The next morning, Morthisal arrived at the office building with a sense of purpose. He marched straight to Human Resources, determined to claim his rightful position as manager, or at the very least, to report for managerial training. Something that was entirely unnecessary considering his vast knowledge of managing multiple races, demons from the underworld, the undead, and a very overfilled dungeon. Ah. How he occasionally longed for the cries of the forsaken and tortured souls.

  He had tested the TENS machine over the weekend on various parts of his body. The device, although small, transmitted a small amount of electricity that fueled his powers, albeit quite slowly. The best place to wear it, ironically, was on his lower back. It ached anyway. He had tested the various settings and found the highest to be quite painful, like a few needles repeatedly digging into his skin in a tapping pattern. It hurt, but Morthisal had endured much worse. Still, he kept the number low and let the device do its slow job of replenishing his power.

  The hallway stretched before him as he walked, no, Morthisal marched with purpose to Jill Holland's office.

  He knocked once and entered without waiting for a response.

  Jill was mid-yawn with a cup of coffee in one hand and her fingers clutching the computer mouse in the other. She looked up from her computer and her face hardened when she recognized him. "Mr. Logan. I don't recall inviting you in."

  "I require information about my new managerial position," Morthisal stated, standing tall before her desk.

  Jill's nostrils flared. "Oh, that."

  "Yes, that. My promotion. The one promised to me last week after the unfortunate departure of Jack Sweet."

  She tapped her finger against her desktop. "The position has not been signed off by upper management yet."

  "Unacceptable," Morthisal growled. "Tell me the names of these upper management people and I will sort this out in moments."

  Jill laughed and sipped her coffee before placing the large disposable white coffee cup on her desk. "I would like to see the looks on their faces when you go up there."

  "As would I. Names," Morthisal demanded, and prepared a thread in case he needed to force her hand.

  Jill sighed, rolled her eyes, and glanced at her computer screen. "Oh, look. This just came in. We'll get you processed by Wednesday."

  "Wednesday. Wednesday?" Morthisal repeated. "Unacceptable. I shall be back on Wednesday morning. See that this task has been accomplished."

  "Who do you think you…?"

  Morthisal had already turned and was marching back down the hallway, and didn't catch Jill's last sentence.

  If things were not in order by Wednesday, Morthisal would enslave this entire department.

  The day crawled by at an excruciating pace. Morthisal observed the office dynamics from his cubicle, particularly noting that there was once again tension between Willow and Ronny. The two temps exchanged glares across their cubicles.

  "Could you not slam your keyboard like that?" Willow asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Some of us are trying to concentrate."

  Ronny snorted. "Maybe if you played fewer games on your phone, you'd get more work done."

  "At least I don't spend half the day in the break room," Willow shot back.

  "Whatever," Ronny muttered, turning away.

  Morthisal decided to stay out of their petty squabble. He had more important matters to attend to—namely, his upcoming date with Yvette Sterling.

  He logged into YouTube and searched for "how to go on a first date." The results overwhelmed him with various advice.

  One video titled "10 GUARANTEED First Date Success Tips" displayed a man with excessive hair gel gesturing wildly. "Always maintain eye contact, but don't stare too much. Be confident, but not arrogant. Show interest in her, but maintain mystery. You gotta be an alpha dog, dog!"

  Another video contradicted everything in the previous video. "Never ask about her job first! Always wait for her to bring it up!" The host wore a hat indoors and spoke too loudly.

  "Pay for everything, it shows you're a provider," insisted one bearded man.

  "Split the bill, it's the modern way," countered a woman with purple hair.

  "Compliment her appearance, but not too much, and do this right before you make sure she picks up the bill."

  "Never comment on her looks, focus on her personality. Show her you know a lot of stuff. Like I study World War II history and many a babe has hung on my every word while I recounted the United States Army's 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment's behind-the-lines action in Italy…"

  "Text her immediately after!"

  "Wait three days before contacting her again. Four's even better. She'll wait."

  "Never text a chick after a date, bro. Don't show weakness, bro."

  Morthisal frowned, closed the browser in disgust, and muttered, "These people are imbeciles."

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  After work, he returned to Vince's apartment and took a shower. Morthisal changed his shirt seven times, and finally settled on a dark blue button-up that seemed appropriate for a restaurant called the Pink Door. He matched this with a pair of jeans that had been comfortable until last week. He patted his belly once again with a frown.

  Then realization struck him—he had no means of transportation. Morthisal frowned. He considered messaging Yvette, then decided a call would be more efficient.

  She answered on the second ring. "Vincent, hello. I'm surprised I didn't hear from you this weekend."

  "Oh, er. I apologize. I thought you were busy." Morthisal sputtered.

  "I was, but not too busy for you to confirm our date."

  Morthisal gulped. "Oh dear. I am quite sorry, Yvette. I lost track of time as I became addicted to a television show on Netflix."

  Yvette laughed. "Well, at least you're honest. If you don't want to go out tonight and would rather stay in and watch television, that's fine."

  Morthisal sat forward on his couch. "No, no. I very much wish to see you this evening."

  "That's good. I want to see you, too. I've never been to the Pink Door. I hear the food is excellent. Are we meeting there? I'd give you my address, but we're not at that stage yet. Know what I mean?"

  "I do not."

  Yvette laughed and said, "I like your dry humor, Vince."

  "Thank you," Morthisal answered, confused.

  "Could you imagine if I gave out my home address to anyone?"

  Morthisal blinked. Yvette was quite rich, and he suddenly understood why she would need her privacy.

  "Perhaps we could meet at the restaurant. I find myself without transportation to our meeting place as I do not own a car. I shall take an Uber."

  Her laugh flowed through the phone. "That's not a problem. What's your address?"

  "Why? Are you planning to stalk me?" Morthisal smiled.

  "Maybe, and there's that wry humor again. I can send a car, if that's okay with you."

  "You command vehicles at will?" Morthisal asked, impressed despite himself.

  "I have a service," she explained.

  "Thank you for the kind gesture, Yvette."

  Yvette chuckled again. "Some guys would get offended if offered a ride."

  "Ah, yes. The so-called alpha dogs?"

  "More like alpha bros. Don't get me started. Are you looking forward to our dinner?"

  "Indeed," he replied. "The Pink Door seems... fascinating, as does the company."

  "Smooth. I'll see you soon, Vince."

  After they disconnected, Morthisal entered the bathroom and examined Vince's collection of colognes. He uncapped each bottle and sniffed, his face contorting with displeasure after each one.

  "Flowers and citrus," he muttered in disgust. "A true dark lord should smell of brimstone and the ashes of conquered kingdoms. However, that might not be acceptable here."

  Morthisal held his breath, closed his eyes, and shot himself with the insidious odor, then went outside to wait for the car. Hel arrived at the restaurant to find a plain pink door set in the wall with no sign. The ride had been nice. He'd been picked up in a large black SUV with tinted windows and plush leather seats. The driver hadn't spoken much, which had suited him fine.

  He pushed open the pink door and entered the lobby. A set of stairs led to the main dining room above. The space buzzed with conversation and clinking glasses. At the entrance, patrons in fine attire waited in small clusters.

  His gaze swept across the waiting customers, but Yvette was nowhere to be seen.

  A woman wearing a dark short-brimmed hat approached him. Black hair peeked out from beneath the hat, and dark oversized glasses covered much of her face. She nodded at him, then broke into a smile.

  Morthisal stared. The woman's features clicked into place.

  Yvette put her finger to her mouth and blew. "Shh," she whispered. "I'm in disguise."

  Morthisal's face registered surprise as he stepped toward her. "Good evening. Why the secrecy?"

  She kept her voice low. "It has nothing to do with you. I can't get out without the media following me and reporting on every move I make. It's annoying, even though it comes in handy at times," she whispered to Morthisal.

  Morthisal noted her perfume smelled of jasmine and something exotic he couldn't place. It was quite pleasant.

  "If there is one thing I greatly appreciate, it's a well worn disguise."

  "Is it because of your work on the movie?"

  "Precisely," Morthisal replied for cover. He had frequently needed disguises to explore locations on Mythralon. He could not share this, or Yvette would think him mad. He thought of one of his finest artifacts, which he'd been forced to leave in his fortress. The Heart of Shadows. A device that had allowed him to move about, completely anonymously, in the larger cities of the heroes. He had been able to gather crucial information about their armies’ make up and defenses. And then crush them. Morthisal couldn't help but giggle at the thought.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes. A random thought came into my head. Apologies, dear Yvette."

  "Dear Yvette?"

  Morthisal turned to meet her gaze, his face suddenly flushed. "Er…yes. A turn of phrase."

  Yvette's eyebrow arched, and a smile gently touched her lips. They stood in silence for a moment. Yvette cleared her throat. "It's pretty packed in there. Did you make a reservation?"

  Morthisal blanched. He hadn't even thought to call ahead.

  "I shall inquire about our table."

  He strode to the front desk and asked about the wait time for a table. Others milled about in the room or sat on chairs and a couch while staring at their electronic devices.

  "It should only be about an hour. Can I get your name?" Marcus, as the name tag on the man's shirt read, wore a black suit with a pink bow tie.

  Yvette moved up beside him, her face painted with an inquiring look.

  Morthisal refused to look bad in front of her. He reached for a thread of power and wrapped it around the man and squeezed. "Look for Vincent Logan. Find the name. Go on." Morthisal waved his finger at the computer screen.

  Marcus's expression shifted. His face brightened with recognition. "Ah, Mr. Logan! Yes, of course." He grabbed two menus from beneath the counter. "I'll escort you to your table personally."

  "Make sure it's a corner table near a wall," Morthisal instructed and applied a little more power.

  "Absolutely, sir. Anything you need. I'll send the server right over. We appreciate your business."

  "That is enough," Morthisal said under his breath.

  They followed Marcus through the noisy room. The tables were packed, with only a few exceptions. People ate a variety of dishes, and drank mostly from wine glasses. They kept moving until they reached a secluded table in the corner. Morthisal had been unimpressed with the YouTube videos regarding dating, but he knew enough to pull out Yvette's chair for her before taking his own seat.

  "Thank you for suggesting a table in the back," Yvette said. "How did you get them to listen to you?"

  A server approached almost immediately. She had short blonde hair styled in a pixie cut and wore a black button-up shirt with a pink bow tie.

  "Good evening, I'm Tessa. I'll be taking care of you tonight," she said with a practiced smile. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

  "I'll have a Sex on the Beach," Morthisal said.

  Yvette laughed, her face lighting up with amusement. She looked directly at Morthisal. "I'll have the same."