This slap deactivated the shine from his sclera as his black pupils rolled into view. The objects thudded against the floor outside. The whirlwind slowed to a stop. Silverware jingled, furniture slammed, and the fridge creaked. She panted anxiously, glancing between the door and Ibrahim.

Ibrahim rubbed his cheek, fully awake. “Di-did you just slap me?”

Cheryl unclenched Ibrahim’s robes, dropping him onto the floor. She huffed a heavy sigh and examined Wino’s door. She scanned it as if a monster was outside and it just finally surrendered to her will. She wondered how anyone could conjure such a horrific scene, and unintentionally for that matter. She knew magicians were strange and lethal, to say the least, but what should she make of this? More importantly, who’s going to clean this one up?

***

That morning, Ibrahim sat at the dining table, fork and knife in hand, bags hanging beneath his lower eyelids, yet he eagerly licked his lips in anticipation. Wino strolled by, sliding a ceramic white plate stacked with buttermilk pancakes, cinnamon-and=chocolate icing drizzled over each one. Next, he passed a smaller plate with scrambled eggs and finally crispy, sizzling bacon. Ibrahim drooled at all the food before glancing at the bacon. Angrily, he glared towards Wino who stared back.

The two held eye contact until Wino growled, “What?”

“You know I can’t eat this.”

“It’s turkey bacon.”

“That’s why I love you.” Ibrahim grinned, tossing away his fork and diving into his breakfast.

Beside him, Cheryl rested her chin upon her palm. “You mean you really don’t remember what happened?”

“Mmm,” Ibrahim mumbled smacking his lips together.

Wino jutted his head out over the kitchen frame urging, “I-bra-him,” in a stern voice.

Ibrahim replied, “No. I don’t.”

Cheryl scanned over his cheeks, puckered with food. She angled twowards Wino before descending back onto Ibrahim. “What going on? You’re ignoring me?”

“It’s because you got him to stop last night,” Wino responded.

“It’s because she slapped me!” Ibrahim barked.

“I saved your life!” Cheryl retorted. “That fridge nearly squashed the both of you. And the couches almost shattered the windows. Thank goodness it was just a cup. You guys should be thanking me.”

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“I never asked for your help,” Ibrahim scowled at her.

“And what about Wino?”

Ibrahim waved his palm towards the kitchen responding, “Meh. Wino can handle himself. Next time, you just keep your hands to yourself or you’re staying home.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Wino interjected. “I’m not staying with just you until this nightmare stuff is resolved. Cheryl is staying here every night until your nightmares are gone, Ibrahim. That way she can slap you again.”

Ibrahim twirled around in his chair, his face wrought with disgust at the very idea. Wino and him locked.

Cheryl interjected, “I am not staying here with you two! That whirlwind nearly killed me too. I’m sleeping at my own place.”

She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. Who were they to decide what role she would play? Wino’s expression fell as he swept up scrambled eggs, decorated with ruby red tomato slices, lime green peppers, and toasty golden-brown onions from the sizzling frying pan.

“Good.” Ibrahim faced his food. “It’s better for you to stay out of it.”

Wino whimpered from the kitchen, “But what about me?”

His shimmering, pouty eyes and dangling bottom lip met Cheryl’s stern glare. He had a point. Wino did manage to survive Ibrahim’s nightmares beforehand but there was no way someone could suppress that on a nightly basis.

“You’ll be fine, Wino,” Ibrahim mumbled as he stuffed the bacon into his mouth.

Cheryl bounced her eyebrows, flashing a sarcastic I told you so expression at Wino.

This caught Ibrahim’s attention as he whipped back at Wino. He flashed a disapproving stink-eye as Wino passed around Ibrahim. Wino towered overhead with two plates in hand. Wino slid one breakfast platter before Cheryl. Ibrahim tailed it, his gaze landing on Cheryl as she reflected his demeanor at him. Wino sat between the two, his own platter laid before him.

“So Ibrahim,” he started. “What’re you having nightmares about anyways?”

Ibrahim eagerly perked up within his seat. “I thought you’d never ask.”

His eyes fell dim. The steam from Cheryl and Wino’s plates wafted towards his nose, swirling onto him and fading into the atmosphere. The couple granted him their attention; Cheryl slowly chopping her omelets into chunks while Wino sat still. Ibrahim hands fell onto his lap.

Eventually, with a sunken expression on his face, Ibrahim started, “Once I fall asleep, I can see – well, there’s this guy. Wino, you remember where I got my wand right?”

“Yeah, the diamond altar place, right? It was in the desert.”

“Right. In my dream, I’m there again. Except this time, there’s someone else. And they have my wand.”

Cheryl took the first forkful into her mouth. What diamond altar place? Wino had never made mention of it despite countless tales of their journeys. And as always, Wino appeared caught up in Ibrahim’s tale. His eyes were unwavering while his food cooled beneath his nose.

How could someone tolerate such behavior? Couldn’t Wino see that Ibrahim’s used their history as strings to puppeteer Wino and manipulate the situation to his favor? Their lives were in jeopardy from this guy – this magician – and yet no one wanted to acknowledge the walking hazard that Ibrahim was. This could not continue forever. Wino would have to make a choice one-day: either the wand went or Cheryl did.

“This guy,” Ibrahim continued. “Pulls it out of the altar before I can even get up the stairs. He takes it for himself. Now, I know I can take him, I know I can but every time I try – you see I have a wand too, even though he takes his own from the stone, I still have mine. But for some reason, it’s like his is the right one and I should have it. So, I always take mine out and challenge him. And then…”