Morthisal immersed himself in the baffling duties of Vince's occupation for the next week. It allowed him a chance to relax and let his minions do the work, while also teaching him what he needed to know to do Vince's job.

And most of that went according to plan. Willow and Ronny took turns sitting with him and teaching him how to work with spreadsheets. Morthisal cared little for the work and pawned most of it off to others. This meant that he had to charge up his powers every morning in the most painful way, but it was worth it to avoid the mindless drudgery.

Jack Sweet was a scarce presence. When he did appear, he hurried past with a flushed face and sweat dampening his collar. His eyes darted around, never settling long enough to engage. Morthisal noted the man's haggard appearance. Jack seemed perpetually on the brink of collapse. They trickled out files on a daily basis, replacing the corrupted ones with those found in the hidden folder. When Morthisal reported to Jack that another fifty or sixty files had been fixed, the manager thanked him and his team for their hard work.

With Jack’s minimal oversight, Morthisal established control over select coworkers. Maintaining his hold over more than a few proved taxing, so he allowed them some freedom. They fulfilled their roles without much interference, which suited him.

As the week concluded, Morthisal found he had two unoccupied days when he was not required to be in the office. Although the concept of a weekend was peculiar, he welcomed the respite and pondered how to spend this newfound time.

Examining Vince's finances, he scowled at the dwindling numbers. His disregard for the pitiful funds had left him nearly empty-handed. "This won't do," he muttered.

Gathering his belongings, he went to the break room for a final cup of coffee before leaving. The rich scent filled the air as he poured a half dozen French vanilla creamers over the dark liquid in a disposable cup.

"I see you figured out how to use the coffee machine," a familiar voice said.

He turned to find Yvette Sterling walking into the break room. She wore a fitted navy blue blouse tucked into slim, high-waisted trousers. The blouse accented her eyes, and the trousers highlighted her long legs. She completed the look with pointed-toe heels and a delicate necklace that rested just above the blouse's neckline.

Morthisal had often thought of her over the past few days, but when he had mentioned her name, Willow and Ronny had assured him the high-powered and very rich CEO wouldn't go anywhere near him and that he should avoid even making eye contact with her.

"Ah," he replied. "Miss Sterling. You grace me with your presence."

"Wow. That's a new one." She chuckled. "What's your name again?"

"Dark… er, Vincent Logan at your service," he replied, offering a half bow.

"Are you always this formal? And please call me Yvette."

"Formality around one such as you is second nature."

She regarded him with a puzzled expression. "Such as me?"

"Ah. Apologies for sounding so formal. I am a bit tongue-tied. Your expertise in this world of finance is truly remarkable, Yvette. Tell me, what inspires you to pursue this path with such fervor and grace?"

Her eyes widened as she took in his words. He used the opportunity to probe her once again. He was still holding onto enough power to drop a thread around another person, but he was again rebuked. The thread evaporated and left him feeling drained.

"Are you okay?"

"It is nothing." Morthisal waved his hand dismissively. "Perhaps something I ate for lunch."

"I appreciate your kind words, Vince," Yvette said as she pulled her cup out from under the coffee maker. It was filled to the brim with the dark brew. She leaned forward, lifted the cup, took a tentative sip, and smacked her lips in satisfaction. "As for fervor and grace, I'm just doing the job that was handed to me when my father passed away. I'm good at it. Most people find me intimidating. You don't."

"As you may be aware from our previous meeting, I have a head injury, and my memories are askance? My words often get away from me. Thus, I was forced to research you on the internet."

Yvette laughed and said, "You have a weird speech pattern, Vince. Like you're LARPing."

"Pardon?"

"Google it later." She looked up at him, and their eyes locked. "I get it. The head thing. About ten years ago, I was in a bad car accident." She tapped the side of her head. "I have a titanium plate in here. It's fun at the airport." Yvette rolled her eyes.

A plate in her head? Most curious.

Morthisal leaned against the counter, his eyes following Yvette as she walked to the sink and poured some of the coffee out, leaving some room near the brim. He cleared his throat and used phrases he had recently picked up, "Thank you for sharing, Yvette. An injury like that sounds most painful."

"I don't remember most of it. Just the bright light and impact. The next week or two was a blur, so I can relate to your predicament."

"I can certainly relate to that. It is refreshing to be met with a little empathy. Most do not believe me, or have the idea that I am using this very real injury for my own personal gain."

She shook her head. "People can be like that. It seems like you're recovering well and still working here. That means something."

"Thank you for the kind words. It's a shame you have to rush off to another meeting."

Yvette glanced at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well, that's the life of a CEO. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings. I probably won't be able to leave for hours."

"In that case, perhaps we could continue this conversation another time," Morthisal suggested, his voice smooth and confident. "I would be delighted to learn more about you and your impressive accomplishments."

Yvette raised an eyebrow, giving him a strange look as she headed for the door. "Maybe. We'll see. Anyway, have a good weekend, Vince."

"You as well, Yvette," Morthisal replied, inclining his head slightly.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

As she walked out the door, Yvette looked back over her shoulder and said, "And have fun googling me."

Morthisal nodded to himself as he watched her disappear down the hallway. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then returned to his desk to pack it up for the day.

As Morthisal hopped on the elevator, someone yelled, "Hold the door!"

Morthisal leaned forward and hit the close button, hoping to avoid any company. Too late. A hand slashed out and caught the rubber side as it was closing. He used an action he had learned from observing the humans of this world by rolling his eyes.

Ronny and Willow appeared and stepped inside.

"Oh hey, Vince. We're going to get a drink. Wanna join us? I'll treat the first round. We deserve it after all our work this week," Willow said enthusiastically.

Behind her, Ronny's shoulders drooped, but he didn't say anything. The door closed, and they rode down two floors before the car stopped and took on more passengers. They passed the next few minutes in silence, but Willow sidled up to Morthisal and put her arm in the crook of his arm as the door opened. Passengers left, and she tugged him out.

"Come on, Vince. You could use a drink."

"I suppose I could." Morthisal nodded. His plans for the evening had included picking up a few groceries and watching a new streaming series he had come across called Mad Men.

"Sure. Why not?" Morthisal said.

Ronny rolled his eyes. Now, what was wrong with him? Instead of pressing the thread, Morthisal went along with them, intent on doing something he had rarely done. He would fraternize with his minions.

The bar was called The Urban Tavern, and it was crowded and noisy with the buzz of conversations and the clinking of glasses. Music pulsed around them, forcing the three of them to shout to be heard. The hardwood floor creaked underfoot, and the air carried the mixed scents of alcohol and fried food. Warm light from hanging fixtures gave the room a cozy feel, but it was dark, something Morthisal very much appreciated. There was a polished bar, and tall shelves lined with bottles of various shapes and colors stood behind it, manned by a woman with heavy dark mascara and a spider web tattoo that extended across the right side of her neck. She wore a black T-shirt that stretched across her ample chest.

As they approached, she yelled at them, "What can I get you?"

Ronny ordered a beer. Willow got a vodka tonic, and Morthisal requested something sweet.

"Rum and coke?" the bartender asked.

"How sweet is that?"

"Not as sweet as a Sex on the Beach, but it'll get the job done."

"Sex on the Beach?" Morthisal asked in confusion.

Willow leaned in and yelled, "You should totally get a Sex on the Beach!"

Morthisal nodded once. "Very well. I shall try this Sex on the Beach."

"Coming right up."

After she mixed what looked like something complex, Morthisal accepted the drink and was thrilled to find a small umbrella lodged between the ice cubes as well as a pineapple wedge on the rim. "How unique." He grinned.

He took a single sip, found the drink to be delicious, and then downed half. He used the umbrella end to push ice cubes around and drank most of the rest.

The next few hours were a blur as he was plied with alcohol. At one point, there was singing involved, although he abstained and instead drank another Sex on the Beach.

Morthisal loosened the threads and let Ronny and Willow open up. At one point, they talked to each other while he went back to the bar for a third drink. On Mythralon, he'd not been much of a fan of alcohol. There were simply too many other illicit drugs, teas, and particular mushrooms in which to imbibe. His own personal servant, a goblin named Churl, had been quite fond of mushrooms and had had a keen eye for them.

Morthisal set his glass down and pushed himself up from the table. "I must take my leave," he shouted over the pounding music.

Willow looked up. "Leaving already? The night's just getting started!"

"My head is not accustomed to so much of… this," he replied and pointed at the sweet alcoholic beverage. The room tilted slightly as he spoke.

Ronny chuckled. "Lightweight, huh? It's cool. I'll stay if you want to." Ronny told Willow.

She nodded

Morthisal offered a thin smile. "Enjoy your evening."

He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. A subtle current of energy flowed through his fingers, weaving between them. Their gazes met, and a faint blush warmed Willow's cheeks.

"Take care of each other," Morthisal said. They were good minions and he would hate to have to replace them.

Willow tilted her head, a curious smile playing on her lips. "We will. See you Monday?"

He nodded. "Indeed."

Outside, the cool night air brushed against his face, clearing some of the haze from his mind. Streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and traffic whizzed by. He pulled out his phone and squinted at the screen as he summoned an Uber. The dwindling numbers in his bank account flashed briefly through his head, and he considered summoning Travious to give him a ride to his apartment, but the young man had to work tonight.

Morthisal hummed an old song as the driver took him to his apartment. Morthisal added a small tip as he arrived. As he got out of his Uber, a familiar shimmer caught his eye. Across the street, Penny stepped out of her shop's doorway, her colorful robes swaying.

"Hey, Vince!" she called, her voice ringing out over the quiet street. "How's it going?"

He crossed the road toward her. "Good evening, Penny."

"Fancy seeing you here," she said, her eyes scanning his face. "I'm about to do a séance. The spirits are particularly active tonight. Want to help me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "A séance, you say?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It's practice. I think it will be a busy weekend for tourists around here."

"I see. That does indeed sound like a pleasant way to spend the evening."

As he stepped inside, the scent of incense twirled around him—sage with a hint of something sweet. Penny led him to the round table draped in deep purple cloth, adorned with crystals and ornate candles.

"Let me get you a drink. Hold on," she said, still swaying to some unheard music, presumably in her head.

"Thank you, Penny."

She returned and handed him a small paper cup.

"What's this?" he asked, swirling the contents.

"An elixir to open the mind, man," she said with a playful smile. "It's strong, but will help us connect with the dead."

He took a cautious sip. It wasn't as sweet as the rum and Coke's he'd consumed, but it had a curious, earthy tang he couldn't place.

Penny grabbed his hands and held them tightly as she took a seat across from him. She closed her eyes and began to hum a low, melodic tune, swaying gently as she chanted. The flames of the candles stretched and wavered.

Morthisal poured out the last of his power. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift beyond the confines of the room. Images of Mythralon surfaced—towering spires under a blood-red moon, the echo of distant battles, the weight of his lost power.

He poured the remainder of his energy into Penny and used her as a conduit. She tensed, and her eyes slapped open before becoming heavy-lidded. Her pupils rolled back until they were barely visible.

Thalindra. A whisper seemed to brush against his consciousness. It was faint but insistent.

"Morthisal..." The voice was very distant. "Why did you forsake me? I was your most dedicated servant…"

He leaned forward. "Thalindra," he murmured.

The room around him faded. The scents, the sounds—all muffled as if underwater. The connection wavered, pulsing in and out like a fragile thread. His barely coherent mind reached deeper, pushing past the fog that clouded his mind. The alcohol’s effects pressed heavily on his mind.

"Vince? What's happening? Where are you?" Penny's voice cut through the haze, laced with concern.

He opened his eyes briefly, but the room spun, and the candles blurred into streaks of light. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he gripped the table's edge. What in the world had this woman given him to drink?

The darkness swelled, and he felt himself slipping. The last thing he heard was his name's distant call before everything faded.