Chapter III

[MATCHED! Your marriage to has been approved by the other party!]

I managed to finally get the banana milk out my windpipe, and am trying to understand what the hell this means. It’s not April Fool’s day today, right? Did someone hack the Ember servers and fuck around with the text? Am I actually using a browser and…

Grand conspiracy theories swirl around in my mind. But none of them make sense. I tap the notification, trying to make it go away. It does. But now; it is replaced with the gorgeous picture of that young girl from earlier, and it has a header saying “Your wife’s profile”. I didn’t actually read it before… but it says…

“Hi! I’m a bubbly young girl looking for a loving partner! I like cats, chocolate, shopping with my friends, and I play Hyper-Tennis! My speciality magic is changing the polarisation of magnetic fields, but I have a good handling of electrical-current based effects and with the conjuration of minor astral lightning.”

I stop. What? She started with something almost standard for a dating site, besides Hyper-Tennis. What the hell is Hyper-Tennis? Whatever… But then she went all engineering resume on me. Except its not. She’s saying she’s a magician.

Nah. This is just a prank. I close Ember and open Moogle. I search for Ember there.

[[EMBER]]

THE PREMIUM MARRIAGE APP

FOR SINGLE MAGES

SECURE YOUR LINEAGE

WITH A SWIPE!

I don’t click the link. I close Moogle, and with a growing sense of unease, bring up WhosApp, and go to my friend group’s chat and start typing.

CJIMSTAR>> [@ALL guys u tried Ember lately? Its hacked!]

PAULSMITH1989>> [bloodyhells Jim. Stop using the chat at 7am you fuck, you woke me up.]

CJIMSTAR>> [shit sorry I lost track of time]

ELSID44>> [How you do nites dunno Jim. Madlad. But its fine 4 me. Was swiping normal 10 mins ago. No hits tho.]

VINESGAVIN>> [I think its normal. I’m up. Pauls a lazy cunt. I also used app this morn. All rubbish though, can’t pick a girl below my level. NO BULLS either.]

BIGBADGEORGE69>> [I’m already up too. Got get to work at the Forges. Can’t use Ember. Had to delete of course.]

CJIMSTAR>> [WTF George. Why?]

BIGBADGEORGE69>> [You nob. I can’t leave it on the phone, my lovely wife will be angry.]

CJIMSTAR>> [You married? Since when!?]

ELSID44>> [ouch burn]

BIGBADGEORGE69>> [STFU Jim. Piss off.]

HAILZY>> [Jim you asshole. Fucking lay off my husband.]

CJIMSTAR>> [Uh… okay. Sorry Hailey.]

What the fuck. What is going on here!?

George… is married to Hailey?! Such a casual one-night stand kind of guy would never marry anyone! Especially someone as principled as Hailey! They’re like… completely incompatible. And just who is Gavin? What is the Forges? Levels?

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Whilst I am still confused as hell that apparently my entire friendship circle is now different too; an email alert appears. I absentmindedly press it. My MoogleMail account bounces up onto screen with 3 unread messages.

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08:25 AM [FROM [email protected] >]

{Large Deposit Notification. £65,000 has been deposited into your account. Dowry for marriage to [LAPIS MYNERIS]}

08:23 AM [FROM [email protected] >]

{Thankyou for marrying my daughter. Please reply ASAP.}

08:10 AM [FROM [email protected] >]

{Your Marriage eCertificate. ID 45006921ABS12. Do Not Reply.}

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You know those moments where you just sink to your knees and want to cry in despair?

Yeah. One of those is happening right now to me. I sink and rest my head on my leather office chair.

My brain is in a raging fire of activity. I take a deep breath.

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” I mutter to myself. Thanks Sherlock.

So… I was, in fact, hit by a truck-kun today. In retrospect, that truck should not have been able to stop in that distance at that speed. It seemed to halt as if it could ignore momentum entirely. It didn’t even jack-knife when it stopped. What I was eager to dismiss as luck before… in fact… it could only be magic.

So… I am in a new world. Or rather, a parallel worldline? But I am still me. People are still aware of me. What happened to the me that would normally be here? He is still called Jim Corwin; assuming this is indeed my… his phone? Did we swap worlds? Did he end up in front of a much more dangerous, much more mundane truck?

I have no idea. There is no point thinking about that right now. That person is now also me.

And I’ve just got married. Because I thought I was on a dating app which actually turns out to be an app that can fucking well get you married. OFFICIALLY. What the hell. How the…

Breathe… again. So; marriage must be important… it’s a bloodline thing… sure? That’s fairly common in stuff like this in RPGs and things for mages.

I’m a mage!?!

I frantically run back to my hung-up coat, still only in my boxer shorts. I pull out my wallet. Sure enough; I no longer recognise half of the contents.

On my two £5 banknotes, where there should be the face of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth; there is a stern looking young girl, younger looking than even the girl I’m now apparently married to. Beneath the picture, the tiny letters state that she is ‘Arch-Magister Seria Sesshouin, sage of the storms’. They are printed by the Grand Bank of the Empire of Brittania. The plastic seems to have a sparkle and a glint to it, as if there are subtle colours playing off its surface. Magic Cash?

And my staff ID card shows MHS, rather than NHS, and I’m listed as being ‘Healing Magister First Class: Jim Corwin. Power Index 31. Age 31. Speciality: Patient Aftercare, Emergency Wound Treatment.’ The photo of me looks as goofy as always.

I’m a mage. Or at least… everyone thinks I’m this world’s Jim Corwin, who is a mage. How do I do magic?!? I’m just a regular old doctor!

Okay. Calm. I must be able to now I’m here. It sounds fairly common for this world. I’ve gone way beyond a fish out of water, right to Nightmare mode, from the frying pan into the fire. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I must.

Let’s focus on more short-term problems. Like the fact that I somehow just got married.

But even before that. Immediate problems. I’m getting cold. Need Clothes. Dry Hair. Something to drink.

I get dressed into jeans and a casual shirt. Then I pour myself a double shot of vodka with coke on the rocks, and fall back on the couch. I need it. Most of the drink disappears post-haste.

I look back at my phone. Apparently, I’m now rich. I got a dowry, and £65k is pretty much dead on two-years wages for me.

Or not. Apparently not. My bank login is the same, as is my pin number. My monthly salary is now £4,815.20 before tax. Even with me now partly on the higher tax rate, that’s nearly double what I used to earn. And I’m now 200k in the black. Quite a stark difference. Why the fuck was the other me still renting in a one bedroom flat with an income like that!?! I should have been grabbing a house with a mortgage for gods sakes!

Ah! Stop faffing around Jim! I need to email this girl’s father; tell him it was a mistake! How do I get a divorce!?

Suddenly, I feel a draft, and the front door opens with a click; scaring the hell out of me. It was open!?

And face to face with me, nary four metres away, stands a young girl. Wearing a lovely formal white dress, and framed by the blue morning light in the doorway, she gives off the mystical appearance of a fairy, as though she had stepped straight from Tir Na Nog.

She blinks in surprise and bewilderment for a moment, but then scratches her neck, and smiles at me bashfully.

“Greetings to you, my husband. I, Lapis Corwin, your wife, am here to serve you.”