“…Right,” he says. “So… The basics. I’m not alive. Not physically. I’m the manifestation of a soul — technically souls if you want to count the whole package, but we’ll get to that later — and I’m here to get you the help you need.

“You, for some reason, are now aware of… Us. Dead people with enough power to manifest ourselves in the mortal realm. And also us outside of it, but unless you travel there, that won’t be an issue.

“Anyway. The fact that you’re mortal and aware of us means that you now have access to a lot of different resources you didn’t have before. It also means you’ll have a lot more problems than you had before.

“And I’m also attracted to you in a way that no mortal has attracted me in a very long time.”

I stare at him, looking for any sign of a smirk or chuckle. It never appears.

I mean, I’m flattered, but this is all very, very weird.

“…Does that mean I’m dead?” I say.

“Not at all,” he says. “You are, most certainly, very much alive.”

“But you’re, like, a ghost?” I say.

“Not exactly,” he says. “Ghosts are usually restless spirits seeking out their final piece of vengeance or some such business before leaving the mortal plane, right? Think of me as a soul without a body, if that helps. If it doesn’t… Just

think of me as another person. Who isn’t alive. Who happens to be invisible to most of your friends. And who, at the moment, can’t actually drink this glass of whiskey,” he adds, sliding it across the table to me.

I look him over, sizing up his cool demeanor that I once found attractive and currently find creepy. “…I know better than to take drinks from strange men in bars,” I say. “Especially ones that are hitting on me.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he says. “An admirable opinion to have.” He leaves the glass in front of me, though.

“So you’re magical?”

“To put it in a certain parlance, yes, that’s a good way to consider it,” he says. “I have access to powers that could flip the mortal world on its head.”

“And why don’t you use them?” I ask. “Y’know, cause some mischief.”

“I wouldn’t want to get in trouble,” he says.

“Get in trouble? Who would you get in trouble with?”

“Equinox.” He says it as if I should know what the heck that means.

“What’s Equinox?” I ask.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you?” he says factually. Maybe even a little confused. “Equinox is the realm where all souls receive judgment for their crimes committed against other souls. And speaking of Equinox and Thekron…”

“Oh yeah, the weird name you mentioned earlier,” I say.

“There’s a case against you,” he says. “Thekron says you disrupted his business and wants to claim your soul as payment.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not gonna happen,” he says. “They just start with that to try and scare mortals like you. But I think you’re gonna come out of this raking in power hand over fist, especially now that I know you were unaware of us before now. Damn, how did they screw this up so badly…?”

“Hold on,” I say. “What kind of power are you talking about? Like, money? Do souls even need money?”

“No no no,” he says. “Although money’s not a bad analogy. See, in the spiritual realms…”

Before he can continue, we’re interrupted by an unwelcome guest.

His body spray hits me before I see or hear him.

“Sup, babe?” he says, walking up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

Ugh. One of the dudebros.

“What,” I say, glaring at him. Now that I’m looking at him, I can confirm that, as I suspected, everything about him is the worst. From his pseudo-hipster wardrobe to his cocky smile, I want to set every part of him on fire.

“I just saw you sitting over here, and I thought you were so beautiful. I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t talk to you, so…”

“OK, stop right there,” I say, lifting his hand off of my shoulder. “This isn’t how you talk to human beings. You don’t put people in a position where saying ‘no’ feels like you're irrevocably obliterating their deepest hopes and dreams. If you want to have a real conversation and get to know each other, we can have a real conversation and get to know each other, but judging by all of… this,” I say, gesturing to his whole person, “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere. So go back to hanging out with your bros until you have something better for me than a lame pick-up line.”

I get loquacious when I’m drunk. And snarky.

“OK, OK, whatever,” he says, backing away. “You don’t deserve me anyway. Bitch.”

I’m so very tempted to get up and drag his butt to the ground, and not in a sexy way.

“With enough power,” my new friend says, “you could make sure that never happens again.”

I look back at him. “…Really?”

“Really. You could obliterate him into next week, if you wanted.”

I wince. “I wouldn’t want to hurt him,” I say. “Well, not… permanently.”

“There are less aggressive ways to impose your will as well,” he says. “But that might be a better discussion for when you’re less intoxicated.”

“For sure,” I say. “So what did you want from me?”

“I merely wish to offer you the services of my firm in your upcoming trial,” he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a business card and handing it to me. “I promise you, there’s no better group in the known realms.”

“So there are unknown realms?” I ask as I take the card.

He smiles. “Again. Better saved for when you’re ready for a more in-depth conversation.”

I look down at the card. “‘Ratchet and Elmtree: The Soul-ution For All Your Legal Supernatural Problems,’” I read. “I see puns are a transcendent art form.”

“That one wasn’t my idea,” he says.

“So, are you Ratchet or Elmtree?”

“Oh, neither. I’m just a representative.”

“…A representative?”

“‘Ambulance chaser’ might be a better term if you wanted to be negative about it. And if supernatural ambulances were a thing,” he says. “I spot people in trouble and try to get them the help they need.”

“And that’s what you’re doing with your afterlife?”

He smiles. “Beats my old job.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “There’s a story there, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, there surely is. But, again…”

“When I’m not super-drunk would be the better time for the thing,” I say.

“Exactly. I think.”

“Cool cool,” I say, looking over the card again. “…There’s no address here.”

“It’s not exactly at an address,” he says. “Not one you could find on any map around here, at least.”

“So what’s the point of the card?”

He frowns. “…I’m not sure.”

I shake my head. “I… OK. Great. So. Is that it?”

“I think so,” he says, rising to his feet. “For the moment, at least. I’ll be in touch.”

I nod. “So… What do I do now?”

“Go get some sleep,” he says. “Or drink some more. It’s your life, bright eyes.”

With that, he disappears with a small “POP” sound, leaving me staring at empty air.

…The hell just happened?

I look at the untouched glass of whiskey he left on the table and compare it with the empty glass in my hand.

Well, either this is all a dream, or he’s probably at least trustworthy enough that I can drink this, I think to myself as I pick it up and take a sip.

Ahh. High-quality stuff, that.

“So, uh…” I say, walking back over to Steph and Phil.

“What were you doing over there?” Steph asks. “Talking to yourself?”

“We couldn’t hear you over the music,” Phil says.

“I was just… yeah,” I say. “Working some things out.”

Steph smiles. “You feel better?”

“…Getting there, hopefully,” I say. “Hey, what do you think of this?” I hand her the card.

She turns it over. “Weird names,” she says. “And a weird pun. Where’s the address? Like, what is this?”

“I… Never mind,” I say, taking it back and putting it in my pocket.

“Wanna go home?”

“Please and thank you,” I say, finishing the whiskey in two gulps. “I just need to close out my tab.”

“Already done,” Steph says.

“Seriously? You’re the best, Steph,” I say.

“Happy to do it any time you’re fired and dumped on the same day,” she says. “C’mon, let’s bounce.”

“Cool,” I say.

As we walk out, I take one more look at the empty table and wonder.