The landlord of the brick building on the corner of 18th Street and Elm sometimes wondered exactly how his longest and best tenant, a cafe with a board game theme, could stay in business on this side of town. There had been maybe two other patrons inside each time the landlord had visited in person over the past year. He tried to be polite, since he lived on the third floor above and all, but the coffee was just okay. He didn’t recognize any of the games on the shelves, either. The titles were all weird, and made the landlord also wonder if the cafe owner, Sheila Arborman, might be mixed up in that hocus pocus nonsense. He hoped not. His insurance wouldn’t cover something like that. Not again. But, they paid the rent on time, so he slept well.
The landlord had never been invited to the back room.
The espresso maker sat at the far end of the cafe, Sheila’s pride and joy. She worked hard to maintain that complicated machine with her bare hands. No wishes or curses in this establishment, no sir. A short hallway on the customer side of the table led to a single unisex bathroom on the right, an unmarked door on the other side for the manager’s office, usually open, and a final door at the end, also unmarked. This last door was locked from the other side tonight. This was an indoor storage room on the landlord’s blueprints, and this was even still partially true.
Tonight, amid the spare paper products and vacuum sealed beans, a round folding table was covered by deep purple crepe paper with a thin plastic backing. Brown metal chairs had been set up equidistant around the table, seats freezing in this unheated room if not for the padded cushions that Sheila also kept back here. She looked at the three people in attendance at this late hour, members of her cafe’s booster club and super secret coven, the Game Runners. Four had been invited to tonight’s rare book swap. Libraries would not stock these titles, for the safety of the children.
Sheila sipped her mugwort and elderberry tea, frowning at her watch. She asked, “Has anyone seen Evan since our last meeting?”
Astrid, the club secretary, pushed her glasses back up her nose and spoke up first. “You don’t think he read anything aloud, do you?”
“I hope not! He had my copy of the Meh-Hmm-Eh-Meh-Neh, and was supposed to return it tonight,” said Peter.
Sheila pinched her nose between her eyes for a moment and turned to the others. “Bloodraven – you do know that I have your real name on credit card receipts? Do you have anything to share?”
The pale woman in the red hoodie said, “Yes.”
Sheila waited a moment, and said, “Right.” She pulled a leatherbound book from the messenger bag at her feet. “Peter, you might like this one. I will not even say the title aloud. This is rumored to be a very powerful tome of, uh, ay-el-see-aytch-ee-em-why. Maybe you will know what this language is? The pictures were nice.”
Peter opened to a random page. “Neat.”
A man burst through the locked door and stumbled into a stack of cardboard boxes, spilling compostable cups. He moaned and managed to grunt out a few syllables. “Sheila!”
Bloodraven squealed. Astrid frowned. Peter turned a page in his book.
Sheila stood up quickly, her chair scraping on the floor behind her and making a horrible sound. “Evan, what the Aytch?” She waved a hand at his midsection, where his clothes hung in tatters. “Are you okay?”
Evan wiped his face on one sleeve and stood up, clearing his throat. “Never better, sweetheart.” He grinned. “Did any of you happen to ever bother to actually read the book that I borrowed last month? There was an interesting footnote on page 781.”
Sheila picked up her chair, shifted forward, and sat down again. “What are you talking about? There are footnotes in that book because it is a scholarly examination of mythology.”
Evan shrugged. “That book showed me how to deal with the Reapers.”
Bloodraven jumped up, her chair squeaking slightly. In a low whisper, she said, “Peter, nuh uh. Drive me home. Now.”
Evan shook his head and said, “No, wait! Look, look, look.” He snapped the middle finger and thumb of his left hand and pointed upwards. “Feuer.”
A small yellow flame erupted a few inches above his index finger. Sheila yelled, “Put that away! Do you want to get us killed?”
Fluorescent shadows slowly lengthened. Peter said, “Too late!”
Five human minds exploded in agony as a jagged and sharp looking approximation of a hand reached out of a nearby shadow. The arm, torso, and the rest of this abomination finished entering with an unsettling combination of stepping and dripping inside the room. A pale being with long hooked ears and glowing eyes surveyed the room calmly, clothed in a dark shimmering material that was painfully mesmerizing.
Astrid closed her eyes and whispered, “They will come wearing the broken shards of the universe they protect.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.
The impossible being pointed a claw at Evan and spoke aloud, each syllable angrily scratching at the back of Sheila’s throat. “Hungry.”
Evan blew out the flame still flickering over his hand with an exaggerated breath, and smiled. “You know, that is a really nice cloak.”
The creature looked at one sleeve and shrank down in embarrassment briefly. Purple rose on its cheeks. “Thanks! Do you really think so?”
“Oh, yes.” Evan nodded. He winked at Sheila. “Pretty great, right, Peter?”
Peter had put his book down and was silently crying. “If I keep staring long enough, will I see Earth?”
Astrid had kept her eyes closed, and was now mouthing numbers as she counted in her head.
Evan bowed to the unnatural thing in the room. “I am sorry, forgive my manners. My name is Evan. You know what? I am meeting Agrazieul and Frank for a game or two in the front room tomorrow at noon, and we could use a fourth player. You are welcome to join us.”
It growled as it punched its own palm. “Frank cheats at most die rolls. I will arrive again at your appointed time, to keep an eye on him, and to play. I am Zythratheplix.”
“This has been a pleasure. You seem like the trustworthy, uh, sort. Let’s be team partners when I see you again tomorrow, Zythra!”
Spacetime blinked reassuringly. Light in the storage room slowly returned to normal. Sheila sniffed at the lingering smell, like burnt toast. Bloodraven remained crouched behind Peter’s chair.
Evan grinned again. “It turns out there is something more tasty than the lifeforce of anyone who dares to wield magic.”
Sheila opened her mouth a few times to try to say something. “Dice games?”
Evan folded his arms. “Good. Old-fashioned. Compliments.”
Reddit WritingPrompt [WP] Magic is real and very dangerous. Most mages live in secrecy and only use their powers sparingly, since every use of magic attracts unwanted attention and no mage that was found by *them* has ever lived to tell the tale. No one, except for you also prompted an eldritch horror of a (double?) pun. Sorry, but also not sorry.