Her voice steadied. "They wanted something my uncle found. Something... old and powerful. He wouldn’t give it to them. He was a collector of rare artifacts. And he had gotten his hands on an old jewelry box and key." She handed me the key, an intricate filigree glinting in the dim light. "Gave me this the day before he died. Told me to hold on to it, to keep it secret. Was acting strange, paranoid even."

I took the key, feeling its weight. "Collectors," I said again, shaking my head. "Always think they can handle the dark stuff."

Aylin's voice trembled. "Do you think... it had something to do with his death?"

I met her gaze, seeing the desperation and fear. "If he was messing with something that powerful, it's a good bet. But you’ll need more than just a hunch."

Collectors. They blew their fortunes on trinkets, thinking they were buying power. Most of the time, they were just getting fleeced. Some "demonologist" would sell them a busted toaster dressed up with runes and a good story, and they’d fork over a small fortune, convinced they had the key to ancient power. The dirty demonologists got a kickback, and the collectors got conned. It was a joke—usually.

But sometimes, they stumbled onto something real. And when that happened, it wasn’t just their money at stake. They welcomed darkness into their homes, thinking they could control it. They were wrong. Darkness didn’t get controlled; it consumed. It turned their lives into nightmares and brought ruin to their loved ones. They wanted power, and instead, they got horror.

Guys like McGuffey—greedy, desperate for something they didn’t understand—they got what was coming to them.

Aylin’s voice cracked. “I just want his name cleared. The police won’t listen. The papers are smearing him left and right. It’s sickening. They see an open-and-shut case. But I know it’s not. I need a private investigator. Someone who understands..." She looked at me, pleading. “And when it comes to demons, your name’s the only one in the book.”

I shook my head. “I took my name out of that book, Aylin, for good reason.”

“I’ll pay five hundred upfront just to check it out. Another five hundred if you take the case, and a bonus thousand if you solve it.” She dropped an envelope on the table, stuffed with twenties. “Please. Just promise to look into it.”

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Damn. There was something in her eyes—a blend of desperation and determination—that was hard to ignore. Plus, the money didn’t hurt. I might be undead, but I still had to pay rent.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll ask around. But no promises. I’ll cast the line, but if nothing bites, we are done.”

A flicker of hope lit up her face. “Thank you.” She left the key, the money, and a handwritten note with her number on it.

As she walked out, I picked up the key, studying it. Collectors. They always thought they could dance with the devil and come out unscathed. But in the end, it was the devil who led.

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The key glowed faintly silver, pushing the rift soot away like two magnets repelling each other. I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Demons. Why is it always demons?"

I sat there, unmoving, as the bar’s bustle swallowed the distant howl of the wind, whipping through the trees outside. Why did she have to do that? Tug on my heartstrings like that. I was out of the business. Not going back in. But damn it, her uncle had been mixed up in something nasty, and if there was a demon involved, it wouldn’t end with him.

The night dragged on, the bar slowly emptied. Murph locked the door, slid another drink my way. “What’s the deal, Jack?”

I took a sip, sighed, and laid out the whole mess about my run-in with Death and our little arrangement.

Murph arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the deal-with-the-devil type.”

I went behind the bar and fixed Murphy a whiskey neat.

“Not the devil, Murph. Death. But yeah, usually not my style. When it’s that or oblivion, reincarnation, or whatever fresh hell waits around the corner, you play the smart hand.”

Murph chuckled, shaking his head. “You sound like a character from one of those old dime novels.” He rummaged through the bottles, found something, and poured me another shot, eyeing me like I was a puzzle. I downed it without any fanfare. He frowned, diving back for something stronger.

“Yeah, well, things are getting weird. When Death starts making deals, you know it’s bad. He’s spooked about the other Eternals.” I paused, about to explain, but Murph nodded knowingly. How the hell does he know about the Eternals?

“Something’s brewing, Murph. Something big. Rifts are popping up more and more. You’ve noticed, right? The rift mining could be a factor, but we’ve been batting that theory around for years.”

He handed me another drink, this one letting off a soft smoke. It vanished in a single pull. Smoke drifted from my lips as I continued talking.

“Rifts have been steady since Edison, but now they’re getting bigger and more frequent. What do you make of it?”

Murph leaned back, thinking. “Heard a lot of chatter from folks passing through. It’s not just here. Even places that don’t touch the stuff or mine in the rift. Middle of nowhere spots. Same weirdness.”

He vanished into the back. I heard a loud crack and the slosh of liquid. He returned with a can of coffee and an old surge battery. When he came back, the liquid was bubbling. I took a swig and felt like I’d been plugged into a power line. A zing shot through me. The coffee’s rich, like a punch in the face. “Damn, Murph, I feel like I just got hit by a rift surge.” I took another swig.

“Technically, you have.” He held up the battery, now cracked and empty. He smiled with satisfaction. “Never has there been a customer I couldn’t find a drink for.”

"You're going to have to tell me how you know so much, one of these days."

He smiled, a sly glint in his eyes. "And lose my air of sophistication? I don't think so." For a moment, he looked younger, like a man who’d seen too much but still held on to a carefree heart.

I nodded, the surge still humming through my veins. “Keep your ears open, Murph. If Death is making deals, there’s something big brewing. I despise being left in the dark.”

His expression shifted, eyes darkening in a flash as he nodded.

I helped Murphy clean up the bar, trying to push Aylin out of my mind. It was a long night, and sleep didn’t come easy. When I finally drifted, I was haunted by her big doe eyes.

Damn dames.