He slid into the chair opposite her, smiled and pointed at the sticker on his lapel. “I’m your soulmate,” he announced. He raised his arms wide, encouraging her to drink it all in. “Steve, if you’d prefer.” 

 

A hand reached out across the table and she took it in hers. “Alice,” she replied quietly. Her smile was forced, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

 

“Nice place, this, mind,” Steve continued, glancing around the bar. “Can see why you chose it.” The place was barely half-full, with plenty of empty tables around them, but with enough background noise from the acoustic guitar track and sporadic huddles of after-work drinkers to remain inconspicuous. The exposed brickwork and Scandi furnishings kept it cosy yet modern, and it was still early enough in the evening for the rich hues of the sunset to fill the floor-to-ceiling windows with colour.

 

Alice kept her eyes on her suitor. He was rather handsome, she admitted. At least that part of the profile rang true. Tall - or tall enough - with a slightly athletic build and two-day stubble that was shaped around a strong jawline. He’d probably have been quite a catch at a younger age. Just like she had been.

 

“What’s your story, then?” he asked. “Sorry - that didn’t come out right. I just- I mean, here we are, two forty-somethings, both using dating apps. Soulmates is better than the others though, right? They’re better at filtering out the weirdos.” He winked at her. “Not perfect, mind.”

She stared back at him for a moment, then shook her head slightly and cleared her throat.”Yes, I think you’re right,” she replied. “Though to be quite honest, Steve, I haven’t really tried using apps before. And meeting up with a stranger in a bar… it’s not something I’m used to. 

Jilted lover? Widow? Closet lesbian? Steve smiled inwardly. Not a divorcee, though. Spot them a mile off.

 

“But it’s a new year and I’m open to new things,” she continued. “Life’s too short, don’t you think?”

Steve raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.” He drained the last of his beer and brought it heavily back down on the table. “Same again?”

“Actually, no,” Alice answered. 

Steve’s face fell. “Calling it a night already?”

“Not exactly,” she continued slowly, looking around them as if to see if anyone was listening. “How would you like to come back to my place? I’ve got good coffee.”

He looked back at her, mouth agape slightly, then gathered his wits. He grabbed his coat, a little too eagerly. “Sounds fantastic. I’ll call a cab.”

 

- - - - - - - 

 

“Excuse me for a moment,” Alice said apologetically. “I just need to go and freshen up. Make yourself comfortable in the lounge.” She motioned towards the nearest door.

When she had disappeared upstairs, Steve took the opportunity to linger in the hallway a moment. The walls were bare, save for a sole portrait picture. It was clearly Alice, though much younger, with her head resting on the shoulder of a dark haired, athletic man - a man who bore a striking resemblance to his own younger self. 

 

Entering the lounge, he found the room again lacking any real indication of its owner, save for another small photo frame tucked away in the corner of the bookcase. The walls were plain, the carpet neutral, and the furniture decidely nondescript. Soulless, he thought, shaking his head.

 

The sound of water in the pipes alerted him to her impending return and he took a seat on the large corner sofa. She came back from the bathroom, he noticed, with a fresh coat of lipstick, and the air was heavy with her perfume. All good signs, he decided. Yet she loitered in the doorway, seeming hesitant. Nervous, perhaps. He decided to take the initiative. “Is that coffee still on the cards?”

“What about something a little more… special?” she suggested, eyes not quite meeting his. 

Well, well. I know exactly what her game is, he thought to himself. “Absolutely,” he grinned. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve a wine cellar. Well, a cellar, which has wine in it. And a lot more besides. Why don’t I show you?”

“Lead the way,” Steve replied, still grinning. It’s always the quiet ones!

Alice walked along the passageway to a heavy oak door and turned the key in the lock.

“It’s just through here,” she said softly. “Mind your head on the way down.”

 

He followed her down the mezzanine-style staircase and into the softly-lit cellar. Alice had placed candles atop a grand mahogany cabinet, and in the dancing, flickering glow he could see dozens of wine bottles stacked neatly behind the latticed glass of the doors. The rest of the room was sparse, save for an enormous Persian rug that ran from one wall to another, covering the entirety of the floor beyond the snug in which they stood.

 

“Come and sit,” she beckoned, and draped herself over the chaise longue opposite the stairs. Steve didn’t need asking twice. He slid onto the plush velvet and, sensing his opportunity, wrapped his arms round her waist and pulled her close to him. Alice gasped quietly, her palms on his chest in temporary resistance, before she softened and leaned in, her ruby-red lips meeting his. He kissed her passionately, intoxicated by the redolence of her perfume and the softness of her mouth. 

 

Then the room began to spin, and everything went dark.

 

- - - - -

 

Steve blinked groggily and opened his eyes. His head throbbed. “Wha-what happened?” 

As his sight adjusted, he saw that he was still in the cellar, but was no longer in the same seat - instead he was sat upon a hard wooden chair, moved back against the staircase. He tried to move his outstretched arms but realised, to his disbelief, that each was bound by cords to the railing behind. His shirt was unbuttoned and his chest exposed.

 

“There he is,” a voice called from across the room. 

Recognition flashed in his bloodshot eyes. “Alice!”

She moved slowly, deliberately, towards him, her heels clicking softly on the stone floor. 

“I-I must’ve passed out or something,” he stuttered. “Sorry, I don’t know if I gave you the wrong idea or- I dunno, but this…” - he motioned with his head towards the cords - “this isn’t my thing, not at all really. Can you just take them off?”

 

But Alice just smiled and slid onto his lap, straddling him with her legs. Steve’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the reluctant, hard-to-please spinster he had met in the bar - there was a confidence, a resoluteness about her now. It both intrigued and intimidated him.

“They can’t come off now, silly,” she whispered, running her hands over his chest and leaning in close to his ear. “You’re right where I need you.”

 

She planted another heavy kiss on his cheek and leapt back to her feet. She strode over to the centre of the room and, with a flourish, pulled back the Persian rug. Squinting into the half-light, Steve saw that the exposed floor was not like the ornate stone tiles that covered the rest of the cellar. Instead, the stone had been removed, with simply earth in their place. He could make out what appeared to be a series of candles, arranged in a ring.

“You see, Steve,” Alice continued, “I wasn’t lying earlier. I really do need a man like you. My man. He was your age, you know. Similar temperament, looks, physique. And it’s so, so important for the ritual to work, you know? Otherwise, the gods will not allow the trade.”

 

His head spun. “Tr-trade?” he stammered. “Alice, I don’t have a clue what you’re going on about, but I want you to untie me now. Please!”

Alice simply grinned in reply. She proceeded to light the circle of candles, which revealed strange symbols daubed on the dry earth. 

 

Steve’s face was contorted with fear and confusion. “What are those things on the ground?” he croaked, but as he spoke, realisation dawned. Ritual. “What are you going to do to me?!”

 

“Shh, my love,” she soothed, walking back towards him. “I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. No, I need your body just the way it is.” She wiped the sweat off his brow with one hand, and with the other, marked his forehead and chest with some sort of oil.

“Please, just let me go,” he moaned weakly. He wanted to fight, but he felt drained - not just from losing consciousness, but more and more with each passing second.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Alice’s dark eyes blazed like brands in the candlelight. “It has already started.”

She began chanting, a strange, guttural tongue that Steve could not comprehend. Dizziness fogged his senses, but as he watched, the earth in the circle seemed to glow and shimmer, before it began to drift and swirl, building to a whipping, roaring blur, like a twister upon the desert sand. The incantation crescendoed with a shriek and Alice fell to her knees before the squall, bellowing, “Hear my voice, guardians of the netherworld! The toll is paid. I beseech thee - release him to this vessel!”

 

Steve watched on helplessly, paralysed where he sat. Though it was far beyond any fantastic terrors he had ever experienced, he began, finally, to comprehend his fate. An icy chill gripped him and, with a sudden, supernatural flash, he had breathed his last. His soul was ripped from his body and cast into the swirling storm.

 

His lifeless body slumped in the chair and the roaring din faded, the earth settling upon the ground once more. A solitary candle on the cabinet remained aflame. Alice gasped and scrambled frantically to her feet, stumbling over to the chair. “Did it work?” she screeched. “Did it work?” She wrapped herself round him and buried her head in his neck.

“Alice?” came a weak whisper.

She hardly dared hope. “Steve?” she breathed. His eyes opened and she gazed into them for what felt like eternity.

“No, my love,” came the reply. “You did it. You have brought me home.”