Bartlett handed me a sword. A strange thing to be handed at eight in the morning, but then this wasn’t unusual for him. Besides, it matched the get-up he was wearing. A suit of armour.
“I need your help,” he said. “Your family’s life depends on it.”
“My family’s?” I asked. The last communique from my mother and brother was about the chocolate covered crickets my brother was eating in Mexico. All was well in the world as far as I knew.
“Yes,” he replied. His tone suggesting that I should have expected it. “The sorcerer has cast a spell.”
He pushed past me and made his way towards the kitchen.
“Barlett,” I called trailing after him. “What are you talking about? Sorcerer?”
“Salt. Lots of it.” He grabbed the mostly full box from my pantry. “Stand still.”
He poured a circle of salt around me and tossed the empty box onto the counter.
“Don’t move until the threat has been neutralized.” He reached in and took the sword back from me. “You should be safe.”
“Isn’t a salt circle used for demons not sorcerers?”
His jaw dropped; his eyes went wide. “Right. Sorry. But it can’t hurt.”
He headed for the front door.
“Barlett,” I called after him. “What is going on? Is my mother okay? Do I have to warn my brother.”
“Too late. He—” an ominous weight added to he “—knows where they are.”
I stepped out of the salt circle. “This is ridiculous.”
It was obvious one of his role-playing games had gotten out of hand. He had slipped from reality into make believe.
“Go home Bartlett,” I ordered him. “Get some sleep.”
With a creak of a squeaky knee hinge he turned and opened the front door.
“Eek!” he shrieked.
A cloud of smoke, crackling with lightening, had settled on my front stoop. A mythical sorcerer, complete with peaked hat and midnight black robes stepped forward.“Is this the wench?” he asked the trembling Bartlett.
