Ridiculously Inappropriate Magic Preview

Prologue

When destiny knocked on Chauncy Little’s door, his girlfriend Valtora decided she’d better answer it for him.

She was sitting at the kitchen table at the time, her chin in her left hand. A hand made entirely of diamond, naturally. She gazed lovingly at Chauncy as he made them breakfast, wearing the chef’s apron she’d bought for him…and nothing else. It was how she demanded he make her breakfast, part of their morning routine. He was actually a pretty good cook, and while he never cooked for himself, he seemed to truly enjoy cooking for her.

“Such a coot widdle booty,” she cooed as he turned up the heat on the stove, sizzling up some sausage along with some eggs. She’d sizzled his sausage – and poached his eggs – earlier that morning. Also per their morning routine.

Valtora smiled contentedly, looking about the small kitchen and dining room. So much prettier than when she’d first seen it six months ago. God it’d been awful. Honestly, she suspected Grandma Little had been colorblind…and that Chauncy had inherited that deficiency. Luckily, Valtora was an expert at making ugly things beautiful…and beautiful things more beautiful-er. That was her magic power, after all. And she used it on everything she could. Including herself, to spectacular effect. It was amazing what a woman’s touch could do, really. As Chauncy had certainly enjoyed discovering.

Yep, after spending most of her life suffering in that godawful volcano with The Dark One, life had turned out pretty damn good.

She watched Chauncy cook for a little longer, then found her gaze falling to her left hand. Seeing its glittery diamond-facets made her grimace. It was a reminder, of course, of a teensy weensy little unfortunate fact that she’d kinda sorta hidden from Chauncy. A totally harmless fact, of course. And it didn’t matter now, not one bit. So there was really no point in telling him.

Still…

Then came that fated knock on Chauncy’s door. And, seeing as how Chauncy was cooking – and how his eggs and sausage were in full display – Valtora decided she’d better answer it for him.

“I’ll get it,” she reassured him. Chauncy skedaddled into the living room for a bit of cowering, and Valtora got up, making her way to the front door. She opened it…and saw a man standing on the doorstep.

A very peculiar man.

He was tall and slender, his back stooped with age. His face was lined with deep cracks and fissures, which was appropriate given the fact that he was obviously – and quite uncomfortably – old. With a  long white beard that draped over his belly and chest, and long white hair peeking out from under a tall blue pointed hat, it was quite obvious that he was a wizard. The impressive wooden staff and fancy blue robes also gave it away.

“Oh,” Valtora blurted out, her hand going to her mouth.

“Valtora,” the old man greeted, glaring at her. Or maybe he was just looking at her…she couldn’t be sure when it came to really old people.

“Impy!” she exclaimed, reaching out to hug him, then pulling her arms back in, then wringing her hands nervously. “Um…hi?”

For it was none other than Imperius Fanning, the great wizard of the Order of Mundus. Her mentor, her teacher. The man who’d guided her to her destiny a quarter-century ago…and who she hadn’t seen since.

Still Imperius glared – or looked at – her.

“What a surprise,” she continued, glancing furtively back into the kitchen. She spotted Chauncy peeking out from around the corner. Breakfast, to her dismay, was starting to burn on the stovetop. She stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind her. Then she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back at the old man. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I could ask you the same,” Imperius replied. “But my gut tells me I already know the answer.”

“I did everything you told me,” she stated rather defensively. “And we beat Evermore and I saved magic. I mean honestly, what more could you want?”

“Chauncy saved magic,” Imperius corrected.

“We saved magic,” Valtora compromised. “The point is, after twenty-five years doing what you wanted, now I’m doing what I want.”

“Oh, you’ve been doing what you want for quite a while now, haven’t you?”

Valtora’s eyes narrowed, and she switched to putting her hands on her hips. A practiced posture that screamed “pissed.” Valtora prided herself in being awfully good at it…which was why she was a bit disappointed when Imperius didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes further and clenching her teeth to add a good jawline-ripple. Neither of which had the desired effect.

“I told you to stay in Mount Thrall and ally with The Dark One for the time being,” Imperius explained. “To use him for when his army would be needed.”

“And that’s what I did,” she replied evenly, giving up on the posture. “My Amethyst Army was spectacular, by the way.” She’d used her magic power of bedazzling to transform The Dark One’s ugly little goblins into crystalline-armored beauties. Just the thought of them made her smile…until she realized Imperius was still glaring at her.

“Yes, well I didn’t tell you to be enthralled by him and mount him!” Imperius snapped.

Valtora’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping. Her cheeks flushed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“And how would you know what I’ve mounted?” she demanded.

“My gut told me,” Imperius replied.

“Well keep your guts to yourself!” she snapped.

Imperius just stood there, raising one bushy eyebrow. She blushed deeper red, clenching her fists defiantly.

“I didn’t exactly have options!” she complained. “A woman has needs!”

Imperius raised the other eyebrow to match the first.

“Look, it’s none of your business who I mount,” she snapped, regaining a bit of righteous indignation. “I’m a grown-ass woman, and you’re not my daddy.”

“Normally I would agree with you,” Imperius replied. “But in this case it does matter.”

“Why?”

“Indeed,” Imperius stated. “Why would the great Imperius Fanning come to his old protégé’s doorstep? Or any doorstep, for that matter?”

Valtora swallowed visibly, deflating a bit. She knew damn well what he was about to say, so she didn’t say it for him. He was rather fond of saying it, and she didn’t want to steal his thunder. And seeing as how he was a man, she knew she had to let him finish, or he’d be terribly frustrated.

“Our world is in grave danger,” Imperius warned, his tone darkening dramatically. “The Dark One has resurrected, and is gathering his hordes. One day they will spread across the land like a great plague, and destroy everything you know and love!”

“Oh,” she replied. And just stood there.

“Oh?” Imperius replied incredulously. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she agreed.

He blinked.

“Golly, you know what? That sounds super bad,” Valtora stated. “But I’m sure you and the rest of the ultra-powerful wizards at the Order of Mundus can handle it.”

“Valt…”

“Good luck Impy! I believe in you!” she exclaimed.

And promptly slammed the door shut in his face.

Locking it. And deadbolting it.

There was a thump at the door, followed by a bit of cursing. Followed by another thump.

Then, to Valtora’s profound relief, there was silence.

“Who was that?” Chauncy inquired, peeking around the corner again.

“Um…nobody,” she answered. “Just another weirdo geezer trying to sell us crap we don’t need.”

“Oh,” he replied, stepping into view. She smiled at the sight of eggs and sausage, then realized the ones on the stove were hopelessly burnt.

“Son of a…!” she blurted out, punching the wall to her left. With her diamond hand, unfortunately. It went right through the plaster, making a gaping hole there.

“Oh,” Chauncy said, staring at the hole, then at her. It was the third hole that month.

“Oops,” she replied. “Sorry.”

“Hangry?”

“Little bit,” she confirmed. Which was partially true. And at this moment, partial truths were unfortunately her specialty.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’ll have another batch of sausage and eggs coming up shortly.”

“Good,” she replied.

She relaxed, pulling her hand free from the wall and walking up to kiss him. Then she looked down, arching an eyebrow and giving him a little smile.

“After you’re done, I’m gonna have a batch of sausage and eggs coming up for you.”

Thus, destiny having quite literally caught Chauncy with his pants down, it was once again deferred. And Chauncy was none the wiser, at least for the moment. Ignorance is bliss, but bliss, like any other emotion, only lasts for so long.

So at this point, dear reader, well…it goes without saying, really. It’s terribly obvious where this is all going. But in the interest of consistency, we’ll say it again:

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

Chapter 1

For the first time in Chauncy’s adult life, life was exactly how he wanted it to be.

After Valtora enjoyed her sausage and eggs – and then his, for the second time that day – he donned his magical wizard’s robe in preparation for work. His reward for braving the Cave of Wonder, it was white and sinfully silky on the inside, and loud, purple, and sparkly on the outside. It glittered even in darkness, but in the full light of the sun, it shone so fabulously bright that it was a sight that forced itself to be beheld. And while at first he’d rejected the thought of wearing it, now Chauncy actually looked forward to it. After all, for most of his life, he’d been rather invisible, trudging from home to work and from work to home, comfortably at the sidelines of life. His wizardly robe forced him to the front and center, demanding the attention of all who beheld it.

He grabbed his Staff of Wind, a thick tree branch with just the right amount of twisty, then held the door open for Valtora. Who was busy glaring into a hand-mirror, her jawline rippling.

“Um…something wrong?” he asked. She turned her glare on him, and he took an involuntary step backward. After which she seemed rather pleased with herself.

“Coming,” she said, bringing the mirror with her for some reason.

“Ladies first,” he said with a little bow.

“My hero,” she gushed, batting her eyes at him.

He grinned from ear-to-ear, following her out of the house and locking the door behind him. Down the front steps they went, then rightward down the sidewalk toward the city center. Hand-in-hand they strolled. Not walked…strolled. For with the sunshine warming their skin and the warm breeze ruffling their hair, there was nowhere else they wanted to be in that moment. Everything was perfectly perfect.

Or rather, it usually was.

For Chauncy couldn’t help but notice that Valtora seemed a bit distracted. She was staring at her feet more than the scenery, and what’s more, her hand was sweating. And if there was one thing that Valtora never did, it was sweat. Not after spending twenty-five years living on a live volcano.

“Are you alright?” he inquired.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?” he asked. She gave him a sweet smile, but one that looked suspiciously forced.

“I’ve been called more than alright,” she quipped. “I mean, not by anyone in particular, just you know, a figure of speech.” She gave a little laugh, which sounded uncharacteristically nervous.

Chauncy frowned, becoming rather suspicious himself.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed, slowing down, then stopping to face her.

“Nothing.”

“Valtora…” he began.

“I’m fine,” she insisted irritably. “God, can’t a girl have an off day?”

His eyes widened.

“Is it…that time of month again?” he inquired. He never could keep track of her cycle. Her eyes narrowed murderously…and then relaxed. She gave him a relieved smile.

“You know what? That must be it,” she agreed. “Gosh, I just hate it sometimes.”

Chauncy relaxed, smiling back at her and hooking his arm in hers once again. They resumed their stroll, and he felt the stress of their minor spat seep away. Onward they went, greeting people as they passed by, and eventually came to the city center. It consisted of a large circular courtyard bordered by a wide street lined with various shops. The courtyard featured a well-manicured lawn with benches and trees and wonderful flowers and such. And a statue of Archibald Merrick in the very center, the founder of Southwick…and a colossal prick. Or at least Chauncy assumed so. For in addition to founding the city, he’d also founded the Evermore Trading Company, a corporation that had hoarded nearly all of the magical artifacts in the world…and then nearly wiped all other magic off the face of the planet. Only through Chauncy’s heroic efforts – along with the help of his friends – had Evermore been stopped before destroying the magic in the last unspoiled kingdom in the world.

The magical kingdom of Pravus.

Southwick had been built up right against a two-hundred-foot gray stone wall less than a half-mile away. The silver Gates of Pravus, double-doors nearly as tall as the wall itself – gleamed bright silver in the sunlight. Up until a half a year ago, those doors had remained closed for over a millennia. Being a wizard, Chauncy could open them…not that anyone in Southwick had to know that.

They crossed through the middle of the courtyard per their routine, and Valtora punched the statue of Archibald Merrick dutifully with her diamond fist. Unfortunately, it was the hand carrying her mirror, and the force of the blow shattered that mirror.

“God damn it!” she snapped. And promptly threw the mirror on the ground, stomping on it over and over. Chauncy watched this with an appropriate amount of alarm, taking a few steps back from her to avoid being next. She finished her tirade, then ran her glittering hand through her gorgeous hair, eyeing the demolished mirror with dismay.

“Well shoot,” she complained. Then she glared at the statue, as if it were its fault.

“We have mirrors at the shop,” Chauncy reminded her hastily, spotting a surprised looking boy walking with his mother at the edge of the courtyard. Valtora spotted Chauncy spotting the boy, and cleared her throat, forcing a forced smile.

“Right,” she muttered.

With that, she grabbed his hand, hauling him toward the shop. They reached the other end of the courtyard quickly, crossing the wide street to get to the shop.

A Little Magic was its name, the shop that Grandma Little had founded. Located on the first floor of a narrow, three-story-tall building facing the courtyard, below a dance studio and a lawyer’s office. A prime location, Grandma used to boast. She’d swindled it from its owner Ginny Smithers decades ago, getting one of her doctor friends to diagnose poor Ginny with cancer. She’d promised to cure him with her “magic” potions if he gave her the shop, and lo and behold, his cancer vanished a few weeks later.

Chauncy shook his head, smiling ruefully. Grandma Little had been a master saleswoman. Why, the sheer volume of bullshit she’d sold over the years could’ve fertilized the entire country.

They made it to the front door, and Chauncy unlocked, it, ramming it open with his shoulder and allowing Valtora inside in his usual gentlemanly fashion. But instead of curtseying in her usual fashion, she stepped through mechanically. She even forgot to go to the closet to fetch Chauncy’s broom for him.

Huh, he thought.

An uneasy feeling struck him then. The fact that he felt uneasy made him even more uneasy, for it was a feeling he hadn’t experienced very much since saving the world. Saving the world had a tendency to confer a fair bit of confidence, after all. He felt its absence keenly.

Without Valtora’s helping hand, Chauncy was forced to handle his broom all by himself…something he hadn’t had to do since meeting her. He began the ritual of sweeping the inevitable dust-bunnies from the floor. A simply gorgeous floor, polished to a pleasant shine after Valtora had used her magic on it. The whole shop had been similarly bedazzled, making it the talk of the city. For no shop appeared as beautiful – no, as magical – as A Little Magic.

And no shop in Southwick – nor Borrin, likely – had more magic items. Real magic, not the crap Grandma had sold. Every one of them created by Chauncy and made beautiful by Valtora.

He finished sweeping, returning the broom to its closet. Then he put his hands on his hips, gazing at the shelves of potions and lotions, and at the staves, wands, and rods hanging on the walls, with pride.

I did this, he told himself, puffing out his chest a bit. Then he glanced at Valtora, who was already seated behind the counter, staring off at nothing in particular. We did this, he corrected himself, feeling another burst of pride.

“Love you baby,” he told Valtora. She flinched, as if the words had flown across the shop and slapped her.

“Huh?”

“I said I love you,” he repeated, feeling rather irritated. Still he couldn’t be mad at her. After all, it wasn’t her fault that it was…that time. He would just have to go with the, er, flow.

“Oh,” she mumbled.

He sighed, his chest deflating a bit. He went behind the counter, sitting on his seat beside her. There was an awkward silence between them, which – if you knew Valtora – never happened. The only thing awkward about Valtora were the looks other people gave her when she said terribly inappropriate things. Growing up with The Dark One, it turned out, gave one a dark sense of humor.

So they both sat there, Chauncy fidgeting nervously, and Valtora staring off at nothing, waiting for their first customer to arrive. Which didn’t take long, of course.

Dong!

Chauncy perked up a bit, for that was the sound of the doorbell ringing. It’d used to go ding but now it went dong, because when it came to entrances – and exits, for that matter – dongs were what Valtora preferred.

An elderly man entered the shop. A terribly familiar old man, tall and thin, his back bent a bit with age. He peered at Chauncy over his thick glasses, waving one wrinkled hand.

“Good morning Mr. Schmidt,” Chauncy greeted. “Welcome to A Little Magic!”

“Morning,” Mr. Schmidt replied. And though his reply was directed at Chauncy, his gaze was focused on Valtora, as usual. It wasn’t so much as a look or a stare as it was a leer, and a rather creepy one at that. Valtora strongly suspected that, while Mr. Schmidt was a law-abiding citizen, his mind’s eye was guilty of an enormous variety of criminal acts. Most of them inflicted upon her. A suspicion that Chauncy shared, but tried desperately not to think too much about.

“What can I get for you today?” Chauncy inquired. Mr. Schmidt blinked, then looked at Chauncy, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Eh?”

“What can I get for you today?” Chauncy repeated.

“Lotion,” he answered.

“The usual?” Chauncy inquired.

“Mmhmm,” the creepy old man replied. Creepily.

Chauncy got up from behind the counter, making his way to the “Lotions & Potions” aisle. Mr. Schmidt took the opportunity to resume leering, and Chauncy browsed his wares, finding what he was looking for. He grabbed a shimmering silver bottle – bedazzled by Valtora, of course – and walked it back to Mr. Schmidt.

“There you are,” he declared, handing it over. “Lucky for you we’re having a ‘Lotions & Potions’ promotion today! It’s only ten copper.”

Mr. Schmidt fished in his pants pocket, which Chauncy fervently hoped was an attempt to get some coins. His hopes were not in vain, for the old man plunked ten copper coins into Chauncy’s hand. Warm coins. Moist coins.

“Thank you Mr. Schmidt,” he stated. The old man grunted.

“You’re running low,” he noted, eyeing the Lotions & Potions aisle. “You should keep ‘em coming.”

“I’ll make more tonight,” Chauncy promised. To Mr. Schmidt’s obvious relief. Chauncy suppressed a sigh; making the lotion was awfully time-intensive, and it was Chauncy’s least favorite job. There was no magic in it for him whatsoever, but people liked it, so he couldn’t very well say no.

Mr. Schmidt turned about – after giving Valtora once last lingering leer – and exited the shop. Chauncy grimaced, depositing the hot, slippery little coins on the counter as quickly as he could, then wiping his hands on his pants. “Ugh,” he muttered.

“Huh?” Valtora asked.

“Mr. Schmidt,” Chauncy explained. “Always buys that lotion you make.” It wasn’t really magical, per se. The lotion was purely lotion, its only magical property the fact that Valtora had bedazzled it. And so it was glittery and smelled wonderful and was quite silky and such. A perfect gift for a girlfriend or a wife…not that Mr. Schmidt had either. “I really don’t want to know what he does with it.”

“I know what he does with it,” Valtora replied. She engaged in a bit of offensive pantomime then, making Chauncy grimace.

“Stop, please,” he pleaded, glancing out the window. His mind’s eye had accumulated more than enough traumatizing images during his adventure with Harry and Nettie six months ago. He hardly needed any more.

“He probably imagines me saying that,” Valtora pressed with a cruel grin.

“You can’t say that,” Chauncy protested.

“Why not?”

“It’s inappropriate,” he replied.

Dong!

Valtora giggled at the dong, although whether it was directed at the doorbell or the pantomime, Chauncy couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was also inappropriate. But since it meant that she was acting more appropriately than she had been, Chauncy was rather relieved.

“Hello,” Chauncy greeted as a woman stepped into the shop. She was short and a bit rotund, with wide hips that barely fit through the doorway. She was elderly, with curly white hair, and possessed of a chronic expression as if she’d bitten into a fresh grapefruit. Chauncy’s eyes widened as he realized who it was, and he shot up from his stool.

“Mrs. Biggins!” he gasped, rushing around the counter to her side. “My goodness, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Six weeks to heal my broken wrist,” she complained, as complaining was her preferred method of communication. She pushed past him, hobbling right to the “Lotions & Potions” section. He and Valtora had hung a sign from the ceiling celebrating the promotion. “Fifty percent off?” Mrs. Biggins exclaimed, her facial muscles making a valiant attempt to show happiness. She grabbed two bottles of lotion – the same kind Mr. Schmidt had purchased – and went right for the counter. She plopped them before Valtora, then set about fumbling to open her pocketbook to pay. A process that, as it so often did with old people, took practically forever. It seemed that the elderly actually got worse the more they practiced things, for despite the fact that Mrs. Biggins had been paying for stuff her whole life, she seemed determined to spend the majority of her remaining time aboveground in the process of doing so.

Valtora watched as each copper coin plonked on the counter, her diamond-hand clenched in a fist. Chauncy recalled how she’d punched Marie Merrick in the head with that fist, killing the lady instantly. He walked behind the counter, sitting by her side and catching her eye.

“Don’t do it,” he mouthed silently.

Her fist relaxed. A bit.

After a few agonizing, soul-crushing minutes, Mrs. Biggins had placed forty coins on the counter. Chauncy let out a relieved sigh.

“I’d better count them again to be sure,” Mrs. Biggins said.

“No!” Valtora blurted out, leaping to her feet. She slid all the coins into Chauncy’s waiting hands just as quickly as she could.

“Oh,” Mrs. Biggins said, quite taken aback at the speed at which this had occurred.

“I counted while you were getting them,” Valtora reassured her, flashing a gorgeous smile. While she quickly placed the bottles of lotion in a bag for the woman. “Have a great day!” she added, waving goodbye eagerly. She even walked Mrs. Biggins to the door, all but shoving her out. But Mrs. Biggins stopped at the doorway, turning to Chauncy.

“My wrist still hurts,” she complained, as if that were his fault.

“Terribly sorry,” Chauncy offered.

“You should make something to heal me,” she declared. “Being a wizard comes with responsibilities, you know.”

“Um…” Chauncy replied. He had Rooter, a stone golem with a plant atop its head. But he’d left Rooter to keep Rocky company by Rocky’s bridge, back when they’d returned from Pravus. “I might be able to come up with something,” he offered.

“Can you have it by tomorrow?”

“I’ll try,” he promised. And immediately regretted it. For if there was one thing magic hated, it was deadlines. But he couldn’t very well say no to the woman.

“Hmph,” she harrumphed. And eyed the Lotions & Potions aisle. “You’re running low,” she notified him.

“More coming in tomorrow,” he reassured her. With that, the woman left, and Valtora turned to Chauncy, giving him a look.

“Stop promising people shit,” she grumbled.

“I can’t help it,” he replied. “I’ve got magic, and that means I should help if I can.”

“Pfft.”

“Being a wizard comes with responsibilities, you know,” he told her.

“Bull,” she retorted. “You don’t owe her a damn thing. You saved magic, remember?”

“True,” he replied with a smile. “Thank you for not murdering her,” he added.

“You’ll take that back the next time she comes in,” she grumbled.

“Probably,” he agreed.

Valtora sat beside him once again, and they waited in silence. He glanced furtively at her.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she retorted. He blinked. Valtora was typically tirelessly effervescent, in a dark and inappropriate kind of way. Combativeness was a trait she usually only showed before – and during – war.

“Just…wondering,” he replied.

“Are you saying I’m not?” she snapped.

“Um…no.”

“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t think so,” she pointed out. Quite accurately, to his dismay. He instantly regretting opening his big mouth. It didn’t take long for him to realize there was no easy way out of this argument – not alive, anyway – so he decided on total, brutal honesty.

“I’m scared,” he confessed. She frowned.

“Of what?”

“Of you,” he clarified. She glared at him.

“Oh yeah?” she replied. “Why? Because I’m being a bitch?”

“Yes,” he replied. Also honestly. Then he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable diamond-fist to his temple. A quick death, he hoped. Merciful.

“Sorry,” she apologized. Chauncy opened his eyes, daring to look at her.

“What?”

“Sorry,” she repeated, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. She even gave him a smile. “I’m just…having a bad day, that’s all. I love you baby.”

“Aww,” he replied, melting instantly. “I love you too, poopy-dooz,” he added. It was her nickname for herself, oddly enough…and the nickname of a cat she used to own. A hellcat whose full name was ZoMonsterz, one of The Dark One’s many minions.

“Kisses,” he demanded, closing his eyes and puckering up…even as his sphincter below ceased to do so. He felt her lips crush against his, and relished the feeling. Then she gave him a bit of tongue, which was dangerous indeed. For Valtora’s kisses had a habit of creating displays that Chauncy couldn’t afford unless he stayed behind the counter…and to his dismay, he heard a dong at the door. He tore himself from Valtora’s kiss, reflexively covering the dong under the counter.

“Oh,” he blurted out.

“Welcome to A Little Magic,” Valtora greeted effervescently.

Then, with each dong that greeted her that day, Valtora became a bit more like her normal self. She even held Chauncy’s hand under the counter, and her touch put him completely at ease. Such that he soon forgot all about their unusual morning, enjoying the cheer of their well-worn routine.

But while destiny had been quite patient the first time it’d been (rather rudely) put off by Grandma Little nearly a quarter century ago, it’d had quite enough of waiting, thank you very much. And if Chauncy had known what it had in store for him, he would have thought quite differently about Valtora’s touch.

***

By the time Chauncy and Valtora returned home, it was nearly sunset. After enjoying a wonderful stroll, they entered their home, and Chauncy got to work fixing the hole that Valtora had punched in the wall. After the first month living with her, he’d found it best to buy the materials for such repairs in bulk. And while his first time patching had been rather poor, now he considered himself quite the expert. In no time at all, the hole was patched and painted, so that no one would be the wiser.

“There,” he declared, stretching his back and admiring his work.

“Well done, Chauncy,” Valtora said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “You deserve a reward.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed quite excitedly.

“Dinner first,” she chided.

One of Valtora’s many gifts was her understanding of the male mind, which was not a particularly broad or deep subject. For the male mind mostly revolved around completing missions and releasing emissions, of which Valtora was intimately aware. As such, she knew precisely how to incentivize it…and Chauncy got to work preparing dinner with gusto.

“Pork and beans?” he inquired.

“Yes and yes,” she replied.

Chauncy got to work, finding himself feeling quite marvelous as he cooked. There was something magical about nourishing the woman he loved; watching Valtora enjoy his cooking was one of the great joys of his life. It occurred to him as he cooked that Grandma Little must have felt the same, all those mornings she’d cooked breakfast for him. He smiled, remembering how she’d sat across from him, watching him eat with a contented smile on her face, even as she sipped her tea.

Loving you is the closest thing to magic I’ve ever experienced, she’d told him. I just want you to feel that way toward someone too.

He glanced back at Valtora, who was watching him cook from the kitchen table, a little smile on her lips.

I did it, he told Grandma silently. And in that moment, he found it quite strange that he’d never truly understood Grandma Little’s love for him until he’d loved someone else. In that way, love was strange magic indeed…for it was felt far more powerfully when given than when received.

He swayed a bit as he finished cooking, giving Valtora a little show. For he was clad only in his chef’s apron, per her request. His body had no magic for him, but to Valtora it most certainly did.

Having given Valtora a feast for the eyes, he finished his duties as chef, providing a feast for her mouth. They both enjoyed it, and afterward, they enjoyed each other. In the kind of way only a new-ish couple could. And while love was felt more powerfully when given, both got as good as they gave, and it was magical indeed.

Much later that evening, as Chauncy rolled over onto his side in bed, Valtora’s diamond hand draped over him, he was struck with the feeling that everything in his life was finally right. After twenty-four years of waiting for destiny to come to him, he’d gathered the courage to go to it. And in saving magic, he’d saved himself.

“Love you baby,” he murmured.

“Mmhmm,” came her reply.

He smiled, knowing that she rarely said she loved him back. Not because she didn’t, but because she – by her own admission – had serious commitment issues.

Had he only known just what those commitment issues entailed, Chauncy might have thought quite differently. But as they say, ignorance is bliss. And as Nettie had once said, nothing lasts forever.

Destiny, after all, had been more than patient. And honestly, it had had quite enough of being so rudely rebuffed by the rude women in Chauncy’s life. It was, to be frank, rather pissed off. So it was that destiny decided right then and there that it needed to do something drastic about the whole mess…and it was very nearly time for Chauncy’s ignorance – and therefore his happiness – to come to a spectacular end.

Ridiculously Inappropriate Magic will be available by September/October 2020!
Click here to get the first book!