The Punishment

“Of course that’s awful!” The older Wizard exclaimed. “If you’re incapable of administering the punishment, then resign this commission and I’ll do it!”

The younger Wizard bit his lip and frowned, eyes darting around the dank chamber.

“My punishment isn’t to be kept waiting,” I said coldly, testing my bindings again. They were a spell cast by the older wizard; I was not surprised when they held. I looked nervously at the metal basin before me. It was filled to the brim with a purple liquid.

The younger Wizard drew in a deep breath. “As the Council orders—but I register my protest!”

“Well then,” the older Wizard huffed. “I recognize but do not endorse your protest. You know who he is—what he did.”

“Let’s get this done,” the younger Wizard said, striding over to me.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” the older Wizard said.

“Don’t want to see this?” I asked.

“I’m not seeing anything,” the young Wizard snapped.

“It’s barely ethical to show me what happened again,” I said with a smirk. “But to show me something else that didn’t?”

“Right then,” the young Wizard said briskly.

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I’m not feeling any more guilty about this than I already will.”

I shrugged. “Then do it.”

The young Wizard, not meeting my eyes, put on a gas mask and opened a potion vial. He dumped it into the basin in front of me. Immediately fingers of silver vapor began to fill the room. They were acrid and made my nostrils burn for a moment.

And then the hallucinations began.

I was standing in the kitchen my fiance and I had shared. She was sitting at the table looking at The Necronomicon in horror. She looked up at me.

“What have you done?” She asked.

“Nothing yet,” I said coldly.

She stood up and I drew my wand. “I’m unarmed,” she said defiantly. “What are you going to do?”

“Clean up loose ends,” I said.

“You bastard!” She threw her favorite floral mug at me, but I parried it with a mere flick of my wrist. The mug shattered into dust.

With another flick I sent black magic into her heart, killing her dead.

I took a deep gasp of the now fresh air. The young Wizard eyed me.

“It’s not so awful,” I said.

The mask meant I couldn’t see if I was having any effect. He unscrewed another bottle and dumped that in. This time the curls were heavier, tighter, slower. It was a full minute before I could smell them—this time sickly sweet. My vision blurred slowly.

We were still in the kitchen, but older this time, maybe by 15 years. We both sat the kitchen table.

“It is!” I said. “My mother used it all the time!”

“I never said your mother didn’t use it!” she said, looking up from her copy of The Complete Thor. “I said it’s not a standard Thor spell!”

She took a sip from her favorite floral mug, a small chip showing its age. “It’s there.”

“You can look after me, but I’m not finding it,” she said. She turned the book around so I could see the index. “Not under anything it should be.”

“Okay, so I’ll call my mom and ask,” I said standing up. “She got it from there, I’m sure.”

“You are—”

“Say incorrigible,” I said.

“Because you think it’s hot?” she said, standing up too and cocking her hip so that I could see her curves through her pajamas.

“Maybe…” I said.

She leaned across the table, pushing the spellbook out of the way. We enjoyed a long, passionate kiss.

When the hallucination cleared a single tear ran down my cheek.