Mightier than the Sword

His head blocked the only source of light in the room that emanated from beyond his computer screen, his fingers furiously clattering against its faded keys, as he sat at the rustic mahogany table that he'd grown so accustomed to—even quite fond of throughout the years. His wife, Sophie, often nagged him about getting rid of it, but he couldn't, for the life of him convince himself to do so. He'd gotten it from a gypsy woman's garage sale in Salem, back when he'd lived in Massachusetts. She'd offered it to anyone who'd buy her something to eat, but Lev, seeing her living conditions, took it from her, bringing her the nearest Deli's most expensive dish, and slipping her $300. She'd been grateful, hugging him, her face glistening with tears.

"Thank you," she'd cried. "Never get rid of this desk, I tell you, for it will provide you, and others, a world full of wonders."

So, he hadn't. Despite its dings, cracks, and discolored paint, it had a certain undeniable charm about it. It was for this reason that, Quentin and his friends needed it. Its enchantment had been the last to have been cast by Agnes Waterhouse. Of course, Lev knew that they'd come looking for it, he just never thought it'd be so soon.

"DAD, ARE YOU STILL WRITING YOURSELF INTO THAT STORY?" a voice screamed from the top of the stairs.

"I might be, Benedict, then again, I might be online looking for the perfect anniversary gift for your mom."

"I heard that," a tall, blonde woman said, peeking from around the corner, as she crossed the living room to turn the lights on.

"Aw honey, you know I need to be immersed in pitch-black in order to write to my fullest potential."

"Oh really?" she questioned, as she walked toward him. "Because, I recall you needing something else to allow you to write to your fullest potential," she teased, plopping down onto his lap.

"And what would that be?"

"This."

She squared her face parallel with his, leaning forward with her eyes shut. Lev leaned forward giving her a peck on the lips.

"Get a room you guys," his teenaged daughter interrupted. "I came out here to tell you that there are some people at the front door, not to get a front row seat to an HBO movie."

"When you're in love like your mother and I, you'll be the same way," he started. "Thank God that won't be until you're seventy...and married, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she walked back the way she'd entered.

"Well, Lev, I've got to head back to the office," she whined. "The whole building falls apart without me."

Lev walked to the front door to see who'd been there. He hadn't been expecting any visitors. He opened the door to reveal two university students, one male, the other female.

"Mr. Grossman?" the male asked, not fully sure if he had the correct address.

"Yes?" he responded.

"Um, this is going to sound uh—"

The woman beside him interrupted, brushing her brunette hair behind her ear in frustration.

"Mr. Grossman, we don't have time to explain, but we need that table," she demanded, peering at the desk over his shoulder.

"Um, what Julia meant to say is, uh, we'd like to borrow your table for like, a maximum of twenty minutes."

"Is this some type of joke?" Lev interrogated. "Who borrows a desk, and how did you get this address?"

"See Quentin," the woman began. "I told you we should've just done the Debilitas spell to paralyze him, then we wouldn't be in this problem."