“Now that you know who we are, why don’t you tell us who you are? Tereus said still holding Fred’s neck, “Then when we are all friends you can tell us who holds your leash.”

Fred had been accosted like this a few times since entering Damien’s service. Many of the spirits that managed to find some semblance of what they were before they died despised those that indebted themselves to necromancers.

“First of all, this is not how you make friends. And secondly you think I am just going to sell out the guy who holds my contract? The last thing I need is a couple of poltergeists stinking up my building,” Fred replied.

“Oh, would you look at that Marina, this one likes to talk,” Tereus squeezed his hand tighter around Fred’s throat. Normally this would not be a problem for Fred. While manifested he could feel his throat closing as Tereus pressed. Fred was quite sure he couldn’t die a second time but was not willing to find out. He pulled hard slamming the woman, Marina, into Tereus and freeing his left arm. Unfortunately, the other man, Roland, was much stronger and held his arm firm. Fred threw a punch into Tereus’s nose, and it caved with a satisfying crunch.

Sam took this as an opportunity to slam his fist into the side of Rolan’s head, freeing Fred’s right arm. Marina grabbed the bottle of Seven Brothers vodka from the bar top and cracked it across Sam’s face, sending him reeling to the ground with vodka and glass sailing in every direction. All three of the ghosts stumbled back opposite Fred with Marina still holding the bottom half of the shattered bottle in her hand.

Ethereal blood dribbled from Tereus’s nose, and he snorted forcefully. The nose would heal rather quickly, but it was still satisfying to witness. In fact, this entire encounter sent a thrill through Fred. He was surprised at how good it felt to punch something.

“You little slave!” Tereus yelled, “Hold him down! We’ll send him back to his master with half his face!”

Both Marina and Roland launched from the ground with uncanny speed. Appearing out of nowhere a massive hand gripped Marina by the throat and flipped her backward and down onto the ground. The hand was connected to a similarly large man that reached out and caught Roland by the ankle and sent him sailing into a series of tables in the center of the chamber. Roland sailed through the tables and righted himself in the air.

The man whirled around on Tereus and towered nearly a head taller than him. His hair was a matted mess of tangles that draped around his head down to his shoulder. He wore the ancient clothing of a noble man from the First Era or Second Era. He had several stab wounds across his chest and back leaving the clothing soaked in blood. Tereus made the mistake of lunging at the man, and he ducked under the attack. In a practiced movement he threw his fist into Tereus’s side causing him to crumple to the ground. Then he sent his foot into Tereus’s chest throwing him backwards.

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“Leave,” the man growled, “Now.”

All three of the ghosts swirled away through the wall of one of the shops. Sam stood up nursing a savage cut that marred the side of his head. Viscous black blood leaked from the wound. Fred grabbed the dirty bar towel and held it up to Sam’s head. The blood seeped into the towel. Unlike Fred and the other ghosts, Sam as a ghoul would not heal naturally. It would take a skilled necromancer to heal his wounds.

Fred turned his attention to the noble man, “Thanks for the assist,” he said holding his hand out. The man was nearly as tall as Fred was while standing in his platform shoes. The noble looked at Fred’s hand but did not take it. “This is a sign of respect. Normally people clasp hands to let each other know they aren’t carrying any weapons. You can trust me.”

The man looked at Fred’s hand again and then met his eyes, “Your hands could be weapons themselves,” he remarked.

“Right,” Fred pulled his hand back. The man’s accent was heavily northern and throaty. Though he spoke common well. “Perhaps we start with something easier. My name is Fred and that is Sam,” Sam waved the towel at the ghostly noble, “Who are you?”

The man looked down at his hands as he replied, “I… I don’t remember.”

“That’s alright. We have all been there. Sam, could you get our friend a drink, please?”

“A drink?” the man was skeptical, “How could I drink?”

“It’s actually pretty simple,” Fred said smiling. He waved his hands in the air with a flourish. “Magic.”

The man did not smile. He continued to stand nearby and kept his back to the bar. It was as if he were constantly scanning the room for danger. Fred let himself relax and waited for Sam to fill two glasses with more of the Seven Brothers vodka. He picked up one of the glasses and held it out to the noble.

“Take it,” he said, “The glass and alcohol are enchanted.”

The man hesitated, then reached for the glass. His hand made contact, and he pulled it from Fred’s grasp.

“How?” the man asked.

“Not all necromancers are terrible,” Fred replied, “Some are enterprising young minds willing to help. In fact, I have one that might be able to help you figure out who you are.”

“Really Fred? You are recruiting now?” Sam moved to start picking up the glass scattered across the bar.

“I am being helpful. Our new friend needs assistance. Damien can—” Fred turned back to the noble only to find the glass of vodka sitting on the bar. The man was gone. Fred looked around to all the shops in the area. “Where did he go?”

Sam stood from picking glass up off the ground, “You ghosts move in mysterious ways. He probably went off to haunt some other bar.”

“Handsome though, wasn’t he?” Fred smiled.

Sam snorted, “You have a problem.”

“I might, my dear barman, I might,” Fred turned and leaned back against the bar top. He downed the shot of vodka and slid the glass over to Sam, “Tell me more about this light-haired necromancer. I have a slave driver to get back to.”