In Serbia, in that small courtyard house.
The Asian man sat on a small sofa, holding a cup of coffee and smiling at Brach, who sat on the sofa opposite him with his eyes closed, as though sound asleep.
Between them, a small incense burner sat on the coffee table. A stick of incense only as thick as a toothpick burned in it, sending up wisps of blue smoke. Yet this slender stick of incense proved surprisingly long-lasting, burning down very slowly.
Less than a foot long, it looked as though it could burn for at least an hour or two.
The Asian man took a gentle sip of coffee, seemingly waiting for something.
Suddenly, Brach's body jerked, and his eyes snapped open. Then he turned to one side and vomited with a retch.
Brach vomited for quite some time, bringing up a large, watery mess. Afterward, he kept dry-heaving. His stomach had long since emptied, leaving only clear liquid.
It took a full two minutes before Brach stopped. He was utterly drained, as though he had run several kilometers. His face was deathly pale, and he slumped on the sofa like a puddle of mud.
The Asian man raised his eyebrows and lifted a hand. All the filth on the floor vanished.
"What happened? Why do you look like the one who got the worst of it?" The Asian man watched Brach with interest.
Brach struggled to open his mouth, but no sound came out. The violent vomiting had left him so weak that he could not even speak.
"Look at you..." The Asian man chuckled, then turned his palm over, revealing a small porcelain bottle.
He tipped out a tiny, round pill. With a lift of his finger, the pill floated gently toward Brach's mouth.
Using what little