Page 122 of The Witching Hours

He grinned. “It’s more or less a balancing adjustment. Cosmic Law is all about the balance, you know.”

“It’s not all about the bass?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ve reached a benchmark in your experience portfolio. It could be fun to do something you’d thought wasn’t in the cards.”

“Fun?” That caught my interest. “You didn’t say anything about fun.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’d definitely remember.”

“Let me show you around, give you an overview of what might be possible. Then you can determine if your heart’s desire is fun. Or something else.”

My eyes were drawn upward to the booklined walls of the second story gallery. I wanted to see what was up there, but I could wait.

“Alright.”

“Would you like to put your things down, so you’ll be comfortable?” He gestured toward a green painted bench near the center of the store.

“There? Just leave my stuff in the middle of the store?”

He dropped his hands. “There’s no one here but the two of us, my dear, and if I want things like yours, I’ll just recreate them.”

“Right. What about other customers who come in while you’re showing me around.”

His smile turned sly. “There’ll be no other customers until after you’ve made your selection.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“People outside this shop do not see what you see. They see an empty store. Nothing more. If someone other than you tried to open the door, they’d find it quite impenetrable. This particular store in this particular moment exists only for you.”

I laughed. “You’re joking.”

He smiled and shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

I didn’t need to say that I didn’t believe him out loud. He could read it on my face.

His eyes shifted to the elaborate copper cash register. “Here,” he said, walking behind the counter and opening the cash drawer, which responded with the most wonderful cha-ching. “Would you say your ‘stuff’ is worth more than five thousand dollars?”

Stifling a laugh, I said, “I would definitely say this little pile of stuff is worth less than five thousand dollars including potential spending on my credit cards. I’m not a Kardashian, you know.”

“Very well.” I watched him pull out a large stack of hundred-dollar bills and count out fifty. “Accept this as insurance.”

He handed me the money. I took it then stood staring at the bills in my hand for a few seconds.

“I will put it back in the cash register when you leave.”

“Goes without saying.”

“Yes. Well. I said it nonetheless.”

Seeing no reason to protract indecision unnecessarily, I set my satchel and umbrella down, removed my raincoat and draped it over the curved arm at the end of the bench. Luckily, I was wearing my oversized wool pants with the paper bag waist, reminiscent of Coco Chanel and Katherine Hepburn. Mannish elegance. One of the best things about those pants was the deep pockets.

I pulled out my phone and dropped it into one pocket, then pulled out my wallet and dropped it in the other, after inserting the five thousand, of course.

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