Penny stepped further into the apartment, her eyes moving from the cluttered space to Morthisal. Her gaze settled on the bandage wrapped around his head.

"Oh dear, what happened to your head?" she asked.

He touched the bandage lightly. "The clerics at the healing center tended to it. They fixed my wound."

She frowned. "Clerics? You mean the doctors at the hospital?"

"Yes, the doctors. It itches." He reached up, fingers grasping the edge of the bandage.

Penny raised a hand. "I wouldn't remove that just yet. You should leave it on for at least another day." Her eyes took in his shirt. She squinted at his shirt and said, "That blood stain might be tricky. You should soak it in some cold water. A little Oxyclean might do the trick if you have any. My mom used to use white vinegar. It might be a loss."

Morthisal glanced down at his shirt. He knew it had a few small blood stains, but he had thought they added a nice bit of contrast to the otherwise boring white.

He paused. "Very well. I assume you are a shaman?"

"Like, yeah. Sort of. I've never been called that before. Shaman," she said as if testing the word, her eyes suddenly enlivened under the strange particulates covering her lashes. "Shaman. Like, I like that." She smiled gently. "Head injuries can be serious. Better to let it heal properly, dude."

He nodded, then met her eyes. "You mentioned you are a medium. One who speaks with the dead. It is a pleasure to meet another of the craft. Tell me how to accomplish this level of mastery over the dead in your world. My former powers are currently a bit lacking."

Her lips curled up in a slow grin. "Oh my god. Do you want to become a medium, too? That's so rad. Like, I can probably teach you. Not everyone can do it, so I'm just warning you ahead of time. It's been my calling since I was a little girl."

"Remarkable. In my time, I had very strong abilities. Communicating with the dead was as easy as breathing. Now I am here, trapped in this body, without my former powers."

"Oh my god…" she breathed the last word. "Were you a medieval lord? King?"

"Ruler, yes. Quite powerful." Morthisal looked up wistfully.

She gasped softly. "Oh, that makes so much sense!"

He raised an eyebrow. "It does?"

"Yes! You're probably a reincarnated soul. That explains the aura I felt around you."

"Reincarnated soul?"

"Exactly. Your past life must have been filled with powerful energies. I could sense it the moment I saw you."

He considered her words. "So you believe I lived this other life?"

"Absolutely. The energies don't lie."

He took a step closer. "And you, being a necromancer, can assist me in reconnecting with these powers."

She laughed lightly. "Well, I wouldn't call myself a necromancer, but I do help people connect with their past selves and the spirit world."

He nodded slowly. "I see."

Penny reached into her bag and pulled out a colorful card adorned with stars and moons. "Like I was telling you, Vince. You should visit my shop. Again, it's over on Summit Avenue."

He took the card and examined it. "Mystic Wonders," he read aloud.

"Yes! I offer readings, aura cleansings, all sorts of things. I think you'd find it enlightening. Do you know what you could use here? Some sage. You need to burn some. It will help you. Promise. If you don't have any, I have some at my shop. I'll even give you a discount."

"How will burning sage help me? The smell alone…" He scrunched up his nose and didn't finish his sentence.

"It's wonderful stuff, Vince. I promise. You'll get over the smell."

Morthisal was unconvinced, but he nodded, since he still needed to ascertain this mystic's intentions. Was she after his knowledge? Was she here to test him?

"I will make it a point to visit."

She beamed. "Wonderful! I have a feeling there's much we could uncover together. The energies around you are very strong."

"Indeed."

She glanced at his bandage again. "And please, take care of that head wound. Healing takes time. Did they give you anything for pain?"

"Just a small elixir pill called 'Ativan.' It makes me sleepy."

"Oh. Nice. Can I have one?"

Morthisal shrugged and pointed at the bottle on his table. She sauntered in with an, "Oh, wow, thank you. This will definitely help calm the spirits."

Morthisal was amazed that she could twist the lid off with nary a challenge. She popped a small white tablet in her mouth and replaced the top. "Thanks, Vince. I hope you have a good day. I know I will now, thanks to Captain Ativan. And I hope to see you later."

"Yes. Yes. Very good. I shall heed your advice and perhaps see you later, Penny."

Penny adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "Great! I'll let you get some rest. Stop by anytime."

"Fare thee well, Penny."

She clasped her hands to her chest. "Oh my god. You really are a reincarnated lord. She grabbed the sides of her long skirt and gave a passable curtsey. "Fare thee well also, Vince."

As she left, the soft jingle of her jewelry faded down the hallway. He turned the card over in his hand. Perhaps this Penny could help him regain more of his lost power.

Morthisal closed the door. The quiet settled in. He turned toward the kitchen, drawn by the possibility of food from the deep rumble in his stomach.

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Stepping into the compact space, he surveyed the unfamiliar devices. A large metallic box stood against the wall, humming softly. He approached it, placing a hand on its cool surface.

"What secrets do you hold?" he murmured.

He noticed a handle on the front. Grasping it, he gave a firm pull. The door resisted at first but then opened with a gentle suction sound. A burst of cold air brushed his face.

"A chilled chamber," he said. Inside, shelves held an assortment of strange items, including containers, bottles, and packages.

His eyes landed on a plate holding a strange white bread roll with meat and greens inside. He picked it up and found it was wrapped in a thin, clear film that clung to his fingers.

"What is this?" He tugged at the wrapping, struggling to remove it. The plastic stretched and crinkled. Finally, he peeled it away, setting it aside.

He examined the sandwich. Green leaves and red slices were tucked between the bread. He pulled them out one by one with a grimace.

"Unnecessary greenery," he said, returning the vegetables to the cooler's shelf. "Back to your prison."

He sniffed the sandwich. An intriguing blend of aromas greeted him. He took a cautious bite. The taste was rich, the textures pleasing. The white and yellow condiments added a tangy flavor he found agreeable.

"Not unpleasant," he remarked between bites.

Looking around in some of the cabinets revealed a yellow bag that crunched under his fingers. An image of a sliced potato sat beneath white letters. He held it aloft. "Lays. This is a bag of potatoes?" He pulled it open and cautiously tasted one of the flat, oily slices. It crushed. It was salty. "It's bloody delicious."

Morthisal ate another, then one more. He took the bag and left the kitchen, wandered into the living area, and settled again into the large cushion so he could consider how to spend his day.

He picked up the remote and inspected it. Pressing a button, the screen flickered to life. Moving images of people in uniform appeared.

"This is a marvelous scrying device," he said. The figures on the screen spoke in serious tones, investigating a scene.

These must be members of a local guild enforcing laws, he thought. He watched as they examined the evidence, their expressions grave.

His eyelids grew heavy. The voices from the television blurred into a soft drone. He sank onto the cushions, still picking out 'Lays' and eating them. His body relaxed into the cushions.

The room dimmed as his vision faded. The last thing he saw was the flickering light from the screen. Sleep overtook him, and he drifted into darkness again.

A loud pounding rattled the door, pulling Morthisal from sleep. He sat up, the container of 'Lays" spilling across his lap and onto the floor. A line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth. He blinked at the unfamiliar room. The persistent knocking grew louder. Morthisal stood, and the room swirled around him.

"I must be more careful with this elixir," Morthisal grumbled at the bottle of pills. Then, further grumbled, "Is there no end to these disturbances?"

He pushed himself off the couch and brushed Lays off his lap. Crossing the room, he unlocked the door and opened it.

A somewhat familiar-looking man stood outside, his shirt damp under his arms. He held a creased manila envelope against his stomach.

"Morning, Vince," he said, his gaze darting around. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"You did," Morthisal replied. "What do you want?"

"Rude. But understandable. Mind if I come in for a minute?" the man asked, shifting on his feet.

Morthisal stepped aside. "If you must." He squinted. "We know each other." Morthisal's statement was more of a question.

"Oh gosh. That knock on the head really did a number on you. It's Jack. Jack Sweet from work…" He looked at Morthisal expectantly. "Your boss. Er. I mean ex-boss. But I'm here to remedy that. Assuming your head injury didn't cause lasting damage. Did it?"

Morthisal considered the man. His boss? No one was the 'boss' of Morthisal. No. He needed to use caution here. If this man could offer him something, he should at least hear Jack out.

"Eh. Come in." Morthisal gestured brusquely.

Jack entered, glancing at the cluttered space. His eyes lingered on the bandage wrapped around Morthisal's head, then at the pile of Lays on the cushions and floor.

"I fell asleep."

"I see. How are you feeling?" Jack asked.

"I am managing," Morthisal said, already growing impatient. "Why are you here?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Well, the company, Corsair Financial, wanted me to bring this to you." He extended the papers. "And to make you an attractive offer."

Morthisal took it. "What is this?"

"It's, um, some paperwork," Jack said. "Given everything that's happened. See, there was a mistake." Jack cleared his throat. "You weren't supposed to be laid off. Um. Well, we want to offer you your old job back on a six-month contract with a small raise. See? We're trying to make this right. There's just one small catch."

"Everything that's happened?" Morthisal echoed. "Catch? What does this mean? You intend to throw something at me?"

"Only some extra money." Jack laughed and cleared his throat again. "It's a great deal, Vince. We need you back. The incident at the office. Your... episode."

Morthisal raised an eyebrow. "My episode."

"Yes," Jack said quickly. "We just want to make sure you're alright. We may have made a mistake, you see. I'm here to fix it. Isn't that great news?"

"I see."

"Look, Vince. We've always been straight with each other, right? There is the issue of liability. Corsair Financial just wants to make things right." Jack coughed again. "You know what I mean. Right?"

No, I do not. Morthisal nodded yes.

Jack took the sheaf of papers back and extracted one with a curious metal sliver in the corner that bound one to another. He flipped it open and pointed at a few figures.

"This is your raise. Here's a short clause about termination. We want you to know how much we value you as an employee, Vince. This guarantees employment for a minimum of six months. As long as you don't kill someone, we can't let you go. Not bad, huh?" Jack laughed heartily and flipped to another page. "This is the part about liability. Just a formality." Another page. "This is where you sign. We'd love to have you back on Monday. Does that sound good? Great. Great. Here. Just sign."

"Liability?"

"Just one of those little cover-our-ass clauses, buddy. You understand it's not personal, right? We're all just thrilled that you're okay and that you will consider rejoining us. Corsair Financial needs forward thinking people like you."

Forward thinking. What an interesting turn of phrase, Morthisal reflected. It very much fit him. He'd wanted all of Mythralon to himself, and damn the Pale King and all his minions on his native world. He hoped they all boiled to death in a giant pot of oil.

"If I am to understand this, I am being returned to a former position of employment. I will be paid more coins. And you cannot get rid of me unless I murder someone."

Jack laughed around with a huge grin. "Oh, that's rich, buddy. Yeah. Sure. That's one way to sum it up."

"With my head wound," Morthisal pointed at the bandage, "and my recent memory issues, will I be assigned a minion to help me, shall we say, readjust to this job?"

"A minion? Oh boy. My kids love those movies. Sure. You got it. I have the perfect person in mind to help you readjust."

Morthisal stared at the bewildering list of 'clauses' while considering what he was being offered. The fact that he would have his first minion on this world sealed it. He had 'signed' something at the hospital, but it was non-soul-binding, especially since he hadn’t signed his own name, so he took the pen and wrote Vince Logan.

"Excellent. I'll just witness that," Jack said, holding his hand for the pen.

After he'd signed, he took the papers, put them back in the binding, removed a duplicate, and handed them to Morthisal. "Here's your copy. You can read any details you might have missed. So." Jack clapped him on the upper arm. "See you on Monday, buddy."

After Jack left, Morthisal deposited the small stack of papers on the table and pondered his next move. Jack had mentioned that he would be working at a financial institute. He needed to learn as much as possible and quickly. While he was at it, he needed to learn what a Monday was and also while he was at it, where to report for this 'work.'

Turning to the couch, he sat and picked up the remote and the crinkling bag of Lays, a few of which remained in the bag. "Why are these so good?" He muttered and crunched a few more.

He had a thought. He would go to see Penny and ask her for help. Before that, he would experiment with the power. Better yet, if he could harness more power, he might be able to find a minion among the masses on the street.

Morthisal brushed Lays from his shirt and lap. He rose and went to inspect the source of power.