Morthisal awoke, stretched, stretched again, yawned, and then bolted upright in bed. His head whipped around, only to find Thalindra had slipped out during the night. He yanked the sheets off to make sure she hadn't stabbed, maimed, marked, or somehow chopped anything off.

Satisfied that he was whole, Morthisal turned his attention to the alarm clock next to the bed and nearly fell out of it. He'd slept past his work start time.

"Well, shit," Morthisal muttered.

Despite a rather enjoyable night with his former second-in-command, although she was now in a completely different body, Morthisal felt nothing but irritation.

He rushed through his morning preparations, cursing along the way. As he departed his apartment, he double and triple-checked his door lock. But…what if she had taken a copy of his key? He might need to speak to the building manager about acquiring a new lock.

He'd recently been taking a bus to work. It was late. This meant he missed his connecting bus. This led to a comedy of errors that added another half hour to his arrival at work.

His commute and subsequent rush into his office building, an elevator that stopped far too often to pick up or disgorge workers onto other floors culminated with a run-in with Jill Holland, who grilled him on why he was late. Instead of coming up with a lame excuse, he threw a thread around her before saying, "I spend the night making passionate love to a former associate who was once an evil sorceress. Now, away with you, annoying woman."

Jill backed away, eyes wide, bottom lip shaking. Morthisal dismissed her with a wave of his hand before storming to his desk, logging into his computer, and glancing around to make sure no one had noted his late arrival. He also needed to reassure himself that Thalindra hadn't somehow accessed the building and was waiting for him.

His next stop was to the coffee machine for a double dose. He needed it today.

In the break room, he found Willow and Ronny engaged in conversation, heads together, laughing, completely oblivious to him. The early threads he had initially used to push them past their shyness had long since evaporated. They were actually, as they said, in this world, into each other.

Willow sipped a cup of coffee, giggled at something Ronny said, and looked around to find Morthisal.

"Oh, hey, boss."

"Good morning. I am late."

"Cool. We were almost done with our break."

Ronny nodded and said, "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was adequate. I filmed a role in a movie. Ran into an old flame and spent most of the night with her in my bed."

Ronny's face paled despite the industrial-grade coffee fumes that filled the break room. Willow choked back a cough, her mug sloshing dark liquid across the counter.

"You slept with your ex?" Willow asked, wiping coffee with her sleeve. "Good job getting some, dude. That's metal."

Ronny leaned in so hard his elbow nearly knocked over the sugar jar. "Hold up. You're in a movie?"

Morthisal rubbed his left temple. "Yes, and no, she's not precisely an ex. More a former comrade. We were never married. Wait. What is it you say? ‘It's complicated.’ Yes. That perfectly covers the situation. As for the film, it's amateur theatrics with cameras. I did it for the extra income."

Morthisal remembered that he hadn't actually been paid. A call to Betty Mead would have to be made soon.

"Gotta do what you gotta do," Ronny added. "But you actually acted in a movie—"

"I can say no more. My performance should remain private," Morthisal cut in.

Willow snorted. "Did your ex try to stab you, or anything? Been there. Done that. You okay, or do we need a shovel and an alibi?"

"Someone stabbed you?" Ronny turned to Willow.

Willow lowered her voice, "Just a little bit. That dimple on my right…"

Ronny cleared his throat.

Willow's face flushed.

Ronny quickly changed the subject. "Are you the bad guy in the movie?"

"Aren't we all, in the grand design?" Morthisal ran the machine to pour more sludge into his chipped Corsair Financial mug and picked up half a dozen creamers to add to the brew.

"Stop deflecting," Ronny said. "What's it called? The movie. What's the title?"

"Rise of Some Dull Title."

"Is your character cool? Do you have superpowers?"

Morthisal stared into the depths of his coffee. "Not enough caffeine exists to tread this conversational pit. Brains off, spreadsheets on. Let us now return to work."

He stalked to his cubicle, ignoring Ronny's footsteps behind him.

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"How large is your role? What will you do if the studio calls you back for sequels?"

The desk chair creaked as Morthisal slumped into it. Screen light illuminated the dark circles under his eyes. "Pray they don't."

Willow's voice sailed over the partition. "I don't care about the movie. You sure your ex isn't going to try and cut your balls off?"

"Entirely uncertain." He clicked open a spreadsheet titled Q4_REVENUE_PROJECTIONS_FINAL_v17.New.new.newer_A5.2. "Hence the headache."

For precisely nine and a half minutes, the figures dissolved into an indecipherable parade of symbols. Thalindra's mocking grin haunted his vision with each blink. This would either be a partnership or shared destruction. What was it called here? Ah, yes. Toxic. This word perfectly described the relationship he now found himself in. At least, from Morthisals' point of view.

What was he to do now? She had left no way to contact her. Would she still work in the guise of Penny the mystic? Would she begin plotting how to murder him and hide his body parts in different parts of the world?

Ronny's head popped over the cubicle wall like a meerkat's. "Did they let you ad-lib lines?"

Morthisal slammed his empty coffee mug down. The monitor flickered.

"...maybe later," Ronny squeaked, ducking out of sight.

Morthisal's fingertips repeatedly tapped on the keyboard keys without actually pressing them. He turned to his phone and messaged Travious.

I have need of you.

Cool story bro. Can you not sound so fucking weird?

Morthisal tightly gripped the phone and considered sending a jolt strong enough to make Travious jump, but withheld and saved his power. He glanced around to assure himself Thalindra had not slipped inside the building while his back turned.

"I grow paranoid." He growled to himself.

Morthisal stepped into the hallway and dialed Travious's number.

Travious answered on the second dial, his words preceded by a sigh. "Yo. I'm at work."

"I have a problem."

"Try drinking cranberry juice for a few days and take Tylenol. You'll be fine."

"Pardon?"

Travious again sighed. "Bruh. I'm at wooooork, okay? That means I'm gonna get in trouble if I keep taking calls while at my job. I gotta take some dude up to the fourth floor for tests. Another needs a diaper change. It's rank all up in there."

Morthisal frowned, reached inside, yanked at the thread that bound Travious to him, and pulled it tight.

"Alright. I'm sorry. How can I help?"

"That is better."

"…not enough money in the world…" Travious whispered.

Morthisal let it go for now. He had already expended precious energy on Travious that he might need in case Thalindra came after him.

"I will, what is the saying? Cut to the chase. I have a problem with a woman."

"Story of my life."

"She is a sorceress from my world and was once my second in command. She has managed to traverse the worlds and is now in the body of a mystic named Penny Thompson. Last night we laid together after she tried to kill me."

Silence.

"Travious. Are you there?"

"How the fuck many of you are there?"

"Of my world? Only two that I know of."

Pause. "Bruh. This is a lot to take in. Maybe you should get a bodyguard. I'm all for our relationship developing, but I'm no bodyguard. You're going to need some outside consulting on this one."

"A bodyguard. Yes."

Morthisal thought back to his day in the hospital. There had been a rather large individual who had helped him. A man named Jackson Creed. Now where had he put that card, and how would he pay this man?

"I have an idea. Thank you, Travious. I shall contact you later."

"Yep. Didn't hear from you over the weekend. It was nice. Guess your evil sorceress woman kept you busy."

"I was filming a movie role. Now, excuse me. I must attend to my normal job and make plans to hire a bodyguard."

"Wait. What? Did you say a movi—"

Morthisal clicked off the line and pocketed his phone.

He needed time to think. To plan. To protect himself from Thalindra.

Morthisal located the bodyguard's business card in his wallet and called, but the bodyguard did not answer, so he left a message: "I am Vince Logan. We met at the hospital a few weeks ago. You assisted me in my wheelchair and gave me your card. I have need of a bodyguard. Please call me back as soon as possible."

Morthisal returned to his seat and once again stared at the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, spreadsheet cells blurring into a grid of senseless numbers. Every rustle of paper from adjacent cubicles made his shoulders tense. He counted thirteen distinct footsteps approaching his workspace that afternoon—all false alarms.

During the third coffee refueling mission, Morthisal detoured to the kitchenette and rummaged through drawers with forced casualness. Two butter knives disappeared into his pockets.

"Stocking up for lunch?" Ronny asked from the doorway, holding an empty mug.

Morthisal slammed the utensil drawer shut. "Precautionary measures."

"Against what? A sudden butter shortage?"

"Precisely. Should you not be working?"

"Needed some brain fuel, boss." Ronny waggled the coffee cup.

Back at his desk, Morthisal arranged the stolen cutlery within easy reach in case he had to jam them into the power strip under his desk. The cubicle walls suddenly felt three inches shorter. He jumped when Willow's laughter echoed through the room.

"Logan."

Morthisal's chair screeched across the floor mat as Jack Sweet materialized at his cubicle entrance. The manager's polo clung to damp patches under his arms. There was a grease stain on one leg of his khakis.

"You okay, Vince? You seem jumpy today."

Morthisal positioned himself between Jack and the butter knives. "I am well enough."

"Right." Jack adjusted his belt beneath a protruding stomach. "Well, don't forget about the team meeting tomorrow morning. Eight sharp."

"Understood."

Jack lingered, sniffing the air. "You burning incense over here?"

Morthisal realized he'd been burning precious magical energy in an attempt to keep threads available in case Thalindra suddenly appeared. He had grown far too foolish and wasteful. He had no idea why the smell was different. He sensed nothing.

"Standard office juice." Morthisal gestured at a half-empty cup of cold creamer and coffee. Perhaps that had been the source of the odd smell. "Nothing more."

"Uh-huh." The manager retreated with a final suspicious glance. "You might want to try decaf tomorrow. You're twitchy."

Morthisal waited until Jack's squeaking shoes faded down the corridor before he exhaled. His reflection in the darkened monitor showed pupils dilated too wide, and a hairline damp with sweat unbecoming of a dark lord. The clock read 4:53 PM. Seven minutes until acceptable departure time.

He spent them practicing quick-draw maneuvers with the butter knives under his desk.