Manny dumped the old litter and tied up the garbage. What did that even mean? He thought people only got haunted when they did something to deserve it. Like move into a creepy, abandoned house and ignored all the ghostly warning signs.

“How much of a dent have you put in that debt of yours?” Damon was at the breakfast bar now, looking at the mail scattered over its surface, most of it undoubtedly from the bank.

“I’m under 30K now,” Manny said with a grin. And it felt damn good. “Can’t wait to get that shit paid off so I can stop bouncing around these shitty jobs. And maybe be able to afford a decent apartment.” He grimaced at the cracks in the Formica counters, the pock holes in the wall left behind by insects, rodents, or worse, their beat-up leather couch and floor TV.

Damon nodded his approval. “Hard as you work, you deserve better than this shit hole.”

“Yeah.” He deserved a bed that didn’t try to swallow him every night, some kind of transportation, a Tesla maybe. Manny grabbed the fridge door handle and found a note waiting for him.

Going south. May be on the road for a few days. Rent money in the safe. Take it easy. ~Brendan.

He’d found something of a unicorn in Brendan. A roommate who paid his rent on time, didn’t steal, cleaned up after himself, and minded his own business? It was rare to get even two of those things. On top of that, Brandon was a trucker, and lived most of his life on the road. Manny had the apartment to himself most of the time.

He nuked two Hot Pockets in the microwave, before crossing to where his laptop was set up on the coffee table. Tangy followed and jumped into his lap, not two seconds after he sat down, and nuzzled his face. He’d bookmarked all the Asarr profiles on both Facebook and Twitter, for ease of access. It took around half an hour to check the activity on all.

He took a bite of Hot Pocket and hissed as the cheesy filling burnt his tongue. All the Facebook profiles checked out. He moved on to Twitter. The first four profiles checked out. The fifth had posted less than an hour ago. Manny swore.

Sal Black. It’s good to be back, he’d tweeted, along with a picture of himself with a glass of red wine in hand, back-dropped by nighttime Paris. Sal black was dark-haired and dark eyed, much like Manny. But unlike Manny, his eyes sparkled and danced with mirth; the life hadn’t been sucked out of them by loan debt and nightmare shift managers. He wore his midnight blue suit well, a crisp white shirt peeking from underneath.

Sal Black was living, and it sent a stab of envy deep into Manny’s gut.

Damon gave a long, low whistle as he watched the screen from over Manny’s shoulder. “Paris looks sweet as fuck. This one of Asarr’s people?”

“Yeah.” His jaw ticked. He checked the other accounts—all still stagnant—and fetched his phone from his room. Hey, one of the accounts posted. Sal Black, he typed as he worked his way back to the coffee table. His finger hovered over the send icon.

Would this be the end of his Idris Elba pay days? He could lie, but the thought of it made him feel dirtier than the vomit destruction he’d cleaned up. Asarr had been straightforward and honest with him through their arrangement. As far as employers or clients went, working for him had been a dream. The dude was a unicorn in his own right.

Manny would gladly lie and steal from Arby’s if it wouldn’t cost him his job, but not from Asarr. He hit send and began cropping a screenshot to send behind the message. It may not mean the end of the end of the agreement, as there were many more stagnant profiles for him to watch. Or so he hoped.

His phone rang, the red and blue icon Asarr used as a profile picture displayed on the screen. A WhatsApp call. So much for only communicating through written messages. He picked up. “Hello?”

“Mr. Delgado?”

His jaw fell, and he had to snap his mouth shut to stop bits of chewed Hot Pocket from dropping out. He’d expected a smooth baritone. Instead, he got something a few octaves higher, rich and sweet as a cake.

A woman.