He had a great sixth sense that usually told him when something was out of kilter. His intuition warned him to watch his step. No one saw him materialize. He was pretty sure about that. Still, he slowly scanned the area behind the bar. An overflowing dumpster braced a partially crumbling brick wall. Other than a few boxes that looked as though they were tossed out the back door, nothing seemed that unusual. It was the safest place for him to land and not be detected. He learned long ago not to pop in just anywhere. Especially during the Spanish Inquisition and the witch trials. That had been a little uncomfortable, especially when that crazy puritan started yelling, “Burn the witch!” There were no puritans behind the building. He’d stake his immortality on that. Even so, he had a bad premonition. Chance sniffed the air. The only bad odor he detected were the fumes from empty alcohol bottles. There were definitely no demons around; they had a distinct odor, like garlic and rotting flesh.
