In another world, a hard-forged silversteel charm glows with heat.

Its bearer swears a string of mighty expletives.

Charity goes back to helping the littlest with his food, and that seems to signal everyone else to start fixing tacos again, though with much less of a festive atmosphere.

“How much do you know about the coin?” Michael asks him quietly.

“I hear it has this, like, subtle ability to manipulate grown men into taking up LARPing.”

Melkor bites into taco #2, which, let me tell you, is just a crunchy zesty spring garden in his mouth.

Michael laughs a little in spite of himself. “True enough. Why did you come here though, if you know what I am? Not to mention that if you meant us any harm, the wards would have reacted as you came in.”

Melkor shakes his head. It feels like all of his recent highs are draining out of him at once. He’s feeling positively growly.

“You just bumble around thinking everybody in the whole universe is split into Yay Tribers and Boo Tribers… fighting in the pits, rooting from the stands, not wanting to get picked last for the kickball team.

”You ever imagine some of us just wanna flip over the table? Reset the game, burn up the rules, put a new Eru-damned episode on the screen for once?”

A glob of tar the size of Michaelangelo’s David’s head splatters onto the steaming platter of crab meat. A brand new skylight shines down from the roof into the dining room. Melkor finishes shoving taco #2 in his mouth.

Michael does a double take. “Are you… melting my roof?” he asks with some alarm. “Please stop.”

“Give me back my hot illusion chick and I’ll consider it!”

“You do realize that as a member of the Order of the Blackened Denarius, the Fallen is every bit as much of the ‘Yay Triber Boo Triber’ dichotomy as I am? Do you consider yourself allied with their aims?”

“Holy guacamole,” he says, picking up the honestly kind of gloopy taco #3, “is Chicago just a bunch of Orders of This and Orders of That?” He tuts disapprovingly. “I can see I’ve arrived none too soon.”

Abruptly, bubblegum is back in her seat. “You don’t know the half of it, pal,” she says, and stuffs a taco into her face with intentional casualness.

Melkor startles. Girl should have a friggin’ bell on her.

“Congratulations Skyworshippers! You’ve passed my test and I’ve returned your prodigal roommate to you. All hail Melkor the Merciful.”

Gloopy though it is, taco #3 is still a glorious, succulent mess.

While he is engrossed in his gustatory experience, he sees motion out of the corner of his eye. Charity is pulling her hands away from his plate, on which have appeared three more tacos.

4. Sweet potato, chipotle mayo, and crispy Brussels sprouts

5. Pineapple, pork rinds, and cojita cheese

6. Mango avocado habanero salsa

Melkor bursts out laughing. “Aaaaaah you tricksy chicks are alright! You oughta take notes, Knight of the Bearded Table, you just might become a real boy someday.”

Melkor snarfles the eff into his fourth taco and the crispity-crunchity fillings prove a savory salve to his spirits.

The silversteel charm dies into cool rest.

“A false alarum?” one voice asks.

The bearer shakes his head. “Nothing but a fleeting lull. We mount the hunt without delay.”

Two-tone is examining the glob of tar in the center of the table. “This isn’t any kind of magical effect I’ve ever seen,” she says with a look over at Michael. “Is this some kind of weird evocation spell?” she asks Melkor, “or something totally different? You put a lot of power behind it, for sure.”

“Eh, that was Melkie just messing around. You wanna see some real power, I’ll take you on a tour of Angband someday.”

He sighs to himself wistfully with a faraway look in his eye. “Ahh Angband.”

Molly looks at him, and mouths the word “angband,” as if she is trying to piece something together but can’t quite.

Melkor’s mouth is already moving into pork rinds and cojita cheese, which mesh unimaginably well with that sweet sweet crab meat.

”So if I wanted to break the backbone of the blackened denarian book club — for fun — what’s step one there? Steal a glowy sword maybe?”

Michael looks startled. “No,” he says slowly, “the swords only work for those that have a calling to them.” A pause. “If you truly want to ally on this, I would be happy to have your help. But it is a longer conversation, and not one well suited to my family dinner table.”

“I, uh, jeez, sure, uh…” He stares down at the gold and green slices within his remaining taco. “I don’t know these things I guess, since I never had a family. Or a sword.”

“We all have things to learn in this life,” Michael says solemnly. “And when we know better, we do better.”

He’s gonna nod sagaciously and finish his taco in a calm, orderly manner. A glint of sunlight reflecting off the oozy pile of crab-tar-tar catches his eye, and he gives a peaceful smile.

”Anyhoo, I should prolly get going… you’ve got dishes and synchronized push-ups and roof repair to get to. I’d hate to overstay my welcome >:~)”

Michael lets him finish and graciously sees him to the door. “I can’t quite say it was a pleasure meeting you, Melkor, though it did have its moments. Give me a call if you want to go hunting Denarians.” He hands Melkor a business card and offers his hand.

Melkor takes the card and hands him a spliff in return.

“Just remember: since Eru is all-powerful and obviously ordained our meeting with that delicious crab, all of my subsequent actions are ultimately his responsibility.”

Michael obviously has no idea what the spliff is but he takes it with a nod. “Good night, Melkor.”