He stood there a moment and watched it. It cycled through the message, minus the whack on the nose, three more times. Given how parched his throat was and how his head was throbbing, he might still be drunk, or this was a dream.  Why else would a piece of parchment float?  He waved his hand above and below the parchment to see if there were wires. There weren’t. He walked behind the paper to see if he missed something that action triggered something because the sheet burst into blue flames. A few flakes of ash floated to the floor.   