Ludicrously Inappropriate Magic - Preview

Prologue

When destiny knocked on Chauncy Little’s door, it was long overdue that he be the one to answer it.

He happened to be rather depressed at the time, mechanically making the usual breakfast of eggs and sausage on the kitchen stove for his fiancée Valtora. A breakfast he usually made with an oversized helping of love, but on this particular morning, he made with no helping at all. The specifics of why will have to wait a bit, for destiny, having been delayed on several occasions, was more than a little impatient. So, dear reader, please bear with it and let destiny have its way with you, at least for the moment. Destiny deferred is a dangerous thing, after all…as Chauncy himself would surely attest to.

So sizzle he did, nudging the sausages and eggs on the pan glumly, until the moment came to pass. Then came destiny’s fateful knock on the door, and Chauncy turned to answer it at last.

And promptly turned right back to what he was doing, the thought of interacting with anyone else utterly unbearable. For at the moment, he didn’t even want to be with himself, so disgusted was he with this particular subject.

The knock came again, and Chauncy ignored it, hoping that whoever it was would assume he wasn’t home. But his hopes were in vain, for when destiny knocked upon one’s door, it rarely did so just once.

“For crying out loud!” he blurted out, picking up the pan and slamming it down on the stovetop. He stomped toward the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it, then yanking the door open viciously. “What do you want?” he snapped.

And then froze.

For there, standing at his doorstep, was a terribly familiar man. A terribly elderly man, tall and slender, with a stooped back and big, knobby hands. His face was the oldest face Chauncy had ever seen, and his long white beard had hairs that, to be blunt, were embarrassingly thin. But his blue robes and his long blue pointed hat were quite marvelous, particularly in comparison to that which they contained. And his tall staff – with just the most impressively perfect amount of twisty – was most glorious of all.

It was none other than Imperius Fanning, perhaps the greatest wizard in all the land. And he who’d doled out destinies to Chosen Ones since antiquity.

“Oh,” Chauncy blurted out, freezing in place.

“I see that rudeness is a family trait,” the man stated, glaring at Chauncy indignantly. Chauncy grimaced.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I just…you caught me at a bad moment is all.”

“So I see,” Imperius replied, his gaze dropping. Not to Chauncy’s chest, or his belly, to but matters a bit further below. Chauncy followed Imperius’s gaze, and realized that he was quite naked.

He shrieked.

Chauncy fled back into the house, slamming the door behind him. If he’d had any presence of mind, he’d have bounded up the stairs to the second floor, then gone into the bedroom to get dressed. Instead, he ran into the kitchen, grabbing the nearest pan from the stove and hiding his particulars with it.

Unfortunately, it was the pan he’d been using to sizzle Valtora’s sausage and eggs…and now it was sizzling his.

Chauncy screamed.

He dropped the pan, grabbing his blistering bits and yelling a word that, to be frank, he would not be enacting any time soon. Then he slid down onto his buttocks on the cold kitchen floor, and promptly wept.

“Honey?” he heard Valtora call out from upstairs. “Are you okay?”

He wasn’t. But his attempt to communicate this ended up as a kind of pathetic mewling sound.

To Chauncy’s horror, the front door opened, and Imperius came into the house…just as Valtora limped downstairs.

“Impy!” she gasped as she spotted the old man. “OhmygodI missed you!”

“And I you,” Imperius admitted, giving her a warm smile. She reached the bottom of the stairs, leaning in and giving him a hug. Then they both turned to Chauncy.

“Oh,” Valtora blurted out, putting a hand to her mouth. “Chauncy, you’re nude!”

“Fuck,” Chauncy gasped, covering his grilled genitals with his hands. But he accidently brushed his hand against them, sending a truly exquisite pain lancing through his groin.

A sound came out of him then. One that was precisely the opposite of brave and masculine.

“Chauncy!” Valtora gasped, rushing up to him as best she could. “What happened?”

“Pan,” he gasped, rocking back and forth. “Hot.”

She grabbed one of his hands, pulling it away from his injuries, then gasped, her eyes widening.

“Oh,” she blurted out.

“What is it?” Imperius inquired, joining them in the kitchen.

“Um…” Valtora replied, gesturing at Chauncy’s sausage and eggs. Imperius’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh,” he blurted out. “Oh my.”

“Did you see the size of that blister?” Valtora asked him. “It’s like, huge.”

“I did,” Imperius confirmed, seeming not at all pleased with this fact.

“Right on the tip too,” Valtora noted.

“Fuck,” Chauncy repeated. And to his horror, he was crying.

“It’s okay,” Valtora reassured Chauncy. “Everything is going to be all right, you’ll see.”

“Mmfff,” he replied, continuing to cry.

“Guess both of our happy places aren’t very happy right now, huh?” she pressed with a rueful smile. Which will take some explaining, dear reader, but rest assured it’ll all make sense soon enough.

“It seems that catching you at a bad time was precisely the right time to catch you,” Imperius mused, patting his gut. “My gut is never wrong, after all.”

“Why are you here?” Valtora asked, standing up and facing the wizard.

“Your world is in grave danger,” Imperius warned, his tone darkening dramatically. Valtora rolled her eyes.

“Here we go again,” she muttered. Then she frowned. “Wait, you’re supposed to say ‘our world’ not ‘your world,’” she protested.

“I’m supposed to say whatever I say,” Imperius said. “Now if you’ll let me say it…”

Valtora sighed, gesturing for him to continue.

“Your world is in grave danger,” Imperius repeated, to slightly less effect than before. “Before you were born, Chauncy, your father made a very powerful wizard his enemy. A wizard that will stop at nothing to get revenge on your father.” His scowl deepened. “Soon this wizard will come for you, and destroy everything you know and…well, just you, really.” He paused. “Which would destroy everything you know, technically.”

“Huh?” Chauncy mumbled, still hunched over on the floor.

“I’ll get your robe,” Valtora offered. She left the kitchen and went back upstairs, returning shortly with Chauncy’s purple, glittery, wizardly robe. She draped it over his pan-seared particulars, and he screeched in anticipation of horrible pain. But the robe’s silky white inner lining bothered his blistered bits not one bit. Which in that moment, seemed like potent magic indeed.

“So…huh?” Chauncy repeated, staring at Imperius uncomprehendingly.

“A wizard named Zella Trek is dead-set on getting revenge on your father,” Imperius explained. “And as she cannot harm him directly, he’s determined to do it indirectly.”

“Oh…kay,” Chauncy replied.

“By killing you,” Imperius concluded.

“Oh,” Chauncy stated with a grimace. “Shit,” he added, rather appropriately, considering the circumstances.

“Well, at least it’s not the end of the world,” Valtora offered, smiling at Chauncy. “Kidding,” she added.

“Not of ours, but his,” Imperius countered. “For the end of you is the end of your world,” he explained. “In the end, that’s all there is.”

Thus, destiny having quite literally caught Chauncy not just with his pants down, but with no pants at all, it was at long last no longer deferred. And that was fortuitous indeed, for Imperius had arrived just in time to provide Chauncy with a most timely tip…one even more important than the one he’d burned.

So at this point, dear reader, you’ve become quite the expert in how these things go. Old hat and all that, you know. But in the interest of being interesting – and in not lacking consistency – we’ve said it before and we’ll (approximately) say it again:

And that, dear reader, was how the end of Chauncy’s world began.

Chapter 1

Now, dear reader, that destiny has no longer been deferred, we’ll return you to what has been:  the story of how poor Chauncy came to be in this blistery pickle in the first place. It all began approximately one day earlier, in a different when but the same where.

Chauncy found himself busy cooking breakfast that fine, sunny morning, clad only in his chef’s apron, as per his routine. His fiancée Valtora sat at their little kitchen table…a much further distance away from that table than she’d sat the last time destiny had knocked, of course. For destiny hadn’t been the only thing doing the knocking…and having been knocked up, Valtora was a full nine months pregnant, her belly looking for all the world as if it were ready to burst.

“What about ‘Wesley,’” Chauncy offered as he scrambled some eggs and sizzled some sausage. It was Valtora’s favorite breakfast, and he simply loved to cook it. For it made her smile every time to eat it, and bringing her joy brought him joy.

Valtora made a face.

“Wesley?” she replied. “Ew.”

“What’s wrong with Wesley?” Chauncy pressed.

“Too wimpy,” she answered. “I want something epic.”

“Um…Chester?” he proposed. Lamely.

“Gag,” she replied, sticking a finger down her throat. A disturbing distance, at least to some. But Valtora didn’t gag, as it was a reflex she’d apparently been born without. A fact that wasn’t nearly as disturbing to him as it might be to others.

“Chauncy junior?” he offered.

“Fuck no.”

Chauncy frowned, waiting for her to add “no offense” or an equivalent apology. But she didn’t, so offense was taken.

“Well you try then,” he decided, feeling a bit irritated. Probably because he was still hungry. It was common knowledge that Chauncy was, in Valtora’s words, a little bitch when he was hungry.

“How about…MAGNUS!” she boomed, spreading her arms out wide rather dramatically.

“Eh.”

“Okay,” she stated. “How about…PIERCE!”

“Too stabby,” he opined. She frowned prettily, leaning forward as much as she could and tapping her fingers on the table. And given that it was her left hand – one made entirely of diamond – each tap left little dents in the wood. He frowned, irritated at this; for it was Grandma Little’s table, and he preferred to preserve it.

“How about…BRAWLEY!” she exclaimed. Also dramatically. For Valtora did everything dramatically, though not intentionally. She was perhaps the most explosively colorful person Chauncy had ever met, which was one reason he adored her. With Valtora, life was never boring…even the parts that were supposed to be. As a wizard, she made life magical…merely by being in his.

“Too punchy,” Chauncy argued.

“Well shoot,” Valtora said, pouting prettily. She crossed her arms under her bosom, which would’ve been quite bedazzling to Chauncy even if bedazzling hadn’t been her magical power. But seeing as it was, he found himself doubly bedazzled. “What’re we gonna name this bastard?”

Chauncy grimaced, not at all fond of the term. But technically, she was correct. Unless they got hitched soon, the baby would be a bastard. And in fact, Valtora had refused to get married for that very reason. So she could call the kid a bastard…and have plausible deniability as to whether it was an insult or merely factual.

“How about some girl names?” he proposed, struggling to keep his gaze northward. With little success.

“Eh,” Valtora replied, making a face. For she’d made it quite clear that she wanted a boy, and wouldn’t entertain the possibility of any other gender.

Chauncy sighed, turning off the stovetop. With that, he doled out portions of sausage and egg to each of their plates, then sat down opposite her to enjoy them. Valtora gobbled them down eagerly, hardly caring that they were piping hot. For, having spent two and a half decades on a live volcano, hot was a relative thing.

“Mmm,” Valtora gushed as she gobbled, finishing it up with shocking speed. Pregnancy had given her a voracious – and vicious – appetite, particularly for sausage. It was only by virtue of her powers of bedazzling that she maintained her usual gorgeous figure. One that pregnancy had seen fit to enhance in particular places. “It’s good,” she said between gobbles.

“Mmmf,” he agreed, blowing his sausage a bit, then nibbling the tip cautiously. At length he finished his meal, while Valtora watched happily. For happiness was her default disposition, a fact that made her a joy to be around. “Love you poopy-dooz,” Chauncy cooed, giving her a smile. Then he heard purring, and blinked, looking down at his lap. There was, to his surprise, a very large cat sitting on it. One with gold and black hair, and purple glowing eyes that stared up at him.

Sexily.

He realized that he was petting her with his free hand…and that he had absolutely no idea how long he’d been doing it for.

“Geez!” he blurted out. While still petting quite involuntarily. It was ZoMonsterz, a minion of The Dark One…and Valtora’s favorite pet hellcat.

“Aww,” Valtora said. “She loves you, you know.”

“I got that,” Chauncy grumbled. And it was true. ZoMonsterz was constantly appearing out of nowhere for a good petting. She was everywhere his free hand was, it seemed. One of her magical powers, according to Valtora. Her other power was a bit more disturbing. For if ZoMonsterz were to scratch a person – something she had never done to Chauncy – that person would be rendered utterly terrified of the hellcat for precisely two years.

ZoMonsterz continued to purr, licking Chauncy’s petting hand. A bit too sexily for Chauncy’s liking. For the cat’s tongue was not rough in the way of normal cats, and – combined with her longing gazes – her feline kisses were at times a bit too suggestive for Chauncy’s tastes.

“Okay,” Valtora stated, pushing her plate aside and eyeing him eagerly. “How about…”

“…we go to the shop, and then think of more baby names,” Chauncy interrupted. It was getting a bit late, and if they didn’t hurry, they’d annoy their earliest customers.

“Aww.”

“Let’s go,” he prompted. And with that, he took off his chef’s apron – giving Valtora an eyeful of his eggs and sausage – and pranced out of the kitchen and made his way upstairs. He almost slipped on a sock halfway up, another consequence of having a hellcat in the house. For ZoMonsterz was possessed of the strange compulsion to strew socks and underwear all over the house. Particularly on the stairs, where the odds of them committing murder were highest.

“Put on the special underwear!” she called out after him. Chauncy grimaced, knowing she was referring to the…miniscule underwear that she’d insisted he wear ever since they’d traveled to defeat The Dark One about nine months ago. Underwear that he found profoundly uncomfortable to wear in public, hidden though it was by his wizardly robe. Still, he did as he was told, going to the “special” drawer beside their bed and finding one to put on. That done, he hid the evidence under his wizard’s robe, one that was white and sinfully silky on the inside, and purple and outstandingly sparkly on the outside. A robe that screamed “wizard,” among other things. That done, he hurried downstairs, eager to get on with his day.

“Ready?” he called out. Valtora waddled out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door, the Staff of Wind in her hand. A thick tree branch with just the right amount of twisty, it was Chauncy’s signature weapon…and the first magical item he’d ever made.

“Thanks poopy-dooz,” he said, leaning over to give her a kiss. Then he opened the door, gesturing through it valiantly. “After you, m’Lady.”

“My hero,” she gushed, batting her eyes prettily.

And with that, they stepped onto the porch, and Chauncy locked the door. Then, arm-in-arm, he helped Valtora down the front steps to the sidewalk, then turned right to make the mile-long walk to the city center…and toward the beginning of their workday.

“Oof,” Valtora complained, grabbing her lower belly.

“Too quick?” he asked.

“Too pregnant,” Valtora countered, making a face. “Can’t wait to shove this thing outta me.”

“It’s not a thing,” he corrected. “It’s a baby.”

“But you just said ‘it’s a baby,’ which means it’s an ‘it,’” she pointed out.

“What I mean is it’s a person,” he argued.

“You said it was an ‘it’ again,” she shot back. “You can’t stop saying it.”

“You know what I mean,” he told her.

“No I don’t,” she retorted.

Chauncy was about to reply when he realized they’d entered into an argument…and arguments were one of Valtora’s favorite things. Particularly now that she was pregnant, and rather uncomfortably so. She’d been picking more arguments as of late, to the point where sometimes Chauncy wondered if it was for play or because she was actually upset. The only clue that she wasn’t upset was that she hadn’t committed any extreme acts of violence. Yet.

“I’m not arguing with you,” he told her.

“Yes you are,” she countered.

“No I’m…” he began, then snapped his mouth shut. She pouted.

“Aww.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he pressed, putting a hand over her hand on her belly. She gave him a radiant smile.

“I’m way better than okay.”

“That’s for sure,” he agreed, smiling back.

“Kisses,” she demanded, puckering up. He leaned over to kiss her, and was delighted to find that her kiss was precisely as it’d always been. Passionate, mind-blowing, and rather inappropriate for public spaces. But inappropriate was Valtora’s way, and to his delight, she hadn’t changed a bit since he’d fallen in love with her. Other than her belly and bosom, of course.

They continued forward then, and Valtora made another face, grabbing her belly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get a carriage?” he asked. For the umpteenth time that week.

“Pffft,” Valtora replied, waddling faster. “I’m gonna walk this baby right outta me!”

“Oh,” Chauncy said, picking up his pace. He hardly needed to hurry up to keep up with her, however. She really was quite pregnant. He shook his head at her determined expression, smiling to himself…and finding his gaze dropping to her left hand. Her diamond hand…with a diamond ring on her ring finger. It glittered prettily, even more so since Valtora had bedazzled it. Which’d been about ten seconds after he’d proposed. Also about eight months ago, on the very day she’d revealed that she was pregnant. By barfing all over a rather rude customer. Twice.

At length they made it to the center of Southwick. This consisted of a large circular courtyard with fine benches and ornamental trees and such, bordered by a main street that went ‘round the courtyard’s perimeter. In the center of the courtyard stood the statue of Archibald Merrick, the founder of the city…and of the Evermore Trading Company.

“Fucker,” Valtora spat as she walked past it…and threw a vicious left hook at its leg. A leg that’d endured one too many blows over the last year or so, they soon discovered. For on impact, the limb shattered.

“Oh!” Chauncy blurted out, horrified at this turn of events. For defacing a beloved public statue was certain to be illegal, and carry a hefty fine, if not a jail sentence. He glanced around furtively, but found no witnesses present for the crime, to his profound relief. Valtora cackled.

“Bitch-ass bitch,” she said, clearly satisfied with her handiwork. For now the statue was standing on one leg.

“Valtora!” Chauncy complained, pulling her along a bit quicker. “You’re going to get us in trouble!”

“Pfft,” she replied. “We’re wizards. What’re they gonna do?”

“I don’t want to find out,” Chauncy replied. And it was true. For while they were technically wizards, in actuality neither of them were particularly powerful. If an army of Southwick’s finest soldiers – bedecked in some magical armor and weapons of their own – attacked Chauncy and Valtora…

“Pussy,” Valtora shot back, inappropriately.

“Am not,” Chauncy argued.

“Mmmhmm.”

“I’m not,” he insisted. To his irritation, she didn’t respond, choosing to continue on their journey in silence. Which forced him into the unenviable position of not being able to defend his masculinity. Or at least his lack of femininity.

At length, they reached the street at the far end of the courtyard, crossing it to end up at the front door of a narrow three-story building. “A Little Magic,” read the sign on the front of the first floor. And on the second floor, another sign:  “Time to Learn,” in the process of being painted atop the first.

Chauncy gazed up at the latter sign, feeling a swell of pride. For it’d been his dream to found a magic school, and next month he’d make his dream – and the dream of many other would-be wizards – come true. After living most of his life without magic, and serving customers who’d spent their whole lives coming to his shop searching for it – Chauncy would finally give to others what Harry and Nettie had given to him. Why, if he could do so for just one person, he’d be more than content.

For magic was like color in a black-and-white world, and a black-and-white world was what Borrin had become. And as Chauncy had learned in his first foray into the Cave of Wonder, he was a source of magic…in those fleeting moments when he remembered that fact, anyway. If he could teach others to see that color, and realize that they could be a source of it too, then the black-and-white world they’d been fooled into settling for would…well, it’d be settled for no more.

Chauncy planned on charging not a copper for his lessons, preferring to give them away for free. After all, magic was one’s relationship with the world…and giving for the purposes of getting was business, not magic. As one Gavin Merrick had learned a bit too late.

So it was that, filled with the boundless vigor of selfless pride, Chauncy unlocked the front door, then put his shoulder into it, popping it open with a dong.

“After you m’Lady,” he stated, gesturing for Valtora to enter first. She batted her eyes again.

“M’Lord,” she murmured coyly, waddling into the shop. She went for the broom closet then, as per their routine, but Chauncy beat her to it, retrieving his broom.

“You sit,” he commanded, pointing to her stool behind the counter. “Your job is to watch your man work.”

“Ooo,” Valtora replied, clearly impressed with this bit of bravado. She did as she was told, eyeing him rather vigorously from behind the counter. He made a show of sweeping, attacking the dust-bunnies that inevitably accrued overnight and dumping their puffy bodies into the wastebasket. The shop’s floor, as a result, shone spectacularly. Why, the mere sight of it would’ve brought a tear to Grandma Little’s eye.

“It is done,” he gasped, fully into the drama now. He slumped over the broom as if sorely tested by this feat.

“My hero,” Valtora breathed. “Come, cast thy weapon aside and claim thine reward!”

Chauncy did just that, returning the broom to its closet, then going to sit beside her on his usual stool. She immediately commenced with the rewarding, which involved an act not at all appropriate for the workplace.

“Oh,” he blurted out. “Um…”

“Shhh,” she scolded, not stopping.

“But a customer might come,” he protested, eyeing the door nervously.

“Not before you do,” she countered. With that, she resorted to a technique that guaranteed the accuracy of her statement. And to Chauncy’s chagrin, he found himself utterly powerless to stop her from proving herself right.

“Wait!” he cried. But it was too late. And also, to Chauncy’s horror, a tie. For at the very moment of claiming his reward, the first customer of the day burst through the front door with a dong.

“Ghhh…Welcome to A Little..nngggg…Magic!” Chauncy gasped.

“Oh!” their customer blurted out. To Chauncy’s dismay, it was a woman. And to his horror, that woman was none other than Addie, his former lifelong crush…and widow to the town grocer.

“Ahh…nng….hi,” Chauncy added, ending with an involuntary shudder. And a giggle.

“Oh hi Addie!” Valtora greeted, waving at her. With her rewarding hand, to Chauncy’s chagrin.

“Hi,” Addie replied, doing a little wave back. She stepped further into the shop. “Um…are you okay?” she asked Chauncy, regarding him with sweet concern.

“Uhhh-yep,” he lied, doing his best not to die of shame.

“You looked flushed,” Addie told him. “And sweaty.”

“Did some pushups before the ol’ shift,” he offered, giving her the fakest A Little Magic smile he could muster. Which was pretty damn believable, especially after twenty-five years of Grandma Little’s tutelage. Despite having never owned a cow, he was perhaps the world’s foremost expert on bullshit.

“Oh,” Addie replied, looking relieved. “Very healthy.” Then she paused, eyeing Valtora’s hand. “Making more lotion?” she inquired.

“Um…yes,” Valtora replied. “We’re thinking of renewing the ‘Lotions & Potions’ promotion, for old time’s sake.”

“Oh, nice!” Addie exclaimed. “It was very popular.”

“Chauncy’s lotion is second-to-none,” Valtora declared proudly, patting her belly.

“Can I try some?” Addie inquired. Chauncy glanced at Valtora, shaking his head no.

“No,” he mouthed to her silently, in case body language wasn’t sufficient to the task.

“It’s not ready yet,” Valtora apologized. “Still working on the…um, fragrance.”

“Oh,” Addie replied, clearly disappointed.

“Anyway, what can I get for you Addie?” Chauncy interjected, eager to put this awful moment into his past as quickly as possible.

“Well, it’s about your magic school,” Addie answered. “My oldest daughter is sixteen, and well, I heard that the youngest age for your students was sixteen. So…”

“So you’d like to enroll her in A Little Magic School?” Chauncy guessed. Addie nodded. “Why, I’d…uh, we’d be delighted to have her, wouldn’t we Valtora?”

“I guess that would depend,” Valtora replied. Chauncy gave her a look.

“Nonsense,” he retorted. “We’d be happy to have her. Sign her up!” he prompted, grabbing one of the signup forms from under the countertop. He handed this to Addie, and an inkwell and quill pen to boot. “Just fill out her name here, and her birthday,” he instructed.

“Birthday?” Addie inquired. Chauncy smiled.

“So we can make it magical,” he explained. “When it comes.”

She smiled back, her cheeks flushing a bit. For it seemed that, no matter how much time had passed – and who Chauncy was with – he was still magical to her. And she to him, albeit less so than before. But while Chauncy had Valtora, Addie had only her businesses and her children. And Chauncy was an honest-to-gosh wizard to boot. So in Addie’s view, his magic had only grown, not diminished, with time.

“Thank you,” she murmured, finishing up the form. “When can she start?”

“Well, we don’t open until next month,” Chauncy answered. That was when the second floor dance studio’s lease expired. “She can come on the evening of the first, at five o’clock.”

“She’ll be there,” Addie promised.

“I can’t wait,” Chauncy declared, beaming at her. She blushed.

“Thanks again Chauncy,” she told him. “For everything.”

“You’re most welcome.”

With that, Addie did a little wave, then turned and left the shop with a dong. Chauncy watched her go, then realized Valtora was staring at him. While shaking her head. With her arms crossed over her chest, as opposed to under it. Which meant she wasn’t happy with him.

“What?” he asked.

“You and her,” Valtora replied. “She’s like, still totally in love with you.”

“Not in love,” Chauncy countered. “Maybe smitten.”

“Crushing hard,” Valtora retorted. “Totally wants you.”

“Nah,” Chauncy protested, waving the accusation away.

“You’re oblivious.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he decided, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m with you, and that’s that.”

“Well that’s true,” Valtora conceded, breaking out into a smile. She patted his leg with her fleshy hand.

“Love you poopy-dooz,” he cooed, leaning in for a kiss. She kissed him back…inappropriately, to his delight. Then she pulled away.

“Besides, I’d totally kill her if she tried to take you from me,” Valtora said.

“Um…”

“I could totally do it, too,” she pressed.

“I know,” he replied. “But you’re not going to.”

“Not if it’s just physical,” she conceded.

“Huh?”

“I mean, if she just wants to jump your bones and get some, that’s one thing,” Valtora reasoned. “But if she wants to take you from me? Hell fucking no.”

“Uh…?”

“You can totally screw her if you want,” she told him. “I mean, it’d probably make her day. Just don’t make any babies with her. And like, come back to me and shit afterward so I can reclaim you.”

“Honey, I’m not going to…”

“I’ll get a babysitter,” Valtora interjected. Chauncy frowned, now utterly confused.

“We don’t have any babies to sit on,” he pointed out. Then he glanced at her belly. “Yet.”

“Not for us,” Valtora retorted. “For Addie.”

Chauncy blinked. Then his jaw worked on trying to find some way to respond to this. Then he settled on leaving it hanging open.

“How about tonight?” Valtora offered.

“No!” Chauncy protested. “I’m not having…relations with Addie!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to!” he exclaimed exasperatedly.

“Sure you do,” Valtora argued.

“No I don’t!”

“You wanted to since you were like, a teenager,” she reminded him.

“Before I met you,” he retorted.

“Pfft,” she scoffed. “You don’t stop wanting to bang people just because you’re in a relationship.”

He blinked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah,” she confirmed. “I’ll go talk to her and tell her it’s okay. I’ll babysit her kids at our house so you won’t be interrupted.”

“Honey!”

“Come on baby,” Valtora insisted, patting him on the cheek and giving him a gorgeous smile. “Do it for me…and tell me everything when you get home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow after…what?”

“Well you’re not just gonna bang and leave her, are you?” Valtora asked. “Gotta at least stay for breakfast. Morning sex is the best.”

Chauncy gave up on trying to talk, realizing it wasn’t doing him a bit of good. Valtora got up from her seat, waddling toward the door.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Going to Addie’s store,” Valtora answered.

“Why?”

“Duh,” was all Valtora said.

“No!” Chauncy blurted out in horror, bursting from his seat and rushing to the door to block her way. “You can’t!”

“Really?”

“Really!” he insisted. “Go back to your chair this instant,” he added rather paternalistically, pointing at her stool behind the counter. She sighed.

“Fine,” she grumbled. And go back to her chair she did. They both sat down, neither one of them saying much for a while. For the whole conversation had gone down a very strange and disturbing path, and Chauncy didn’t quite know how to handle it. Luckily their rather awkward silence was penetrated by a fortuitous dong.

“Welcome to A Little Magic!” Chauncy blurted out, bolting upright from his stool to greet their customer. A profoundly elderly woman named Mrs. Thimblethorp, who was inexplicably still alive. Valtora had in fact made bets against the poor old lady every week, that she wouldn’t last ‘til the end of it. And every week, she’d lost the bet, to Chauncy’s profit.

“Hmm?” Mrs. Thimblethorp inquired, being quite hard of hearing. Her ears had gone rather quickly over the last eight months, at a rate that, according to her doctor, was unheard of.

“WELCOME TO A LITTLE MAGIC,” Valtora boomed.

“Oh,” Mrs. Thimblethorp replied. “Good morning Chauncy. Still not a father?”

“Not yet,” Chauncy replied. “Getting close now.”

“Hopefully today,” Valtora piped in, patting her belly.

“Oh, that’d be wonderful,” the old woman declared, clutching her chest with both hands. At first Chauncy thought she was having an overdue heart attack, but the lack of a pained expression – and gasping and widening of the eyes and such – argued against it.

“It certainly would,” Chauncy agreed with a smile. “I can’t wait to meet it!”

“Him,” Valtora corrected. “He’s not an ‘it,’” she added. “He’s a human being, not a thing.” Which was, of course, the exact opposite of her previous opinion.

“Hmm?” Mrs. Thimblethorp inquired, cupping a hand behind her ear.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Valtora shouted.

“Just to say hello,” Mrs. Thimblethorp replied. “I was hoping to see your baby before I, well…you know.”

“Croak?” Valtora asked. Chauncy’s eyes widened in horror.

“Honey!” he gasped.

“You said it,” Mrs. Thimblethorp replied with a chuckle. “Relax Chauncy,” she added. “Some people die wishing they could live, and some live wishing to die. Outliving your friends and family is nothing to hope for. When death comes,” she added happily, “…I’ll be happy to see him.”

“Now now,” Chauncy countered. “Don’t talk like that Mrs. Thimblethorp. We want you around for years to come!”

She gave him an irritated look.

“Well it’s not what you want, it’s what I want,” she stated resolutely. “So I’ll talk however I like.” She leaned over the counter. “Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to you, you know.”

Chauncy grimaced, for he did know that. He’d had a near-death experience while battling The Dark One, having had his right arm cut off and been boiled alive to boot. Dying wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, considering that in the end, everyone was going to do it. Not living while you were living, he’d learned, was a far worse fate.

“In any case, I hope you enjoy your little one,” Mrs. Thimblethorp added, her smile returning.

“We certainly will,” Chauncy replied.

“…I wish I’d enjoyed mine,” she continued, clearly not having heard him. Her expression soured. “She was an awful infant, never satisfied. And never got any better,” she added. “Just an ungrateful, mean, vindictive little bitch. I kicked her out,” she added proudly. “She died a year ago.”

“My…um…condolences?” Chauncy replied.

“I’m glad she’s gone,” she declared. “And I wish she’d never lived.”

Both Chauncy and Valtora stared at the old woman, neither of them knowing quite what to say. Which, at least for Valtora, was unheard of. For, having spent much of her life suffering the awful musings of The Dark One, she’d heard just about everything there was to hear. But a kindly old woman wishing that her child hadn’t been born apparently wasn’t one of them.

“But anyway, I hope yours is someone you can love,” Mrs. Thimblethorp concluded merrily, with a twinkle in her eyes. “And I hope I get to see them!”

“You will,” Chauncy promised, not quite sure if it was a lie or the truth. Mrs. Thimblethorp waved, and then turned about in the tottering way the very elderly did, making her way slowly out of the shop. She left as she’d come, in the way every customer they serviced came:  with a dong.

“Guess I owe you another silver coin,” Valtora stated. “Man, I was sure she’d be dead today!”

“I mean, there’s still time,” Chauncy pointed out. And felt just the slightest bit horrible for having said it. But inappropriate humor was something they both engaged in, being engaged to each other. And as long as no one else was listening, inappropriateness was something they very much enjoyed. For as he’d learned after defeating The Dark One, evil lived within everyone. Coming to terms with it – and balancing it with a fair amount of good – was the key.

“It is only morning,” Valtora agreed, flashing him a wicked grin. Chauncy chuckled – and Valtora cackled – and then they sat there contentedly, waiting for the next customer.

“So about Addie,” Valtora began.

“Not happening,” Chauncy replied instantly.

“Not yet,” she conceded.

“Not ever,” he retorted.

“Spoilsport,” she muttered. She set her jaw firmly, so that it jutted out. “It’s totally happening.”

“Let’s talk baby names,” he offered. She lit up, easily distracted by this. She’d already memorized the baby names book they’d gotten, much as she’d memorized the dictionary and thesaurus. For the sole purpose of winning arguments, naturally.

“How about…FUCK!” she boomed. Chauncy blinked.

“Pardon?”

“Gah!” Valtora blurted out, clutching her belly and leaning over.

“Honestly, I don’t like either of them,” Chauncy admitted.

“Baby!” she gasped.

“Too generic,” Chauncy pointed out. “But I’m okay with calling it that until we have a name.”

“I mean I’m having a baby!” Valtora all-but-shouted. And then she groaned, and started panting, all whilst clutching her belly. A little waterfall of clear fluid spilled onto the floor from her stool, and Chauncy’s eyes widened, his hand shooting to his mouth.

“Oh,” he murmured.

And that, dear reader, was how Chauncy and Valtora introduced a new member to their clan, and one boy’s – or girl’s – life began. 

Chapter 2

It is common knowledge that in an emergency, there are essentially two options:  to run away from danger, or run toward it. Heroes face danger head-on, remaining calm in the face of terror. The rest have the good sense to run away, though by definition this makes them prey. A third type of person, however, faces danger not by fighting or fleeing, but by freezing. And faced with Valtora’s impending parturition, Chauncy did just that.

“Urrgghhnnn,” Valtora moaned, gripping the edge of the counter with both hands. And cracking the counter a bit with her diamond hand. Chauncy – still with his hand at his mouth – observed this rather numbly.

“Um…” he began. And stopped there, because he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

“Do something!” Valtora blurted out. Followed by another moan, and more cracking of the counter, to Chauncy’s dismay.

“The counter,” he pointed out, pointing out the crack. Valtora shot him an incredulous look.

“The baby!” she shot back. She appeared to have recovered from whatever was going on in her belly, and stood up from her seat, putting her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes. To his horror, she executed a perfect, sphincter-spasming jawline-ripple. “I said do something!” she snapped.

“Um…”

“Get the doctor!” she commanded.

“Now?” he pressed.

“Yes now!”

“Okay,” he agreed. And with that, he stayed where he was. “Will you be…okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t get me a damn doctor,” she argued. Then she raised a fist. Her diamond one. “And neither will you…hhhnngg!” she gasped, bending over again and clutching her belly. A bit more fluid dripped out, and suddenly it occurred to Chauncy that this was it. Their little bastard was coming, like it or not.

And he should really do something. Like, right now.

“Going!” Chauncy blurted out, leaping from his stool and grabbing his Staff of Wind. He burst out of the front door of the shop, spotting the doctor’s office on the other side of the city center, beyond the courtyard. He was about to start running when he skid to a halt, remembering that, in fact, he was a wizard.

Which changed everything.

“Soaring Leap!” he cried, thrusting the butt of his staff downward and backward.

It struck the sidewalk, sending powerful blast of air down at it…and launching Chauncy upward and forward into the air. Pedestrians gasped as Chauncy flew high over the courtyard, reaching his peak directly above the newly-handicapped statue of Archibald Merrick. At first he assumed it was his display of wizardly power that captivated them, but then he saw a bit of pointing and laughing, and realized suddenly that he was wearing a wizard’s robe. One that gave those below a special view of his special underwear.

“Crap!” he blurted out, bringing his knees together. But it was too late, judging by the chorus of laughter coming from a growing crowd below. He felt himself falling, and only the thought of Valtora in terrible pain stopped him from letting himself slam into the ground for a quick, easy death. He guided his flight with a few expert thrusts, landing on the far edge of the courtyard and sprinting across the street to the doctor’s office. He reached the front door, knocking on it rather vigorously. Then he remembered that the door was unlocked, and he could just open it and speak to the receptionist.

So, feeling like a complete idiot, he did.

Chauncy stepped into a small lobby, the receptionist – he couldn’t quite remember her name – sitting behind a desk. She immediately recognized him, of course. For despite the fact that he was a complete idiot, he was also a wizard.

“She’s giving birth!” he declared.

“Valtora?” the receptionist inquired.

“Um, yes.”

“I’ll get the doctor,” she told him. And proceeded to finish up with whatever paperwork she’d been doing. After which she stood up quite a bit more leisurely than Chauncy was comfortable with, making her way down the hallway to one of the doors of the patient rooms. She knocked on the door, and moments later cracked it open. “Sorry doc. Valtora’s having contractions.”

“Eh,” Chauncy heard the doctor reply. “Baby out yet?”

The receptionist turned to Chauncy.

“Baby out yet?” she asked.

“Erm…no,” he answered, fidgeting more than a little. “Um, we’d prefer the doctor be there before that.”

“They want you there before that,” the receptionist told the doctor.

“Why?” the doctor’s muffled voice inquired. Rather irritably, Chauncy might add.

“First time,” the receptionist explained.

“Oh for crying out…” the doctor began. Then Chauncy heard a heavy sigh. “Fine. Where is she?”

“Where…” the receptionist began.

“At the shop,” Chauncy interrupted. She relayed this bit of information. Which was getting rather annoying, considering the entire conversation could’ve happened without an intermediary. But pointless inefficiency was a time-honored tradition of the medical profession, Chauncy knew. Or at least that’s what Grandma Little had told him.

“Ten minutes,” the doctor grumbled.

“Bye!” Chauncy blurted out before the receptionist could repeat this, exiting the shop as quickly as he’d come. He thought about flying over the courtyard, then remembered his special underwear. Then he remembered the reception his special underwear had gotten him, and decided he’d suffer the indignity of people seeing his dirty laundry rather than the indignity of facing their response.

“Arcing Flight!” he cried, executing the same maneuver as before. Whilst keeping one hand on the hem of his robe to pull it tightly around his legs. He landed a few yards from A Little Magic, running up to the door and ramming his shoulder into it. Tumbling into the shop, his eyes went right to Valtora, still hunched over the counter. “Poopy-dooz!” he cried. “Are you okay?”

“The doctor’s…ngggh!...coming?” she gasped.

“Ten minutes,” he replied. She blinked.

“Ten minutes?” she blurted out incredulously.

“That’s what he said,” Chauncy replied.

“I’m giving birth!”

“That’s what I said,” Chauncy noted.

“Son of a bbaarrggghhh,“ she gasped, breathing rapidly through pursed lips. “Oooo, crapcrapcrap.”

“Tell me what to do,” Chauncy pleaded, feeling utterly helpless to…well, to help her. It was a truly awful feeling, to see the love of his life in pain and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

“Get the damn doctor!”

“I mean besides that,” he replied. She glared at him.

“Have this baby for me!”

“Um…I mean I would if I could,” he offered lamely. She gasped, clutching her belly again and riding out another round of awfulness. Then her eyes got crazy.

Scary crazy.

“If you don’t get this little fucker out of me now, I’m gonna rip him out and stuff him all the way up your ass and make you push him out!” she screamed.

And then, to Chauncy’s immense relief, there came a dong. And to Valtora’s peace of mind, it was the doctor. As it turned out, providing peace of mind appeared to be the limit of the doctor’s capabilities, for Valtora was forced to do almost all of the work by herself. Which she managed only with a truly extraordinary vocabulary of ridiculously inappropriate language, in keeping with her personality…and her habit of reading the dictionary. Even the doctor was impressed and a bit taken aback, for while he’d attended countless births, Valtora’s was – at least linguistically – by far his most memorable.

Still, at the end of the day, what had been created with a little bedroom magic was ushered into A Little Magic with a shrill, kitty-cat cry, and Chauncy found himself the proud – and rather terrified – father of a brand-new member of the family. A boy, to Valtora’s delight.

But delight, like any other emotion, was a temporary thing, and it wouldn’t be long before it faded. As life had shown Chauncy on several occasions, for every up there was a down, every moment of delight a prelude to misery. And while the doctor’s dong had been a prelude to ecstasy, life was about to take a turn for the worse, yes sirree.

For it was only a matter of time before Chauncy would have to face the fateful dong of destiny. 

Chapter 3

Having successfully ushered a baby boy into the world, Valtora ended her day at A Little Magic, and Chauncy closed up shop. They returned home, taking a carriage there for the first time since…well, since Chauncy could remember. For, having been stretched and furthermore a bit torn up by the whole process, Valtora found walking a rather unpleasant process.

“Ugh,” she complained as they exited the carriage, waddling toward the house. “It feels like my coochie’s gonna fall out.”

“Want me to hold the baby?” Chauncy asked, for Valtora had the baby boy cradled to her bosom.

“Get the door.”

“Yes my sweet,” Chauncy cooed. He lent her his arm until they were standing before the front door, then opened it for her, gesturing for her to walk inside. “After you, m’Lady,” he purred, bowing grandly.

Valtora did step through, but without her usual reply. Being left thusly high and dry, Chauncy couldn’t help but feel a slight dismay. But he could hardly blame Valtora for her mood, given the limits she’d been stretched to, both figuratively and literally.

“What can I do for you?” he inquired, stepping into the house and closing – and locking – the door. Valtora eyed him critically.

“I’d ask you to carry me to bed,” she replied, “…but…”

She gestured at his arms, which were not particularly up to the task. For he’d spent most of the last year developing magic at the expense of muscle, and like most wizards, his constitution was sorely lacking.

“Ah,” he mumbled.

Having insulted Chauncy’s manhood, Valtora set forth in the grim, painful task of ascending the stairs, reaching the top in a symphony of grunts and muffled swears. Then she went right into the bedroom, Chauncy following behind, and eased herself – baby still on bosom – to their spectacularly pink bed. With another series of grunts – and swears, not so muffled – she got herself into a position of least discomfort, lying back on a pile of pink pillows with a sigh.

“Do you need anything?” Chauncy inquired, eager to help.

“No,” she replied.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong, poopy-dooz?” he pressed. She arched an eyebrow.

“My coochie exploded,” she explained.

“Oh,” Chauncy replied. “Right.”

The baby stirred, giving a cute little mewling cry, and Valtora shushed him gently, rocking him a bit. Chauncy stood there, a familiar feeling returning to him. One of being utterly useless. Helpless. Powerless. A third wheel. A…

“I’m hungry,” Valtora told him. Chauncy perked up. For when Valtora ate, she usually perked up.

“I’ll make dinner!” he exclaimed at once, making the baby flinch. And cry, to his dismay. Valtora shot him a glare, and Chauncy took the opportunity to escape. He bounded down the stairs and rushed into the kitchen, filled with vim and vigor. For a mission was just what Chauncy needed, and providing for his fiancée – no, his family – was job number one. He set out to make the best, tastiest, most impressively-presented dinner he could imagine. It was Valtora’s favorite:  the ol’ frank and beans. He cooked them to absolute perfection, then rushed her plate upstairs, finding Valtora snorting their little son’s neck.

“Your dinner m’Lady,” he announced, posing in grand butler-y fashion.

“God he smells good,” she gushed, snorting again. “On the bed,” she added as an aside. Chauncy deflated a bit, unaccustomed to his theatrics being ignored. Still, he complied, then stood there, watching them. At length – after more neck-snorting – Valtora turned to frown at Chauncy. “What?” she asked.

“Um…just making sure you like it,” he answered. “I made it just the way you like,” he added. “Your favorite,” he also added, for good-boyfriend points.

“I know,” she replied. He stood there a bit longer. “Thanks?” she added.

“You’re most welcome,” he replied, bowing with an extra flourish. That got a smile out of her. She dug in, and it wasn’t long before Valtora was…well, Valtora again. Effervescence required refreshments, at least in Valtora’s case.

“Thanks m’Lord,” she told him, squeezing her eyes shut and giving him smoochy-lips. He leaned in, kissing her with gusto. And to his delight, she kissed him back…in a way that most would find inappropriate to do in front of children. In fact, it wasn’t long before she really got into it, and added a bit of…

“Oh,” Chauncy murmured, pulling away and glancing at the baby nervously.

“What?” Valtora asked.

“The baby,” he told her. “He’s watching.” And indeed he was.

“He’s an infant,” Valtora retorted. “He’s like, practically brain-dead.”

“Honey!”

“It’s true,” she insisted. “He won’t remember a thing.” And continued to do the thing she’d started doing that’d prompted his anxiety. Followed by something entirely else.

“Poopy-dooz!” he gasped, pulling away. But despite the fact that she’d had a very long day – and that both of their lives had quite permanently and rapidly changed – her habit of non-consent had not. So Chauncy found himself pulled quite firmly back into the act of permanently scarring his child. And despite his better judgement, he soon found himself submitting to said act, until the terrible deed was done…under the awful, unblinking gaze of his son.

“Oh my,” Chauncy breathed. Then he grimaced. “Sorry son.”

“Pfftt,” she scoffed. “Little bastard better get used to it. I’m not stopping our fun just to be all proper and shit.”

“You never do,” he conceded. “Speaking of which, um…can we not call him a little bastard all the time?”

“Why not?” she inquired. “That’s what he is.”

“I know, but…”

“I mean, that’s the whole point of not getting married until he was born,” she argued. “So we could call him a bastard.”

“So you could call him one,” he corrected.

“Like you don’t enjoy it,” she retorted.

“I don’t,” he replied. “It’s demeaning.”

“It’s funny.”

“No it…” he began, then frowned. For he realized he was walking into yet another attempt at an argument. Valtora immediately sensed his realization, and her face fell.

“Aww,” she pouted.

“Well, maybe we should think of some more names,” he offered. She brightened up instantly.

“Ooo, we could go on the porch!” she exclaimed. “Like old people!”

“I’ll make tea,” he offered.

With that, they made their way downstairs, and Valtora went with the baby to the porch. Chauncy went to the kitchen, preparing some tea. Grandma Little’s favorite tea, in fact…which she’d made every morning, sipping it while Chauncy ate. He smiled as the familiar scent greeted him, a scent that meant he was home.

He turned to gaze at the small kitchen table, at the chair she’d used to sit at, imagining her there. Why, how proud she would be of her grandson, that he’d found a wife and made a child…and that he was a gosh-darn wizard to boot.

Chauncy’s smile broadened, and he was struck with a sudden sense of arriving. That he was right where he’d always wanted to be…and that his dreams had become his destiny.

I’m a father, he thought, filled with a sudden feeling of utter joy.

The tea began to shriek, and he finished up, pouring it into teacups and going outside. Valtora was seated on the long rocking bench he’d bought a few months ago, and she patted the spot next to her. He sat down, snuggling up with her, with the baby swaddled – in a bright pink blanket, of course – on Valtora’s still-aching lap. The night sky was absolutely bejeweled with stars, as if the heavens themselves were celebrating the birth of their son. And the moon was a narrow crescent that seemed to wink at him from the heavens. Or perhaps it was a smile, slightly rotated. Either way, it was a magical night indeed. Not just because he was now a father, but because he was here and now.

In this moment, he was completely, utterly present. And as an old wizard named Harry had once taught him, this was as good as it got.

“How about…STONE!” Valtora declared in her best epic voice, scrunching her face up in a badass scowl. And startling the baby. Chauncy shook his head.

“Too close to Rocky,” he replied.

“Hmm,” Valtora said, tapping her lower lip. “How about…TALON!”

“Like a bird?”

“Well yeah,” she replied. “A bird of prey.”

“I don’t know…”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “How about…BLADE!”

“Too violent,” he told her. “What if he doesn’t like swords?”

“Good point,” she conceded. Then she sighed. “Fine. Your turn.”

Chauncy frowned, eyeing the baby. His face was all smooshed and swollen, and honestly, though Chauncy hated to admit it, he was kind of ugly. Like, really ugly. The doctor had convinced Valtora not to bedazzle the poor kid on the spot, assuring her that in a week or so things would sort themselves out. Nothing good would come out of naming the child after the way he looked, Chauncy realized. So instead, he lifted his gaze to the heavens. Specifically, to the crescent moon. It, along with the stars, represented a kind of order. A cycle of day and night, of space and light, with stars that served as an ever-reliable guide for navigators the world over. The affairs of humans seemed precisely the opposite…scattered and random and unpredictable. Gloriously so, for it was precisely what he found so mysterious and magical about Valtora. That he never quite knew what she would do next. And mystery was where magic lived.

“How about…Chaos?” he offered.

Valtora’s eyes widened, and then she broke out into a huge smile, thrusting her free arm in the air.

“CHAOS!” she proclaimed, her voice echoing through the night air. She gasped, looking down at her ugly baby. “OhmygodI love it!” she exclaimed, clutching her hand to her heart. “It’s perfect!”

“Um…” he said, suddenly having second thoughts. For “Chaos” had merely come to him in the spur of the moment, and on reflection, it was a terrible name to put on a child. But the damage had been done. Valtora was clearly in love with the name.

“Chaos Little,” she said to herself, her smile broadening even more, if it was possible. “I frickin’ love it.”

“Actually, I think…” he began.

“Here,” she told him, handing him the baby. He took him, clutching the child nervously to his chest. Then she got up from the rocking bench, waddling into the house whilst clutching at her groin.

“Where are you going?” he asked. But she was clearly in mission mode, and vanished into the house. Nearly a minute later, she returned, a piece of paper in her hand. “What’s that?” he asked.

“The birth certificate,” she answered.

“We should think of some more names first,” he told her.

“Already filled it out,” she replied, thrusting the paper in his face. There, written – in ink, not pencil – was Chaos Little.

“Oh god,” he moaned. And would have lowered his face into his hands if he could have. But he was terrified to hold the baby with only one hand, for fear he’d drop the poor kid.

“Aww,” she cooed, making smoochy faces at the baby. “He has the same initials as my widdle Chauncy-poo!”

“I’ll pick up another certificate,” Chauncy decided. She frowned.

“Why?”

“Because we’re not naming our son Chaos,” Chauncy explained.

“Yes we are,” she countered.

“No, we’re really not.”

“That’s the name I want,” she declared, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him. A posture that usually forced him to back down. But on the matter of his firstborn son’s moniker, Chauncy simply had to take a stand.

“We’ll find another,” he reassured her. Or at least, he tried to reassure. For she didn’t seem reassured at all, he could be assured of that. For in addition to the hands-on-hips and glare, Valtora added her most potent weapon of all:  the jawline-ripple. And despite everything, it made Chauncy’s sphincter spasm just to see it.

“Who carried him in their belly for the last nine months again?” she inquired. Chauncy grimaced.

“Um…you,” he answered.

“Who puked every day for like, half of those months?” she pressed, clearly sensing her advantage.

“You,” he mumbled. “Darling,” he added, in hopes of gaining points. To his dismay, it didn’t work.

“And who just tore her coochie into a bloody mess shoving our baby out of her bleeding womb?”

Chauncy grimaced again, feeling a twinge in his testicles. For any mention of bleeding groins made him want to cross his legs. So he did…and she clearly noticed.

“So you’re telling me,” she concluded, her face growing pale and her pupils growing disturbingly large, “…that after all I’ve suffered, I can’t name my son what I want?” She clenched her diamond fist rather menacingly, and Chauncy shrank away from her, holding the baby between them as a shield. A fact he wasn’t proud of, but on balance, he’d grown up without a father, and didn’t want poor Chaos to suffer a similar fate.

“Eeep,” Chauncy eeped, not quite knowing what else to say.

“That’s what I thought,” Valtora declared triumphantly, crossing her arms over her chest and executing an equally triumphant chin-thrust. “Chaos it is.”

And so it was. For it seemed that a little Chaos was necessary if Chauncy hoped to maintain order within his relationship. He supposed it was fitting, for chaos wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was merely the opposite of order, and a bit of chaos could make life more interesting. Heck, his life had been a bit too orderly for a good quarter century, wiling his days away with Grandma Little at the shop. The chaos he’d endured in his two adventures with Harry and Nettie had been unpleasant at times, but in the end, he’d enjoyed it…and it’d made him the wizard – and man – he was today. Not to mention that he never would’ve had a baby with perhaps the most chaotic person he’d ever met…Valtora herself.

Perhaps a little chaos…or rather, a Chaos Little…was exactly what they needed in their life.

“Chaos Little,” he mumbled, gazing down at his son. Who’d slept through the whole heated exchange. “I suppose it’ll have to do.”

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