Rowan → Ethan Nakamura ✔

Immortal

There was no door to the living space above the supermarket. The stairs merely led directly into the small apartment, which smelt of mothballs and alcohol. Traditional mahogany furniture lined the walls, the designs carved into them reminding Rowan of the clouds in ancient Chinese paintings. The one window was covered by yet another red curtain, the light from outside casting the room in a dim, crimson glow.

"Please, sit down." The old man gestured at the wooden couch. Rowan was surprised to find that the pillows placed upon the hard surface made it softer than she had expected. "I'll make you some tea."

"What's that?" Will whispered to Rowan, pointing at what appeared to be a large wooden shelf in the corner. It was mulberry colored, and it had only three shelves, some of which were filled with a plate of chicken or a few oranges. This was accompanied by a couple of different wine bottles, each label proclaiming individual brands.

"A shrine," Rowan responded. She frowned. "That's strange."

Billie caught onto what was missing. "There's no photos. No statues. Nothing."

"Of what?"

"Whoever the shrine is to."

"Photos and statues don't compare to the real thing, trust me." The old man's voice sounded from around the corner, presumably where his kitchen was. He brought out four red cups and a teapot on a metal tray, setting it down on the coffee table in front of them.

"Thank..." Rowan faltered, at the sight of the red cups. They were barely more than a shot.

"These are pretty small." Will observed. He held one up, squinting at the drops of brown tea. He was about to drink it when Rowan grabbed his hand. "What?"

She stared at the old man. "Why are you serving us with these?"

"Is Rowan being rude again?" Will turned to Billie, who was also regarding the old man with some trepidation.

"People use these cups for worship," Billie explained. "Worship to either the gods or those who have passed."

"And we are not gods." Rowan said, her eyes narrowed and still trained on the old man. "It means he wants us dead."

The old man bowed his head apologetically. "This wasn't meant to be an insult, you know, it's just what happens to be clean at the moment. I don't get sent many other types of cups, and the one normal mug I have is in the dishwasher, believe it or not."

"You get sent cups." Nico said slowly.

"What, like free gifts from Amazon Prime?" Will said.

The old man shook his head, his thin beard matching his movements like the string of a bobbing balloon. "Not Amazon Prime. But gifts, yes, I suppose you could call them that."

"The shrine," Rowan once again drew attention to the wooden structure that touched the ceiling of the apartment. "I need – what the hell?"

A plate of slightly burnt pork chops blinked into existence on the top shelf. She turned to Billie, who had jumped to her feet. Will and Nico were also taken aback. Good; she hadn't been the only one to witness it, which meant she wasn't insane.

"Aha," The old man walked over to the shrine, gently poking the pork chops with a long finger. "Dinner has arrived."

Inside of Rowan's head, something clicked into place. "The shrine...is to you."

The old man gave the group a smile that was almost embarrassed. "Well, I like to think of it more as a mailbox. 'Shrine' makes it sound as if I'm narcissistic."