The girl either had a death wish or a spine made of iron, he couldn't decide which as he simply watched her stop a waitress and place an order. When she had her coffee and danish, she came to his table, shucked off her jacket (which a long forgotten sense of living modesty made him want to put the hell back on her), and just started talking.

He raised a dubious eyebrow when she questioned him about magic. Blinking a little, he shook his head, never moving in his seat as he faced her with the stillness of the dead.

"Them marked for death are the only ones that know me for what I am in this realm." he informed her, his bass voice resonating with power, and heavy with the deep sound of grave dirt on a coffin lid. "Being a life mage don't make you special that way."