Wave Buddy 1000

What’s this? ‘The Wave Buddy 1000?'” he reads from the empty box on the kitchen island. “Did you buy more stuff we don’t need?” he says. He picks up the gadget’s thin instruction manual and skims it.

She’s rooting around in the refrigerator.

The gadget is a bowl-shaped, metallic mesh grid; he assumes it must fit over the dish you are reheating. He picks it up and studies it.

“You know, this looks a great deal like metal. Last I checked, metal in microwaves? No bueno,” he says.

“Oh, pish posh. It must be safe. I bought it at the grocery store,” the woman says.

He cannot see the logic in this.

She pulls her head out of the fridge. She’s holding the leftover mushroom risotto dish they made last night. She uncovers the bowl and places it with the dubious-looking wave buddy in the microwave. She shuts the door, sets the microwave timer to 1 minute, and presses START.

“Yeah, but look at the box. It says using it creates an 88% more effective wave dispersion pattern. Isn’t that amazing? I have no idea what a wave dispersion pattern is, but that sounds impressive.”

He looks at her and shrugs, an exasperated “So what?”

“And I’m no mathematician, but 88 is nearly 90, isn’t it?” she says.

Not amused, he picks up the box and begins reading the bullet points.

“Yeah, but it also guarantees 125% fewer cold spots in your food. Well, I am a mathematician, and that is impossible!”

She peers into the microwave.

“Well, I guess it must not be metal, mister mathematician man. Look. No sparks.” she turns, grinning broadly.

He puts the box down and continues to skim the manual.

“Damn it, shut it off,” he says.

“But it’s almost done. I only have 12 seconds…”

“Shut it off,” he says again. “Please!”

The ground beneath the kitchen trembles and shakes; as natives from California, this startles neither of them, but they live in Kansas now, and earthquakes are rarer here.

He reaches past her and pushes the STOP button.

“Look,” he says, holding the booklet up to her face, jabbing a passage with his index finger.

WARNING: Use of the Wave Buddy 1000 may open portals to hell.

He watches her lips moving as she reads the warning to herself.

A horrible, metallic, screeching sound fills the kitchen as a hole slowly opens in the space above their kitchen island sink. What looks and smells like sewage water pours into the sink below. The smell of sulfur wafts into the room.

He points again to the manual.

“Now read this,” he says.

She looks.

“A DevCon product,” she reads aloud from the booklet, the color draining from her face.

“Oh damn. Not this again,” the woman sighs.

He drops the manual on the counter even as the first demons drop into the sink. They are small, barely three feet tall, but each has a mouthful of pointed teeth and long, sharp claws on both their hands and feet. They snarl like rabid animals. The demons appear hungry and nearly as friendly as a dropped chainsaw.

He turns to the demons that have exited the sink and fallen to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

He waves his hand in a complex, Tai Chi-looking gesture towards three demons. A wave of intense heat and light consumes them. Their shriveled, burnt corpses drop to the floor in a smoldering heap.

“Save it for later?” he says, turning to her.

She gestures with her upraised, extended right index finger, crisply flexing it downwards in a GET DOWN NOW motion.

He ducks just as she blows a long stream of fire from her mouth, incinerating seven more demons.

“Damn. The smell of the dead ones is even worse,” the man says, rising from his crouched position.

“And?” she says teasingly.

“Oh, right. Thanks for saving my life and whatnot. Nice work with the dragon’s breath, by the way. You’ve made outstanding progress with it.”

“Aww, you really think so?” she says.

They both turn and blast twin fireballs at three demons standing on the kitchen island, ready to pounce on his back. The force knocks them back into the sink.

“I do. When you started, you barely got two feet projection. That,” the man says, jabbing a thumb towards the sink, “That flame had to be over eight feet long,” he says. “Very impressive.”

“Well, that’s kind of you to say,” she says.

Demons are still dropping from the hell portal above the sink. The kitchen is a wrecked mess of blood, foul-smelling water, and fried demon corpses.

They both look at the kitchen. It looks like an abattoir in here. It is in no shape for cooking dinner.

“Delivery? Maybe Chinese? I could kill for some crab rangoon,” he says as he makes several karate-chop slicing gestures towards the island, dropping five more demons, each neatly severed in half.

“Maybe? In a bit?” she says, smiling.

She is hungry, but she’s also behind in her practice.

“So, should we close this thing up then or..?” he says, tilting his head towards the portal.

She hand glyphs a cloud of flying needles that kills two particularly fat demons as they drop from the portal.

“I could go for a little more practice if you’re okay with a little more?” she says, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, I spoil you so much, don’t I?” he says.

“I love you too, baby.” The sorcerers turn their attention back to the demon-spewing portal and resume their unplanned practice session in companionable silence.