Thunder and Sleight of Hand
The storm came on fast.
One moment, Zeffle Nimbleburrow was organizing his sock drawer (the one with the portal to the Giftwrap Dimension), and the next, the sky cracked in half with a noise like the gods tripping over a stack of shipping crates.
BOOM.
Zef yelped, flailed, and somehow managed to fall backwards into the drawer. A puff of lavender tissue paper exploded out after him.
From the next room, Snorblyn Moonwhistle—master of mayhem, sparkle sorcery, and devoted goblin husband—heard the ruckus and promptly sprinted in wearing only one slipper, a polka-dotted towel, and a monocle that wasn’t his. The slipper quickly fell off.
“ZEF?!” he cried. “Are you under attack? Did the envelope glue come alive again?!”
A small hand reached up from the drawer, holding a slightly trembling opalescent bow. “Thunder,” came Zef’s muffled voice. “Hate it. Hate it. Sounds like the sky’s yelling at me. I didn’t even do anything this time!”
Snorb blinked, towel slipping slightly. “Wait… you’re scared of thunder?”
Another boom. The drawer slammed shut on Zef’s hand, which shot back in with a squeak.
Snorb gently pried it back open, peering inside at the curled-up gnome in a nest of holographic paper and ribbon spools. Zef’s big eyes blinked up at him.
“I know it’s silly,” Zef muttered. “I just—every crash feels like it’s going to split the world open.”
Snorb’s heart turned into a warm glittery puddle. He reached in and scooped Zef out, bridal-style, carrying him to their cozy couch fortress, which was currently covered in an excessive number of throw pillows with embroidered sayings like “You Can’t Spell Chaos Without Us” and “Hex the Patriarchy.”
Zef buried his face in Snorb’s chest. “You’re warm.”
“I’m a furnace of love and goblin bravado,” Snorb said, attempting a dramatic hair flip and accidentally knocking his monocle off into a cup of hot cocoa. “BUT! Fear not, my radiant radish. I, Snorblyn Moonwhistle, will banish this storm with the greatest goblin magic trick of all time.”
Zef peeked out. “You know a trick that stops thunderstorms?”
“Okay, well… maybe not stop. But I can distract you until you forget you have skin,” Snorb said proudly. “Behold!”
He snapped his fingers and produced… a ferret.
“Marzipan!” Zef gasped, delighted. “You summoned her?”
“She likes the warmth and dramatic timing.”
He set the ferret on the couch, then she climbed onto the ottoman, where she blinked lazily, then fell asleep instantly.
“Okay, okay,” Snorb muttered, pacing. “We’ll go bigger.”
He flicked his fingers and conjured a deck of cards that immediately exploded into butterflies.
“That was supposed to be a bouquet.”
BOOM. Thunder rolled again, and Zef flinched.
Snorb narrowed his eyes. “Time for escalation.”
He conjured a hat.
He reached into the hat.
He pulled out… a duck wearing sunglasses and holding a kazoo.
Zef stared.
The duck played the kazoo.
Zef snorted.
“YES!” Snorb pointed triumphantly. “Laughter detected!”
“Wait,” Zef gasped between giggles, “is that Kazoozle the Duck from the Waddle & Hex cartoons?”
Snorb winked. “Summoned him from syndication.”
Outside, lightning flashed—followed by a truly monstrous clap of thunder. Zef whimpered and buried himself under a pillow shaped like a glittery cupcake.
Snorb bit his lip. “Time to unleash the big guns.”
He leapt up onto the ottoman (displacing Marzipan, who blinked once and fell asleep again), drew in a deep breath, and bellowed:
“GOBLINO EXTRAVAGANZA MAXIMUS!”
The living room erupted into chaos.
Sparklers popped out of the air.
Confetti rained from the ceiling vents.
A banner unrolled that read “YOU ARE LOVED, YOU SPARKLY LIL SPUD.”
A magically animated piñata shaped like a thundercloud appeared… and immediately panicked, flailing its lightning-bolt legs and flying into the lampshade.
“Snorb!” Zef gasped from under the cupcake pillow. “What did you do?!”
“It’s fine! It’s all fine! I totally intended for the piñata to become sentient!”
The duck joined the piñata in a panicked waddle-dash around the room.
Then the couch levitated.
“I did not mean to do that,” Snorb admitted.
Zef popped out of his pillow fort like a prairie dog. “Snorb, the couch is floating.”
“Yes but are you still afraid of the storm?”
Zef paused. He blinked. “...No, I’m afraid the couch is going to launch through the ceiling.”
“Then my work here is done,” Snorb said cheerfully, just as the couch tipped sideways and deposited them both into a cuddle pile with a very surprised (but unsurprised-looking) Marzipan.
The room went still. Then the thunder rolled again.
Zef snuggled into Snorb’s side with a deep sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.” Snorb kissed his temple. “But if the sky’s gonna yell, I’m gonna make it compete with flying furniture and kazoo ducks.”
Zef laughed softly. “Thanks for the chaos.”
Snorb nuzzled him. “Anytime, my dazzling daisy. Next time it storms, we’ll throw a thunder party. We’ll invite the lightning, serve static-charged cupcakes, and teach Marzipan to juggle.”
The storm raged on outside, but within their tiny, glowing home, the only thing louder was the sound of laughter, love, and a very confused duck trying to hide in a lava lamp.
