“Jolene” was playing on the jukebox. A bunch of drunks who had wandered away from a pub crawl were singing along at top volume, showing no sign of awareness that they were singing about heartbreak, nor that this was not the kind of bar where you sing karaoke.

      At the bar, Zephyr shared a grin with a waif who lingered here when her favorite haunts were closed.

      One of the men broke away from the jukebox to come buy another around, and Zephyr stepped forward to meet his uneven approach.

      “Excuse me, Zzzack.” He called, and Zephyr’s grin grew a hair more amused. The bartender was in neutral clothes, (wearing loose black trousers, a white button-up and a shapeless vest) but their name tag was clear enough.

     “Zephyr. But what can I get for you?”

     “Oh, I’m sorry.” The drunk looked Zephyr up and down, from their white-blond hair left short and scraggly, to their almost transparently pale face, to their long, slender, shapeless body. Zephyr’s voice was a clear alto, though it sounded higher when they raised it to be heard over the jukebox, which only got this loud on the desire of rambunctious patrons who would have preferred a karaoke bar. “You’re a girl.”

     “If you would like.”

     That was a bit much for the drunk. He squinted across the bar. “Aren’t you?”

     “I am a bartender.”

      “I know that! But what do I call you?”

      “Zephyr.”

      “Okay. But is that a boy’s name or a girl’s name?”

      “It’s my name.”

      The drunk was getting annoyed in his confusion. Zephyr knew their tip was suffering from messing with the guy; they just didn’t particularly care.

      “But like, what’s in your pants?”

      “Legs.”

      The waif at the end of the bar laughed, an unsettling snicker drifting across music that should have been too loud for anyone to hear it.

      “He’s too drunk to figure out how to ask for your pronouns.” That was another member of the lost pub-crawl, come up to the bar to help his friend. He was the one Zephyr had already pegged as the reason they were here: the hero of this story. He was probably in his early twenties, though Zephyr wasn’t always great at guessing humans’ ages. He was handsome, with dark hair, big brown eyes, and a square jaw. He looked like he probably played football in high-school and won every award. But he also had that aura: an energy about him that said the world listened to what he had to say, that he knew he could make a difference, and that that wasn’t a delusion. Where many dreamed of being presented with a chance to run into a burning building to save a small child, this guy would actually get the chance, recognize it for what it was, and act on it. He was sure to have been the one that spotted the bar and suggested they go in.

      He smiled at Zephyr with kind, perceptive eyes, and Zephyr snickered. “I’ll answer to any pronouns.”

      “Cool. Can we get a round of whatever is cheapest on tap, please?”

      “Coming right up.”

      Zephyr served the drunk hero, and then crossed back to the waif as the hero explained to his friend what a non-binary person was. Zephyr didn’t quite fit the description, but they’d accept the term. It was a nice one. And non-binary wasn’t the bit that was wrong.

      “How long will they be here?” the waif asked.

      “Until someone comes in for them. You aren’t feeling any desire to go talk to them, right?”

      The waif snorted. “Hell no.”

      Zephyr grinned at her. “I’m betting on a damsel in distress being the next one through the door.”

      She gave them a strange look, and Zephyr shrugged. “Need anything?”

      She shook her head, and so Zephyr returned to their preferred spot: the middle of the old oak bar, leaning back against shelves that should hold bottles, but instead held books. Not even all the regular patrons really understood what this place was. It wasn’t really a bar. It was a nexus point that only appeared when the universe needed somewhere for strangers to meet. Zephyr liked it here. They had always been meddlesome, and as a bartender, it was easy to spot stories and piece them together in the most pleasing way possible.

      Like that hero over there. All he was waiting for was the right challenge to become a truly lovely story.

      The jukebox had cycled through “Hotel California,” “Sweet Caroline,” and “Don’t Stop Believing.” All of Zephyr’s regulars had left, chased away by the noise. Zephyr didn’t mind. The convenient thing about working in a bar that didn’t really exist was that the overhead was pretty much nonexistent: no rent, no electricity bill, no water bill, no product to buy. The beer on tap, the pretzels in the bowls, the liquor in the dark bottles under the bar all came to this place with the same expediency as the customers. Half their patrons were ghosts because the universe found spirits – those that lacked physical substance – easier to move. And a bar needed patrons to be a bar.

       A girl walked into the bar. Zephyr could see her story written all over her. She was scared, lost, and probably new to town. She had lost her phone: probably also her wallet. She wouldn’t even need Zephyr’s meddling to match her with the hero.

      The first of the drunks to spot her was not the hero, but one of his friends. It may or may not have been the one to ask Zephyr about their name. He stood, clearly intending to hit on her, but the hero stopped him, before crossing to the girl. She was still standing in the doorway, looking unsure.

     “Hello there, miss? You okay?”

     Girl turned to look at boy, and Zephyr felt the story stretch between them. “Do you know if this place has a payphone?”

     The hero nodded her towards the bar. “Let’s ask Zephyr. Hey, Zeph, do you have a payphone?”

     Zephyr stepped out of the shadows, an amused grin on their face. They had never been called Zeph before. “I’m afraid not.”

     The girl looked at Zephyr warily and turned to go.

     “You can borrow my cell phone, if you would like,” the hero offered.

     “Thank God! I was just on a trip with my friends and stepped off the bus. It left without me, and now I’m lost and don’t have a way to contact my friends.”

     “It’s alright. I’m sure we can get you in touch with someone. I’m Henry, by the way.”

     “I’m Kelly.”

     They walked off down the bar, settling onto bar stools, while they tried to figure out how to get her home. Sure that the story was well and truly begun, Zephyr slowly dropped the volume on the jukebox. Across two songs, the volume went from loud enough that no one singing along could hear how off-key they were to quiet enough it wouldn’t interrupt a normal conversation. The drunks grew bored, and without even realizing one of their number was missing, they stood, cheered, “Next SPOT!” and were out the door before the hero could tell them he would catch up later. It was not like he was going to catch up anyway. He had a determined look on his face that said he was going to get that girl home.

     They were gone less than five minutes later, leaving Zephyr to imagine the story they wouldn’t see the rest of.  That was one of the few problems with working in a bar. Zephyr saw the beginnings of many stories, but the ends of very few.

***

     The next afternoon, Zephyr was wiping down the bar. It didn’t need it, but wiping down a bar was something bartenders did, and Zephyr was a good bartender. They looked up when the door opened. The door to the bar did not always open when guests entered. Many guests just appeared, but humans couldn’t do that, so it was already a sign that a story was entering, not a regular.

      Then their eyebrows rose.

      The hero from last night was standing in the doorway, looking around. He saw Zephyr, smiled and trotted over, sitting on the stool right in front of them.

      “You’re wearing a dress today! Should I use she/her?”

      “Whatever makes you happy.” The dress was a nice one: long, hitting their long legs at lower shin. It was a soft dove gray that added just a hint of color to their otherwise colorless skin.

      “God, it was hard to find this place again.”

      Zephyr laughed. It wasn’t hard. It was impossible. “What brought you back?”

      “I couldn’t have just liked the place?”

      Zephyr raised an eyebrow, looking around at the dark, quiet bar. Other than the two of them, it was completely empty.

      “Alright. I thought you might want to hear what happened with that girl.”

      “You did?” The man’s face fell. He looked so disappointed that they relented immediately. “I do enjoy stories.”

      His smile bounced back into place. “Even about idiots who wander into your bar and run off all your other customers?”

      “Those are the best kind.”

      “Then settle down, and let me tell you a tale…”

      Without a second thought, they jumped over the bar, only realizing when they had landed on the other side that humans don’t move like that. Humans don’t jump so lightly or so highly. Humans don’t hover in the air for a moment before landing, their hair floating on breezes that aren’t there.

      But once they had landed and settled onto a stool, it was easy enough for the hero to decide that had been a trick of the light or his imagination.

      After a moment to recover his equilibrium, the hero launched into his tale. “So, it seems Kelly was on the way to a concert in Jackson. Now, you and I know that’s quite a trip, especially for a young woman that you probably realize was not old enough to be in this bar…”

      Zephyr hadn’t actually realized, but considering they hadn’t served her, and the bar didn’t have a liquor license to lose, it didn’t really matter.

      It seemed the girl had snuck out of the house, sans parental permission, and caught the bus with her friends. It had been a fun trip for the first hour, but at the first rest stop, Kelly had stepped off the bus with one of the boys. He had said he was going to get everyone snacks, and she hadn’t realized that he was planning on stealing them. He had grabbed an armful of chip bags and ran. Kelly hadn’t wanted to be an accessory to shoplifting, but hadn’t had any money to pay. So, she ran, too.

      She circled back to get on the bus, only to find that there were police cars in the parking lot. The bus left before the cops. She had gone looking for her idiot friend, hadn’t found him, gotten lost, found nothing open in the surrounding area, and was ready to call 911 from a payphone when she saw the bar. The hero – Henry – had offered to lend her his phone to call her friends, but she couldn’t remember their phone numbers. He hadn’t been ready to damn the girl to her parents’ wrath for what seemed to be traditional teenage shenanigans, and so hadn’t insisted she call home.

      Then he found out she was the one holding all her friends’ concert tickets.

      He had made a proposal. He would pay for a cab the rest of the way to the show, if she gave him the spare ticket that should have belonged to the shoplifter. The cab had cost almost a hundred dollars, but it was a band Henry liked. They found her friends waiting outside the venue – down two friends, both of whom were underage. It seemed none of them had stopped the bus when Kelly went missing, because they were afraid they would be connected to the shoplifting, which they all insisted they hadn’t agreed to. None of them had been too concerned until they realized Kelly’s phone was on the bus.

      They were ecstatic to see Kelly, even with a stranger in tow. Henry saw the show with Kelly and her friends, didn’t let them drink because they clearly were not up to making that decision on their own, and they all caught the bus back. He got pictures with his new friends, and even somehow got pictures with the band, which he happily showed off.

      The hero finished his tale with a flourish, clearly proud of himself. He wasn’t a bad storyteller: energetic, enthusiastic, and just a hair overly dramatic. He had a kind of intense focus that made Zephyr feel like they were in the story.

      A regular had come in while Henry was finishing his story. The djinn nodded at Zephyr from down the bar, and Zephyr nodded back, signaling they would be down in just a moment. “So, can I get you a drink in exchange for your exciting tale of adventure?”

      “Sure.”

      Zephyr served the hero, then went down to greet the djinn.

      “Was that Arabic?” Henry asked, the next time Zephyr came by.

      They shrugged dismissively. “Maybe.” Probably. Djinn were mostly Middle Eastern.

      “How many languages do you speak?”

      “We have a diverse clientele. A good bartender has to be able to chat with the patrons.” Zephyr looked at the young man, trying to decide why he was still here. He must need another adventure, and considering the djinn was not exactly from his neighborhood, that meant they were waiting on at least one more patron to arrive. Zephyr wasn’t inclined to keep anyone in the bar longer than he wanted to be here, but they weren’t above encouraging lingering the same subtle ways bartenders did all throughout the world. They kept the hero supplied with fresh drinks and snacks and stopped by to chat with him just often enough to make sure he knew he was welcome. Henry was an easy person to chat with. In fact, within the hour, the hero had struck up a conversation with a Nokken, undeterred by the fact that the creature only spoke German.

      Zephyr tilted their head, trying to see if somehow this was the man’s next adventure. But no.

      The hero’s next story appeared a couple of hours later: in the form of a man not much older than Henry, but dressed in a very expensive suit. Zephyr was busy serving a group of Tennin at the other end of the bar, and by the time they broke away, the two humans were at the door. Henry waved at Zephyr, and mouthed, “I’ll tell you next time.”

***

      It was another two weeks before Zephyr saw the hero again, but when he came in, he came in bounding like a puppy just released after a long day inside. This time, there were already some regulars sitting around the bar, many of whom gave him a disapproving look, but Zephyr ignored them, crossing to meet the hero immediately.

      “Zeph! You will NOT believe what happened to me this time!”

      The hero’s energy was infectious and Zephyr found themselves smiling broadly.  

      “Want to hear the story?”

      “Of course, but I have a few customers, so I might have to run off a few times to check on them.”

      “Fair. Then fly over here and let me tell you a tale!”

      The man Henry had befriended was the CEO of a travel website. Though he acknowledged that he had a mind much more for business than words, he wrote blog pieces for his website about out of the way, hole in the wall destinations. He had been trying to find a café that was supposed to have the best cheesecake in the city and had come into the bar by mistake. Henry had known the café the man was looking for and had led him there. The story should have ended there, but Henry was meant to be a hero and heroes found adventures.     Somehow, between the bar and the café, the man offered Henry a job. Henry had a good job – something in social media marketing that went over Zephyr’s head – but this was an opportunity to fly, all expenses paid, to Istanbul, stay in a five-star hotel, and just wander around hoping to have an experience he could write two thousand words about. If he didn’t have an unusual experience, he could send in some selfies and write a review as if he had been a paying customer. Henry had no idea what inspired the man to offer him the job, but it was the kind of a once-in-lifetime opportunity that people just didn’t turn down.

      So, Henry had asked for two weeks off and flown to Turkey. He didn’t speak the language, didn’t have an itinerary, and was alone. Henry had a great time. He wandered around most of the day, meeting locals, eating good food, and taking pictures. By the last day, he was getting nervous that he wasn’t going to have anything to write about. Then he had found himself lost in a back street and wandered into a shop hoping to get directions. He tripped over a carpet and fell into what turned out to be a trap door. The shopkeeper had appeared and started yelling. Henry had apologized and tried to explain, even tried to pay for the statue he had broken, but the language barrier had put that well out of reach.

      Again, that should have been the end of the story: Henry gets fussed at by a shopkeeper in a language he didn’t understand and went home. But instead, Henry had stepped outside to find someone to translate for him, and brought back a cop, thinking a public servant was a good go between. The cop had immediately realized that that little back room was full of smuggled goods stolen from an archeological dig a year before. The statue Henry had broken turned out to be worth a cool million dollars, and luckily, the authorities were so happy to have the collection returned that they didn’t make him pay for breaking it.

      He wrote his article on the plane trip home, only to be told that was a bit more adventure than the website was looking for. The police station was not one of the out of the way destinations they wanted insider insight to. He got a free trip to Turkey and had been told that if he ever visited the Turkish National Museum, he would get a free coffee at the café.

      Zephyr laughed hard at the little card Henry pulled out of his wallet and got him a cup. “It’s not Turkish coffee, but I can give you this as payment for your story.”

      “Are you kidding? I owe you. Each time I’ve come here, I’ve left with a great adventure.”

      “Just remember that not all adventures are fun.”

      “I can attest to that. The bit I left out of the blog post that shall never be published was when the shopkeeper pulled a gun on me. I was practically shitting myself, trying to talk down a guy who doesn’t speak a word of English.”

      “Did you? Talk him down?”

      Henry shrugged. “It was more that I just distracted him until I could run.”

      “And you still went back?”

      “I wanted to pay for the broken statue, until I found out it was worth more than I would ever make in my life. But the point is, for a second there, I thought I was going to die.” He lifted his cup of coffee in a toast. “So, here’s to the good adventures being the ones I come back from.”

      “I’ll toast to that.”

      That night, the hero stayed until near midnight, getting very drunk and leaving with a group of Satyrs. Zephyr briefly worried that this adventure might be too much for the young human, but in the end, it wasn’t their job to keep him safe.

***

      The hero came back the next morning, earlier than the bar technically operated, but the door opened for him, and so Zephyr served him a sports drink that they found in the back fridge. He was so hungover that they did not expect a story. They just leaned on the bar, waiting to see if he needed anything else.

      “I have no idea what I drank last night.”

      Zephyr laughed, keeping their voice low and mild. “Probably Ouzo.”

      “Those guys were Greek, weren’t they? At some point, I was pretty sure they were speaking a different language, but I wasn’t sure if I was just that drunk.”

      “Both.”

      “Yeah. Both.”

      Zephyr pushed themselves up to go get some pretzels, and Henry squinted up at them. “Where you going? Don’t you want to hear the story?”

      “Getting you salt and carbs. I’ll be back.”

      “Good. I was afraid I was boring you.”

      Zephyr smiled to themselves while they filled a bowl and returned. “I’m still impressed that you keep coming back here.” That he kept finding this place.

      “What are you talking about? This is a great bar! Friendly. Great atmosphere. Clean. Interesting clientele.” He waved his arms around at the dark room, worn linoleum floor, mix-matched tables, low ceiling, and empty stools. “So, shall I tell you what the hell happened last night?”

      The Satyrs, who Henry called the Greek Bros, had taken him down to the docks to “get drunk and throw bottles at boats.” Zephyr had no idea why this was an interesting enough idea to coax a grown man out of a bar, but Henry had gone. They made it half-way to the docks before one of the Satyrs had dragged him into a house party they had not been invited to. Somehow, Henry ended up kissing the hostess, who had invited him to have a threesome with her and her husband. He had politely refused and headed out. His new Greek friends spotted him leaving, and once again, they all headed for the docks, but spotted a limo on the side of the road. The Satyrs had elected Henry to charm them in.

      The limo was waiting to pick up a minor celebrity: someone Henry had heard of, but Zephyr had not. Henry had asked the driver if they could climb in and ride around until it was time for the pick-up, because he had never been in a limo before. The driver agreed for a fifty-dollar bribe, then lost track of time. Henry and his Greek friends weren’t out of the limo by the time the celebrity climbed in. But Henry played it cool and just greeted the celebrity like they were supposed to be there. Before he knew it, they were on the way to a film festival. They were photographed by the paparazzi, drank champagne with gold flakes in it, saw a couple of art flicks Henry hadn’t understood, and gotten gift baskets before someone realized they weren’t supposed to be there.

      Again, they headed for the docks, before getting distracted one more time when they came across a couple fighting in the middle of the street. The Satyrs hadn’t been interested, but Henry had stopped to help them talk it out, listening to both sides, and trying, in a drunken haze to explain it was not alright to assume that dream cheating equaled real-life cheating. The hero remembered nothing else of the night. He assumed he made it to the docks, because he woke in a trunk on the steamboat that was used as a tourist attraction. He was missing one shoe, his wallet, and his glasses, but had four hundred dollars in his pocket. He had had just enough time to catch a cab back to his apartment, get changed, and get to work, but had left as early as he could because his hangover was atrocious.

      “So, you came for a hair of the dog that bit you?”

      Henry laughed, though he winced at the same time. “I am begging you not to serve me any alcohol tonight.”

      “What about adventures?”

      “Not with any more Greek Bros. Let’s keep it to family friendly adventures this time.”

      Zephyr laughed, and kept an eye on him. When a drunk looking for a fight headed towards him, they redirected him out the door. That story was going to have to find a different hero.

      They didn’t actually see who their hero left with this time, or even if he did leave with someone, but they wished him luck on a quiet, restful night.

***

      “Am I going to have amazing adventures every time I come to this bar?”

      Zephyr raised an eyebrow at the hero. “I can’t imagine what you are talking about.”

      “So, you are completely shocked that on the way out of the bar I found a wallet, and returning it led to a week-long series of continuously less probable events ending with me appearing in a Slavic Rap music video in an inflatable dinosaur costume playing mini-golf against the President of France?”

      Zephyr shrugged. “Completely shocked.”

***

      For the next couple of months, Henry came into the bar at least once every couple of weeks. He always took the time to tell Zephyr the story of what had happened to him the last time he visited, laughing and joking about events so ridiculous that most people would assume them to be bullshit. Not every adventure was pleasant: he showed up one day with a black eye from getting arrested at a protest, and another time he told them a really heart-wrenching story about helping a stranger get across the state to say goodbye to a dying childhood pet. But overall, most of the adventures left Henry either in a better state or the same state as before, but with a good story.

      Like Zephyr, Henry saw the value of a good story. Which was their best bet as to how he kept finding the bar. No humans had come into this place more than once the entire time Zephyr had been tending the bar, yet here was Henry sitting at the bar at least once every couple of weeks. He didn’t seem to notice that he entered the bar from different streets every time. He only made the slightest passing comments about the oddity of the other patrons – commenting on the languages they spoke, but not the eight-foot-tall man sitting in the back booth, the group of women who left dark puddles of swampy water under their stools, the guy with horns, or the girl who faded in and out of existence if you looked directly at her. He just happily drank with the ones who were friendly and gave space to the man with glowing red eyes who was drinking a Bloody Mary that smelled of real blood.

      The regulars seemed to tolerate his presence like a toddler at a party.

      Which occasionally worried Zephyr. The more Henry interacted with regulars, the more likely he was to find himself in an adventure that was beyond him. Which was why Zephyr defied their usual policy of only light meddling, and directly told the Leshy who challenged the hero to a game that he needed to leave Henry alone.

      “Can I ask you a question, Zeph?”

      “Why not.”

      Henry smiled, leaning on the bar heavily with his chin on his hand. “Are you the only bartender who works here?”

      “I am.”

      “Do you own this place?”

      “I do not.”

      “It’s just you always refer some nebulous ‘they’ when you talk about the bar, and I’ve never seen anyone else working here.”

      Zephyr laughed. “A Nebulous ‘they’ is a good description.”

      “Hands off kind of boss?”

      Zephyr was relatively sure that whoever the boss was, they didn’t have hands, but they did not think it wise or necessary to explain that this place was a construct of a universal drive.

      “So, do they ever give you a night off?”

      “I’m sure I could take one if I wanted.”

      “But you don’t want to?”

      “Why would I?”

      Henry was giving Zephyr that look that he sometimes did when the differences in their worlds became the most stark, but as usual, he didn’t say anything. He just ordered another drink and went off to play darts with a Baku.

      Maybe an hour later, Zephyr was talking to a drunk human, wondering if this stranger was meant to be another of Henry’s stories, when they got the feeling something was happening. They looked up and saw their hero heading out the door with a Valkyrie. Zephyr whistled through their teeth. That was not a story that they would have set up for Henry.

***

      Henry was standing in the door far too early, again. It had been three days since Zephyr last saw him. Considering who he had left with, they let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

      Henry waved a greeting, and crossed to sit on his favorite stool, smiling pleasantly. “So,” he said, as Zephyr pulled out a glass and waited for him to order. (Henry rarely drank the same thing two visits in a row.) “Did you know that Zephyr is the name of the God of the West Wind?”

      “Yes.”

      Henry nodded, looking down at the glass thoughtfully. “Are you…”

      “A God?” Zephyr snorted. “No.”

      “But you are the West Wind?”

      Zephyr just smiled. “What can I get for you today?”

      Henry looked up at them, laughter clear behind his eyes. “Whiskey sour. How old are you?”

      Zephyr shrugged. How old is the idea of wind? They waited, knowing that a story was coming.

      “The girl I left with last time drew a sword on the bus, ripped a seat out of the floor, then fled on wings.”

      “That’s not the start of a story.”

      “Actually, it sort of was. Most of the events of the night took place after Estrid tried to fight a bus…”

      The Valkyrie had gotten mad that the bus driver wouldn’t throw a guy off the bus who had showed her his dick. Henry had tried to step in, but Estrid made it very clear she neither needed nor wanted his help. She had fled the scene after causing felony level property damage, but Henry, lacking wings, had ended up being dragged to the police station to make a statement. He hadn’t been able to tell the cops much, because he didn’t know anything more than that the woman’s name was Estrid, though he had joked that she might be from Scandinavia. When the police let him go, she had found him to offer thanks for not giving her up. He explained that it wasn’t bravery so much as ignorance, but she had still insisted on taking him to dinner.

      She brought him to a feast at a mansion, where Henry was pretty sure he met Odin. Halfway through an already odd meal, a man had shown up and challenged the entire room to a foot race, and though Henry knew this was probably not a good idea, he had agreed to run. Halfway through the race one of the competitors tripped over a chair leg and broke his ankle. Henry had stopped to do first aid (which he learned as a camp counselor). He had called an ambulance, and while the paramedics loaded the guy onto a stretcher, he had given Henry a ring in thanks, telling him it was blessed so that anything he threw while wearing it would hit home.

      Which was lucky for him, because as soon as the paramedics left, the Valkyrie challenged him to a game of darts. He hit bullseye every single throw, and Estrid had offered him sex as a prize. He found that skeevy, and so she gave him a smartwatch instead. Which he had promptly used to Google Zephyr.

      “… then I had to wait a couple of days to come see you, because frankly, it’s never a good idea for me to come here if I have to be at work early the next morning.”

      Zephyr was leaning back against the wall, waiting. They enjoyed the story. They enjoyed Henry’s dramatic, sometimes silly telling, but this story was not done.

      Henry was looking at them, his expression unusually hard to read.

      “Zeph? We still good?”

      They let out a sigh of relief. They had been worried Henry was about to say this was too much for him, and he wasn’t coming back. “Oh. Yeah. No reason why we wouldn’t be.”

      “Am I the only human here?”

      “Most nights.”

      Henry turned, looking around the bar. There was no one here, but his eyes tracked over things, as if he could see the figures that usually sat there. “If I ask them what they are, would that be rude?”

      Zephyr laughed. “Yes, little Hero, and you don’t want to insult some of the regulars here.”

      He nodded slowly, then turned to smile at Zephyr again. “So, do you think it’s too early to be drinking whiskey?”

      “Nope.”

      “Then, another please.”

***

      Henry kept coming in, perfectly unbothered by the inhumanity of his drinking companions, and unbothered by the fact that he never left this place without some kind of adventure following him home.

      He was leaning on the bar again, cheerfully chatting with Zephyr. The bar was otherwise empty, except for the Leshy that was glaring at him from the back booth.

      “Do you know why he hates me?”

      Zephyr did not look at the Leshy, hoovering in a bit too much darkness. “He hates everyone. He lost his forest a few decades ago and hasn’t known what to do with himself since.”

      “Oooo. Are you going to tell me a story this time, Zeph?”

      They grinned, but shook their head. “Not my story to tell.”

      “So, do you want to tell me your story?”

      “Not sure I have one.”

      “Sure, you do. Like how did you come to be a bartender here?”

      “I just came in one day when they needed a bartender.”

      Henry laughed. “That’s it? How can someone who likes stories so much be so bad at telling one?”

      “You need a good memory to be a good storyteller.”

      “And you don’t have one?”

      Zephyr shrugged, frowning as they thought it over. “More that I don’t remember things the same way when I am not here.” They saw the look of confusion on the hero’s face, and added. “Here, I’m a bartender. I think like a bartender. I remember like a bartender. I remember the regulars, what they drink, what their troubles are, how long it’s been since they have been here. When I step out the door, I am not defined by the form of bartender. I don’t remember things in linear orders or attached to people. I remember bits and things that interest me along the way to wherever I am going.”

      “So do you like stories when you are not here?”

      “They give me form. They let me experience the world as others do for the breadth of the story.”

      Henry was smiling again. “So, not unlike the reason I like stories.”

      Zephyr rolled their eyes.

      “Speaking of stories,” he turned to look around. “I was wondering why you don’t have a TV in here. I would think you would love television and movies.”

      “Those stories don’t feel real.”

      Henry snorted, leaning on one elbow. “When was the last time you saw any?”

      Zephyr raised an eyebrow at him. “I just told you I’m not great at linear timelines.”

      “True. Can you give me a time period?”

      “Maybe the fifties?”

      Henry laughed loud enough to attract a glare from the Leshy. “I KNEW it. Zeph, baby, you have got to try something in color. Early movies and TV were stylistic masterpieces, but they didn’t really try for realism until much more recent stuff.”

      Zephyr could not help but smile at him. “Alright, but we’re still not getting a television. I’m pretty sure many of the regulars would burn it.”

      “I’ll bring my laptop. We can stream something. That way, you can get full stories, not just the beginnings.”

      “True.”

      “You know, what you need is a diner. Diners get more stories.”

      “Maybe.” Zephyr looked around at the bar, wondering. “Diners do draw a wider range of patrons.” As they looked around, the lights grew brighter, the colors stronger, the smell more savory and less alcoholic. When the booths started to shift, the Leshy turned his glare on them. Zephyr nodded an apology. “But this has always been a bar. Almost nothing has changed in the decades I have worked here. The regulars were mad enough when I put in the jukebox.”

      Henry watched the bar change and then shift back. He whistled between his teeth, but all he commented on was, “This bar hasn’t been here for decade.”

      Zephyr laughed. “This bar wasn’t here for a single minute before you spotted it.”

      “It only exists when I see it? Schrodinger’s bar?”

      “It’s more like it appears when it wants you.”

      “Creepy. What does it want me for?”

      Zephyr raised their eyebrows at him, and a revelation rolled across his face.

      “The bar wants me to have adventures?”

      They just snickered at the man.

      “Alright. So, does it move?”

      “You don’t have a great sense of direction, do you?”

      “Nope.” He looked thoughtfully out of the glass front door: the only place where you could see the outside from the inside, and even that was frosted enough that all he could possibly see was whether or not the sun had set. He looked back around the bar. A couple more regulars had come in during the last few minutes, though only one through the door. “Where are they from?”

      “He’s from near Minsk. She’s from Belfast. Those two over there came in from Manila.”

      “So, could I just walk out that door and be in Manila?”

      “Nope. You can only exit where you came in.”

      “Those Greek Bros?”

      “I said, you can only exit where you came in. Others, who have a less stringent relationships with physics can do as they want.”

      “So, they were…?”

      “From Athens.”

      “You know that wasn’t what I was asking.”

      Zephyr just smiled at him.

      “What if I were to leave with the big guy? Could I get to Minsk if I went on an adventure with him?”

      “He’s not here for a story. Most of our regulars are just here to avoid humanity for a while. I can meddle, but I can’t make a story out of nothing.”

      “You meddle?”

      “Of course. That’s why I took this job. I love meddling, and it’s easier when I have a voice.”

      “You don’t have a voice when you’re not a bartender.”

      “I am a wind, Henry.” Zephyr saw his eyes widen, which made some sense. This was the first time they had directly stated they weren’t human. “I always have a voice, but you probably could not hear it when I don’t have this form.”

      “Probably?”

      “You are a hero: someone who seeks out stories. You might be able to hear a wind.”

      He leaned back against the bar, frowning deeply. Zephyr let him think and took the moment to go serve the regulars. When they came back to check on Henry, he was still frowning. “Hey, Zephyr?”

      “Yes?”

      “Are we only able to be friends here, in this bar, that may not even exist if it doesn’t have an adventure to throw at me?”

      Zephyr leaned on their side of the bar, smiling calmly at him. “Likely.”

      He sighed. “So, if I don’t pursue the adventure that shows up, what happens?”

      “Are you capable of not pursuing an adventure?”

      “I think so. But, like, if I don’t, will the bar still want me? Will it stop appearing if I am not the hero it wants?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m honestly still surprised that you have managed to come back this many times.”

      Zephyr had meant that playfully, but the man was looking even more morose. “That means this could be the last time I ever come here.”

      “There’s always a last time. Everywhere you have ever been there was a last time you visited. You just didn’t always know it would be the last.”

      “Will you miss me?”

      “I think I will.” It came as a bit of a surprise to them. Zephyr had never really missed anyone before.

      “So, since, this might be the last time I ever see you, I’m going to say: I like you.”

      “I like you, too.”

      “I meant Romantically. I like, like you.”

      “Oh.”

      Henry snorted again. “So, I think it’s safe to say you don’t feel the same way.” Zephyr wasn’t sure how to respond, but Henry still smiled at them. “Well, if I may ask: is it that you aren’t attracted to humans, men, or anyone? Or am I just not your type?”

      “Does it matter?”

      Henry shrugged. “Just for my own pride.”

      “Then let me reassure you: I don’t feel sexual attraction. I’m sure most humans find you very attractive.”

      Henry smiled at Zephyr. “Then, I will continue to love you from afar, maybe flirt outrageously with some beautiful girl who will actually notice, we get to stay friends, and I’ll keep bringing you stories for as long as the bar lets me.” He paused, his smile waning for a moment. “We are friends, right?”

      “Yes.”

      Henry’s smile glowed, and Zephyr felt themselves smiling in return.

***

      Henry actually left without a story this time. Zephyr wasn’t sure how they knew, but they were sure. They were curious if Henry would manage to make it back to the bar, but they suspected he would. Ultimately, it had to be Henry’s desire to tell Zephyr his stories that had allowed him to return. He should be able to return as long as he had the desire to do so. But that was just guesswork.

      And Zephyr did want Henry to come back. Not just because they would miss him, though they would, but also because they had an idea.

      Henry had brought them many different kinds of stories: scary, funny, silly, stupid, brave, but never romantic. And Zephyr now knew that he was interested in romance.

      The next morning, Zephyr was standing in the entrance of the bar. The entryway was U-shaped, with the walls jutting out beyond the door. Booths sat in those cubbies, lined with windows darkened with old posters and stained glass so dirty light barely managed to get through. To get to the door, you took a few steps shielded on all sides by building. Zephyr walked to the edge, to the spot where the bar would cease to shield them, and leaned into the light breeze coming in off the river. It was a gray day, with clouds masking the light like a veil on the sky.

      They hadn’t been outside in years, and for a moment, the taste of distance, speed, and far-away places on the air almost pulled them straight out of the bar and out of the role of bartender.

      If they stepped beyond this point, they wouldn’t be the bartender anymore. They wouldn’t have the form to hold memories for more than a moment or two. If they left, they weren’t coming back for weeks, months, or years. And Zephyr wasn’t done with this place yet.

      So, they pulled the chalk board in without stepping beyond the property line. There was an old scuffed announcement of some beer that they did not have on tap, overwritten by about dozen cusswords fingerpainted in the accumulated dust. It took three washes with soap and water to get the board clean enough to take new chalk marks, but then they drew a heart in pink, the words “ladies’ night,” and an illegible date. Then they hung the board back up and went to work.

      Over the next couple of days an unusual number of women came into the bar, some alone, some in groups, some leaving with adventures, some leaving together, but none that felt right.

      They knew immediately when the right girl stepped in the door. She was pretty, tall, moved like a dancer, and laughed like a hyena. Zephyr smiled as they served her and made small talk. The girl’s name was Maya, and she had stepped in because she had never seen this place before: which meant she was curious and driven by that curiosity.

      Zephyr meddled.

      The girl was heading out when a gust of wind hit the door hard enough to brush her purse off her shoulder. A credit card slid out and under the doormat. She didn’t notice it. Zephyr waited a couple of minutes before they went over and picked up the card, placing it in the cash registrar for safe keeping.

***

      Henry came in the next day, practically jumping up onto his stool.

      “Zeeppphhyyyrrr! Guess what?”

      “What?”

      “I made it back.”

      “You did,” Zeph replied, smiling almost as widely as the man did.

      “And I don’t have a new story for you.”

      “That’s more than alright.”

      “But, that means I can come back even if I miss an adventure. And I mean, I do have stories from before we met, if you want.”

      Zephyr laughed. “I’d love to hear them, but give me a moment.” They pulled the credit card out of the register, stepped into the back     room, and found a phonebook. Against all odds, the girl’s number was there, she answered when called, and said she was coming right over to pick up the card.

      Henry was in the middle of a ridiculous story about him and his friends accidentally dropping a boat through the front windows of a bait shop as teenagers, when the girl came in. Zephyr excused themselves and went over to greet her.

      “Maya?”

      “Yes! Thank you so much for calling. It has been a DAY!”

      “I just need an ID to make sure I’m giving the card to the right person.”

      “Of course!” She sat down and started digging around in her purse. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”

      “You okay?” Henry asked, and she smiled at him.

      “Yeah. I just… I’ve had an odd day.”

      “Tell me about it.”

      The girl gave his charming grin one look, and launched into her story. She had been walking home the night before, and her purse had been snatched. On the way to the police station, she had spotted the thief, and decided to just snatch it back. The guy had been distracted rifling through her stuff, and so she had just run by and grabbed it. Then she had gotten picked up by the police as a purse snatcher. She spent four hours waiting in jail, and another hour explaining before someone looked at the driver’s license to confirm it was her purse. By the time the police released her it was nearly eight AM, she was an hour late to work, and she had three voice mails from her boss – the final one telling her she was fired. She called him to explain, but he told her he needed more reliable staff, and that if she didn’t clean out her desk by the end of the day, he was going to throw everything out.

      “Well, it sounds like he was one hell of shitty boss.”

      Maya sighed. “He was. But he paid well.”

      “Well now you can use this opportunity to find a new, better job. It will be an adventure.” Henry shot a look at Zephyr, with an expression that asked, “Is this why she’s here?”

      Zephyr just shrugged, and went to help a Jengu at the other end of the bar. When they glanced back, Henry and Maya were staring at Henry’s phone, laughing at something they were reading. Ten minutes later, they were gone.

***

     Weeks passed. It was the longest time between Henry’s visits since he first stepped foot in this place. The bar felt emptier now than it ever had before. Zephyr was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, one foot beyond. The sharp wind off the docks called them.

     They could take one step and be gone. The bar would find someone else to tend it.

     Maybe they had been in this form for too long. They were thinking too much like a human, missing a human connection, a human relationship. Missing a human.

     Missing Henry.

     “You know, I’ve never seen you outside.”

     Zephyr smiled at their hero, feeling themselves settle into this form once again. “Do I look different?”

     He laughed. “Paler.”

     “So, did you bring me a story?” Zephyr held open the door, waving for the Hero to proceed them inside.

     “Maybe not the one you were hoping for. Was that your way of setting me up on a date?”

     “Possibly.”

     Henry took his normal seat at the bar and smiled at Zephyr. “Just so you know, you aren’t getting rid of me.”

     “Good,” Zephyr replied, feeling more solid than they had in weeks. “A bartender needs patrons to be a bartender.”  

END