Camille glanced at Michael, who returned a smile. She smiled back, then turned away, muttering to herself, "He's clearly here."
She approached him and said, "I'll be working now, but how about a date later in the evening?"
Michael nodded. "Sounds great. I'll just stay here," he replied, his grin small but warm.
She gave a nod and walked off to resume her duties.
Michael observed her as she went about her work, mumbling under his breath, "I hope she doesn't get too freaked out." His gaze never left her as she worked, and his quiet observation only deepened her unease.
All day, Camille asked every customer if they'd seen Michael, but no one had, leaving her increasingly anxious. Meanwhile, Michael remained seated, lost in thought, occasionally glancing at her. Each fleeting glance made her more uncomfortable.
She couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to Michael than she understood. Distracted by him, she nearly dropped a tray when someone accidentally brushed past her. She gasped, regaining her balance just in time.
"Camille, are you okay?" April, another bartender, asked as she steadied her.
"I'm fine," Camille answered quickly, glancing at Michael, who was now casually strolling around the bar, observing the customers. His presence, unnoticed by everyone else, made her discomfort grow.
"You should take a break," April suggested, nudging Camille gently toward the exit. "You need it."
Camille hesitated but nodded, muttering a quiet "Thanks" as she left the bar.
Out on the street, Camille wrapped her jacket tightly around her, glancing behind her from time to time but not seeing Michael. A strange sense of relief mixed with lingering unease washed over her. "Who is he?" she wondered aloud.
"Didn't I tell you the first time we met?" Michael's voice suddenly interrupted the silence, causing Camille to gasp. He was casually leaning against the wall, watching her as though he'd been waiting for her to step outside.
"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling as she instinctively took a step back.
"Do you remember the first thing I asked you when we met?" Michael replied, a faint smile on his lips. Camille's mind raced as she tried to recall their first meeting.
'You can see me?'
It was the question he had asked her when she first noticed him standing on the bridge, looking like he might jump. At the time, his approach had seemed quirky and unusual, but now, staring into his eyes, Camille finally understood the gravity of his words.
"And if you think I'm a ghost, I'm not," Michael added, reading her thoughts before she could ask. His gaze was steady, his voice calm.
"Then what are you?" she asked, still cautious but no longer backing away.
"My name is Michael White. I'm a mage who got a little too curious about what happens after death. Well, as you can see, I kind of messed up, and now I'm stuck wandering around as... this," he explained, his tone carrying a mix of calmness and regret. "I'm not really dead—just... misplaced."
'Man, someone give me an Oscar,' he thought to himself, smirking inwardly.
Camille stared at him, trying to process his words. "A mage? Magic? This sounds like something from a storybook," she muttered. "But you're here... and I can see you while no one else can. I guess I'll believe it."
She looked at him with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "But why can I see you? Why not anyone else? And you feel warm, not cold like I'd expect a ghost to be."
Michael chuckled lightly. "Ghosts are cold because they're really gone. I'm warm because I'm not dead—just... stuck in this weird limbo," he said, holding out his hand. "Go on, feel for yourself."
She hesitated before reaching out, surprised at the warmth of his skin.
"As for why you can see me..." Michael shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe you're my 'destined one,' as they say."
Camille gasped, her face flushing as she quickly pulled her hand back.
"So, what do you plan to do now, Mr. Mage?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity. "And don't think for a second that I'll agree to be some ghost's girlfriend."
Michael smirked. "Let's find somewhere private to talk, or the whole French Quarter will think you've lost your mind," he suggested, gesturing to the crowd around them.
"Couldn't you have told me this earlier?" Camille snapped, glaring at him.
Michael just shrugged. "I was busy convincing you I'm harmless," he said with a grin.
Sighing, Camille stopped arguing, and they headed to her house. Once inside, she sat on her bed, while Michael took a seat across from her in a chair.
"So, you need me, huh? What exactly is it you want from me?" she asked, eyeing him warily.
Michael tilted his head, his smirk playful. "Are you a mind reader now?"
Camille chuckled softly. "No, I'm a psychologist. Reading behavior is part of the job."
Michael laughed, leaning back slightly. "Guess that's both a gift and a curse. No guy could ever lie his way into your good graces."
She smiled. "Yeah, no one's ever managed that."
"Ah, is that a challenge I smell?" Michael teased, grinning mischievously.
Camille smirked, playing along. "Maybe," she replied, her tone light.
Michael's expression softened. "Well, I do need your help."
Camille nodded, leaning forward slightly. "I'm listening," she said, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling out a notebook and pen.
"Seriously?" Michael raised an eyebrow.
Camille shrugged with a smile. "It's a habit," she explained, jotting something down.
"So, a mage who lost his way in Limbo and was sulking until I found you?" Camille said, jotting down notes as Michael looked at her with a calm expression.
"So, where do I come in?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You're a medium," he replied, his gaze steady as he looked at her.
"What is an medium?" She asked as Michael said, "well, a Medium is an Human who can see behind the mortal plane into the Spiritual plane" he aid.
" In simple terms a human who can see Ghosts" he said as Camille looked at him.
*******
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