very possible that I was the target of someone's ill intent, and we're grateful for the warning. If I was anyone else, we'd probably leave town for a while too, but I just can't right now. I can't leave Garren on a whim, and I could never explain any of this to him properly. We will figure something out though, and in the meantime, we will be extra cautious. Of that, I can promise you," she said, having walked up behind him.

Turning around he looked down at her, "Please do."

Unlocking the door, she opened it for him, "Enjoy the rest of your day, Detective."

"See you later," Dylan called out from his place on the floor.

"Yeah, I'll be back around seven."

"Hey, keep the drinking to a minimum tonight. He's a bit of a lightweight."

"I'll keep that in mind," Yechiel remarked as he walked away down the hall.

As soon as he heard the door close, he picked up his pace and hurried back to his car. Once inside, he found it difficult to control his breathing, sweat began to drip from his brow, and he clutched at his face as his mind began churn, along with his stomach.

"Her eye, what the hell was that!"

'Dammit get a hold of yourself!'

"Why should I? It doesn't make any sense! What she said, how can it be true!"

'It doesn't matter if it was true, it's her eye now.'

"That's right, that's right. It doesn't matter who gave it to her, it belongs to her now. Then why can't I remember what the hell it looks like! Why is that damnable blue rose all I can remember?!"