The Cauldron Coven

The day had been long, too long. Roger Sanders tossed his keys onto the table that rested near the front door and continued on to the kitchen and a stiff drink. His throat was sore from all the talking he did today. Client after client called, each one needing something and needing it now. They always needed it now. Everything was an emergency to them.

Roger pulled a glass out of the cabinet, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and poured three fingers instead of two. It had been that type of day. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a long swallow as he turned and leaned back against the counter, sliding a hand into his front pocket. The fiery liquid burned his throat and warmed his belly, bringing a quick comfort to his tired body. He sighed as he lowered the glass, following it with his gaze as he allowed his shoulders to relax, the tension slipping away if only for a moment. He was home. He would not allow the stress of the day to get to him here, not in his sanctuary. He built his home for peace, and tonight, he needed that peace. Fucking clients.

With a bump of his ass against the counter, Roger pushed himself into motion, his arm down at his side, glass held in his fingertips as he walked toward his living room. Reality sucked. At least, his did today, so he would turn to fantasy for the next couple of hours. Plopping down in his recliner, he set his glass on the small wooden end table beside him, and scooped up his latest find from the quaint little bookstore downtown, a fantasy novel from some author he had never heard of before. With a deep breath, he settled back in his recliner, pulling a purple blanket his mother had made for him over his legs and opening the book to where he left off last night. Reaching over, he picked up his glass, took another sip, and started to read.

Roger loved fantasy. Hell, he loved reading period. The chance to escape, find yourself in a whole other world you would never have thought about or have adventures you could never truly take. Many nights, Roger lost himself to exotic romances in steamy locations or solving murderous plots of top officials or rescuing the fair maiden trapped in a high tower. He endured the real world, so he could get home to the worlds created by others, losing himself until sleep called him. Many nights, he found himself waking in the early morning hours, body stiff and screaming because he fell asleep in his recliner, book in his lap, whiskey glass empty. He could read in bed, of course, falling asleep amid warm blankets, his head on soft pillows. But really, what was the fun in that?

With another sip of his whiskey, Roger ran his eyes over the words, following as the dwarfs ran into the tunnels under Mount Dreystone, Sir Roger in the lead; that is, Sir Reginald on the pages. Roger always pictured himself as the main character in all the books he read. After all, wasn’t that the reason for reading? To picture yourself doing the things you read on the pages?

The tunnels were gloomy as the dwarf in front led them, a torch held high—well, as high as a dwarf could hold it—in the air, the flames flickering shadows along the walls as they climbed. The golems were near, Sir Roger could feel them, feel their beady yellow eyes peering out of the gloom, watching them, goosebumps crawling up his skin and his hair standing on end. His mouth felt like a desert as he followed behind, his white-knuckles gripping his sword, braced for the attack he knew would happen. The chill air in the tunnel held the whispers of everyone who passed before them, and Sir Roger was sure it held the voices of the golems ready to pounce.

Roger’s eyes never left the pages of his book as he reached over and picked up his whiskey glass again, bringing it to his lips, a slow movement as he scanned the words in front of him. He took a small sip as the first golem attacked. Roger licked his lips as he swallowed, returning the glass to the table as the first dwarf took a sword in the gut, his entrails spewing out onto the grimy tunnel floor. The torch fell, casting the tunnel in damp darkness. Cries went out as steel slid from sheaths, the clanging of combat surrounding Roger as he leaned his head back in his chair, the first of the golems appearing in the shadows. Roger threw up his sword, blocking the spear the golem thrust at Roger’s chest, knocking the sharp stick to the side as he leaped backward a step.

His gaze continued down the page, fighting to keep his eyes open as he did, the stress of the day urging him to sleep. Not yet. Not in the middle of the battle. He only had a couple more pages left of this chapter. He could finish it. He just needed to see if Sir Ro...Sir Reginald made it out of the tunnel. He could keep…

The tunnel was quiet, however. The dwarfs were gone. So were the golems. Roger stood, glancing around the darkness, the walls of the tunnel casting an eerie glow around him. Glancing down, he noticed the sword in his hand, the blade pointed to the ground. He stared at it, his brows pinched in confusion. How..?

“Weird, isn’t it?” a deep, guttural voice sounded from behind him.

Turning, Roger spotted a tall, dark-haired man staring at him, his lips twisted in a lopsided grin. “Where am I?” Roger asked, confusion pinching his brows. “How did I get here? I was in my recliner, reading…”

“Oh, you still are,” the man said, and Roger took the time to look the man over more thoroughly. While the stranger was tall, he was far from scrawny, his shoulders thick, his legs powerful as he stood there in…a cloak? Is he wearing a monk’s robe? How much did I drink? “You’re sound asleep in your chair, the book you were reading open in your lap, one hand still clutching the edge.”

Roger glanced down at the sword in his hand. “Then how…?” He jerked his gaze back to the stranger. “This is a dream?” Could a person know they were dreaming? Could it be as simple as waking up?

The man nodded, smiling. “It is a dream. You’re safe at home, all locked into your snug little abode, sound asleep in your comfortable chair, dreaming of being a warrior in some unknown land, fighting demons and saving the world. Pathetic, really, since you fail so miserably at real life.” He shrugged as he took a step toward Roger, his head tilted to the side as a grin spread across his face. “I thought I would give you a chance to make your dreams come true. Would you like that?”