Note to Readers: A small amount of "adult activities" in this chapter, but now we start to see magical activities...
Chapter 8
After one last look at his sleeping sweethearts, Roger grabbed his clothes, walked to the bathroom, and wiped himself with a damp washcloth so that he wouldn't smell of aroused Debbie. In all the times they'd gone at it when they were teenagers, he'd never made her squirt like that, and he idly wondered what else had changed over the years. He then got dressed, padded downstairs and checked out the fridge. Given that it had been about a week since it had been restocked, he was not surprised to see that the milk in the bag in the pitcher had curdled, and the extra unused bag also looked suspicious.
"Damn, I can't make pancakes," he muttered, closing the door. "There must be a corner store somewhere so I can get some milk." He found some paper and a pen and wrote a note, taking care to make it legible instead of his usual chicken-scratch handwriting, explaining where he was going, and left it on the kitchen counter. He was able to make a quick peanut butter and jam sandwich with some as yet non-moldy bread and took an apple from the fridge and a drink of water from the faucet before heading out, closing the front door quietly behind him. He had also grabbed his hat that had been put on his backpack by the back door off the kitchen, clipped on the sunglasses that used magnets to keep them in place, and had his hiking boots, his only footwear at the moment.
It was still a marvelous day and he basked in the warmth of the sun as he walked briskly back on the path that he and Sarah had taken, vaguely remembering that there was a store on the main street. Unlike earlier, there was scarcely a person outside, and when he checked his watch he realized that it was 12:30 and everyone was likely inside having lunch. "What else would they be doing now?" he spoke out loud to himself as he traveled the streets, whose pedestrian activity only started to pick up after he'd gotten to Main Street. The variety store was a block south on his side of the street, just as he remembered, which he found mildly surprising. Pushing the door open caused a bell to jangle, a sound that unexpectedly recalled ancient memories from when he was a child, running to the corner store to get candy with dimes and quarters. A bored-looking middle-aged South Asian woman was behind the counter, perched on a stool and reading a book that was printed in a language he couldn't identify. Her hair was long and black, liberally streaked with gray, and she had a pleasant round face with bright brown eyes that seemed to size him up in an instant. She was wearing a brightly-patterned blouse and skirt that were draped over her plump figure.
"Hello, sir, how can I help you?" she asked in an unexpectedly soprano voice.
"Good afternoon," Roger replied with a smile. "I came for a bag of milk. Is it back there?" He indicated the back of the store where there was a refrigerator. She nodded and was about to return to her book when she did a double-take and looked at him sharply.
"You are one of the people in the videos taken in the park last night," she said bluntly.
"Is there anyone who hasn't seen those videos?" Roger complained, rolling his eyes. "Yes, guilty as charged," he sighed. "There was lots of magic in the air last night. Did you experience any of it?" he added innocently. He was sure he could see a reddening of her face despite the dark brown skin as she looked away, and he smirked and started walking towards the back of the store. He stopped suddenly as he got to the end of the counter when he heard a "Wurf". He looked down and saw a medium-sized, medium haired black and white dog resting on a white dog bed. His knowledge of dog breeds was limited, but he recognized it as a Border Collie. It looked old, and the cataracts in its eyes were clearly visible. "Is your dog friendly?" he asked the woman, not wanting to risk a bad encounter.
"He loves people," she replied. "His name is Marsala and he is 12 years old," she said fondly. "He is old and doesn't have the energy that he used to have, but he always comes with us to the store." Roger knelt and extended his right hand for the dog to sniff. He soon found the sweet spot behind the ears that needed scratching and Marsala leaned into it with surprising strength. "He likes you."
"The Magic Plague seems to have given me an affinity for animals," he replied. "Dogs, cats, raccoons, foxes, you name it," he continued, scratching under the dog's chin. "It's a shame about the cataracts." A pun flitted through his mind, and suddenly his left hand was glowing, mostly turquoise, with stripes of green and yellow. Both Marsala and the woman were looking at him intently. "All cataracts are best as waterfalls," he said, which was rather lame, but all he could think of. A small bolt of energy shot from the middle and index fingers of his hand into the dog's eyes. Marsala blinked reflexively, whuffed, and shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, the cataracts were gone.
"It has given you more than that!" she replied, overjoyed. The door at the end of the counter opened inwards, and she yanked it open and moved to the dog, forcing Roger to jump back to avoid a collision. Marsala had jumped up and was licking the woman's face and wagging his tail happily. Roger noted how stiff the dog's rear legs looked. Unable to control himself or the power that was suddenly in his hand again, he backed away and muttered,
"That looks like something for the Joint Chiefs of Staff." This time a cone of light shot from his left hand and enveloped the entire rear half of the dog for about five seconds before winking out. Marsala barked happily and made a quick dash to the front door and back again, while the storekeeper stood up with a huge smile that lit up the place. Roger also made a quick dash, but to the back of the store, where he grabbed a bag of 2% milk. On his way back to the counter he snagged a bag of quick-cooking oatmeal and another of raisins and a bottle of applesauce, which he intended to have for breakfast tomorrow morning, "Provided that I live that long," he thought to himself as the glow faded. "Here, let me buy these and vamoose before I cause any more trouble for you."
"No trouble at all, sir! Thank you, thank you!" she replied. "Are you sure you aren't a saint?" She was so happy that he wondered if she was going to float to the ceiling. He couldn't help but feel his mood pick up a few points just by looking at them. Roger noted to himself that the thanks and joy didn't come with a discount on the prices, which cost him a bit less than 15 bucks, the change from which went into his right front pocket.
"Nobody who knows me would call me a saint," he replied with a grin as the items were put in a paper bag. "I'm a pretty naughty boy," he added with a wink. "Have a great day."
"I will! Please come again!" Roger hastily exited the store and looked around, trying to regain his bearings. Despite being a bit dazed from the unexpected energy expenditure, he remembered the way he had come and started the ten-minute trek back to Sarah's house, devouring the apple that he'd put in his pocket after leaving it. Just before the turn onto her street, he saw a fat brown rabbit sitting on someone's lawn looking sadly at a carefully fenced-off garden, so he tossed his apple core at it. The furball jumped away at first, but then investigated and began nibbling on it as he continued on. There were no sounds of activity when he quietly re-entered the house, locking the door behind him. After removing his boots, hat, and sunglasses, he left the shopping bag on the floor and silently walked up the stairs to check on the ladies. They were still asleep, but seemed to be stirring a bit, so he returned to the main level and took his bag into the kitchen.
As he ransacked the kitchen looking for the required ingredients, he started to hear voices and movement upstairs, followed by water running in the bathroom. Flour, sugar, baking powder, a little salt and some cinnamon were blended together in a bowl, to which he added two eggs, melted butter, and some of the milk. The secret ingredient was a half cup of chocolate chips that went in once everything else had been well-blended. Two large fry pans had been preheating on the stove as he was mixing the batter, and each received four dollops of it. It was a recipe that he'd perfected over hundreds of weekend lunches for his troop of brats and it never failed. Within 15 minutes he had produced 16 pancakes, piled 5 on a plate, with the last cut into thirds, just as Sarah and Debbie came downstairs.
"Perfect timing, ladies," he said, plunking the plates on the kitchen table with a flourish. He added a bottle of syrup he'd found in a cabinet, a bottle of jam from the fridge, and some apple sauce. He even pulled out the chairs for them to sit in, before seating himself. Sarah sat at the end of the table nearest the door, Debbie sat at the other end, and Roger occupied the middle, facing the window.
"My goodness, this is a treat," said Sarah, sniffing the pancakes and only just not drooling.
"Oh Goddess, they taste as good as they smell," moaned Debbie through a mouthful. He noticed that she'd found a bra and put it on. It took surprisingly little time for the pancakes to disappear into the hungry trio, by which time another round of coffee had been produced by the coffee maker.
"You are totally spoiling us!" Sarah accused him contentedly.
"I wanted you to know that I am more than just a pretty face," Roger replied with an impish grin. "I wanted to celebrate the beginning of our relationship. Here's to us, not three couples, but one triple." He raised his mug and all three clinked them together and drank.
