Not What He Expected

"Well, it's magic," said Archmage Trefortius. He scooped up a bucket of ice cubes and watched them turn instantly to water. He poured it out; the renewed cubes clattered as they rejoined their brethren. "Only the lake is affected, and only at certain unpredictable times. There's no rational scientific explanation for this; it's supernatural and unrepeatable."

Apprentice Fitz took a few experimental steps onto the surface, then wobbled hastily back. "Cold. The locals use it to chill beer. The fish thaw out fine afterward, too."

"Magic," Trefortius said again. He sighed and shook his head. "We found it at last."

Dregs

The bottle hissed as Rollney broke the seal. Air seeped in to disturb the contents for the first time in decades.

"This," said Rollney, "is the good stuff. No knock-offs here." He poured one parsimonious dose apiece. "It's been a long time for you, I gather. Well, this'll set you right. True hope is... well, you'll see."

The liquid shimmered, a bare half-inch in each shot glass.

"So things will get better after this, right? It's true, not false?"

Rollney held his glass to the light. "Ah, well, that's the thing with hope, true or false. You can't ever know."

After the Fire

They wait, quietly. Five suitcases no one came to retrieve. A jacket and hat folded on the concierge's desk. A set of Mah-Jong tiles trapped in mid-game, unending.

The burned walls were patched where they could be and the rooms sealed where they couldn't. More extensive repairs waited, too, in potentia. There was no help for it. The doors were closed. The spiders and silverfish reclaimed the floor inch by dusty inch.

Only the caretaker remains, keeping the grass trimmed, making what repairs he can, and sleeping every night in a blanket of cobwebs, dreaming of the past.

And waiting.

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