The Secret Service: The Wings of Titania

Chapter 3: The Contract

The restaurant was buzzing with customers, but it was as if the waiters had decided the sole two customers of table 10 have become VIPs the instant they gave their orders.

'Penfolds Grange Hermitage 1951, one of our best, with compliments of course.' The waiter gushed, his eyes glazed and glassy as he uncorked and poured out the wine into the glass of the teenager who ordered almost nothing. Smiling widely, he nodded once, dismissing the waiter.

'I invited you here to talk business, not taste wine.' His companion grumbled as the teenager took a light sip, a teasing smirk on his face. He was about his late-30s, with white in his hair, dressed in a leather jacket, blue jeans, and combat boots.

'When a person chooses to dine, one must do with flair and luxury, not bolt down food like dogs fighting for scraps.' The teenager admonished, his companion was not pleased.

'My boss sent me here specifically-'

'You will keep your mouth shut.' The teenager cut him off, his voice eerily silky. 'Or I might send your boss the remnants of his son who has absolutely no respect for dining manners.'

The man kept his mouth shut. Polite or not, the boy, no, the creature that sat before him is as dangerous as an atom bomb with delay set to one microsecond. Despite having accepted his invitation, he knew this creature was far more powerful than anything on the earthly world, the very reason why his father had resorted to seeking its help.

After half an hour, the man could wait no longer. 'Time is of the essence. If you wish to reject our offer, you should've told me—'

Instantly, the buzzing of the restaurant died down, the world around him turned gray. The man soon realized he was in a world of white and black, with no one in sight, the restaurant had become completely empty, and the windows showed the world outside of night and neon blue trees.

'Personally, I would advise you to back away from this path.' The teenager said, his blood red eyes blazing like fire. 'Many a person has sought my help, but I offer the same choice to them, as I will now to you.' He leaned forward, a warning tone in his voice. 'You can back off now, return to your master, and I will make sure no harm comes to you.'

'Or?' The man asked.

'You go through with what you have come to accomplish.' The teenager laid back against his chair, his fingers crossed into a steeple. 'But I warn you, once you start, there is no going back.'

The man met the teenager's eyes, determination wrought into his face. 'We both know the first choice isn't an option.'

'Sad, a fool, like the others.' The teenager chortled, raised his hand, and then brought it down with a swirl of purple smoke. The scroll looked ancient, resting in the boy's palm, with a seal of black wax holding it. A pair of claws held it in place, and an ornate ravens' quill was stuck within the folds of parchment, it's exposed nib gleaming with black light. The man snatched it, and the restaurant snapped back to normal.

'When I return to collect the price,' the teenager said, rising from his seat. 'I expect you to pay it in full.'