The Paul-god is worshipped by hotel clerks, night watchmen, waiters at 24-hour diners, bartenders and everyone who has to stay up late peering into dark spaces wearing a name tag. He is short and bald and awkward. He carries the book of his faith wherever he goes, which looks like a white three ring binder. He has a hard time making eye contact. He is a powerful god, despite appearances. His powers are three: he curses those who offend against his acolytes, he brings good fortune to his devotees, and he guards them from all harm. He is subtle; often his works go unrecognized as divine.

The Paul-god likes to pair his gifts and his curses. A stingy customer might accidentally leave a twenty instead of a five, or a rude guest might forget their wallet. Honesty is a virtue to the Paulians, but less so than justice, and justice less so than vengeance. The Paul-god frowns on those who are too greedy, however – you may take some money out of the wallet, but not all of it – and none of the credit cards. You are not expected to go out of your way to return the wallet, either, but there is a general feeling among his followers that the Paul-god is sometimes pleased by such efforts. But not always. Generosity of spirit is uncommented on in the binder of the faith.

Alex shook himself out of his body and went for a walk, just his spirit. Things looked different; he had a hard time remembering his name, or what he looked like.

He was walking down G Street next to the parking garage when he saw two people carrying a body down the ramp. He followed after them, worried in a way that didn’t have anything to do with urgency.

They couldn’t see him, of course, but one of them — it took him a second to put the word woman to her — held up her hand. “Ware,” she said. “Something’s here.”

The other one — a man? — looked around nervously. “Whadda weedo?” The sounds were right but the words were wrong in Alex’s ears.

“Go back to the hotel,” she said. “If it’s his. We pay the manager there, he can take it off us with the Paul-god. If it’s his.”

“Whaddifa tain’t? Whaddif fitz sum on ills?”

The woman shrugged. “Shouldn’t bother us none, then. Just passing by, maybe, and got curious.”

After they left, Alex knelt and looked into the face of the dead man for a long time before he was sure it wasn’t his own.