The Husband of the Flames

I decided to use the  Random Title Generator again, and do another quick piece. I just need to write this morning

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The last few weeks have been strange. How do you go from a normal life of going to work, paying bills, and watching the news, to this crazy hidden underworld of magic, supernatural creatures, and dangerous intrigue?

Well, that’s what has happened to me. By trade, I’m just a machinist. I enjoy working with my hands, and while I’m not getting rich at the factory, I do make a living. I came home one evening to find a stranger standing in my living room. He was tall, wearing a long robe. Yeah, I said robe. He looked like he stepped out of a Lord of the Rings movie, staff and all. My wife, was red in the face, and I recognized the look of anger that was about to explode all over the wizard look alike.

I set my lunch box down on the table next to the door, and carefully moved around our erstwhile house guest, “Honey, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”

“This is no friend of mine,” She retorted without even looking at me.

“My name is Mason Rudulpho. You are Mr. Jackson, I presume, Cynthia’s husband?”

“Yep, that’s me. What’s going on here?”

I’m not a large brawny guy, but I’m also not scrawny. I drew myself up so that he could see I wasn’t intimidated by his staff. I was trying to imagine what a role player was doing in my living room, especially one that was this guy’s apparent age.

“Cynthia and I have come to discuss her next move. She’s been putting us off for months.”

I looked at Cyndie, “You’re next move?”

She didn’t even look at me, but continued to stay focused on Rudolpho, “I’m not leaving my husband. I’m not returning to Avalon. I’m not giving up my life here.”

“Avalon?” What the hell, I thought.

“You must. Your child is our child. We need you with us. You are our salvation.” Now he looked resigned.

“Uh, wait a minute. You’re pregnant?” Now I was really thrown for a loop.

She took a bit of mercy on me, and looked at me, “Yeah, this wasn’t how I planned to tell you.”

I shook my head, but it didn’t really clear my thoughts, “I don’t know who you are, or why you are here, but this is my wife, and you aren’t taking her from my house if she doesn’t wish to go.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, and she petted it comfortingly, “I’m sorry, Father. My place is here.”

The man raised his staff slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds, then let it slide through his fingers onto the floor. The ringing sound it made was reminiscent of a giant gong. I put my hands over my ears, and he started murmuring some words in a language I didn’t understand.

She looked at me, “How fond are you of your job, Dear?”

“What?”

“If you’re to be the father of my child, we need to flee. Now.” I think I saw pity on her face at that moment.

“Of course, I’m going to be her father. Or, his father. Whatever!” I took her hand, and it was scorching hot, but it didn’t bother me. I watched her face. A hot breeze began to circle us, even though we were standing inside the living room, without even a window slightly open.

“You will not defy me, my daughter.” The man’s voice boomed, the staff he carried was glowing white hot.

Her hair danced in the hot wind that encircled us, “Don’t let go, my Love We’re off.”

Was that an accent, I heard in her voice? She almost sounded Irish for a moment.

My wife. My child. Nope, there was no way I was letting go of her hand. Not in a million years. I clenched it more tightly. I glanced around the living room. Normal life trappings in every corner: A decent sized tv, a coat rack with my old work coat, decent used furniture, a pair of shoes by the door.

The heat seem to gather around us, her hair looked like flame. I was warm, but not burning, as the wind that encircled us caught on fire. There goes the house, I thought.

“Here we go, Darling. Sorry for the mess. We’ll get it straightened out when we land.” Her father glared at me.

“I’ll find you again, Cynthia. And when I do, you and your child will come home. And your human husband will regret his interference.”

She looked at her father with a smile, “What makes you think he’s human, Father?”

She grasped my hand tighter, and I felt the flames dance along my skin. It was an old familiar feeling, one I thought banished with my childhood.

“Let the magic come, Sweetheart, We are out of here.”

So I opened the gateway. I filled it with love and the promise of new life, and the magic spilled out of me as it hadn’t done since I was very young. In my mind’s eye I pictured home. My home.

The last thing I saw before we winked away, was the incredulous look on that old man’s face, and let me tell you, it was infinitely satisfying.

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