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Unlocking the Illusion

Pawn Shop Series

By Robin JamesPublished 3 years ago 8 min read
3
Unlocking the Illusion
Photo by Everyday basics on Unsplash

My pawn shop exists at a junction where reality is threaded with magic. To regular customers, it's just a store. To special clientele, it's a place to purchase items that arrive from another dimension. These special things have a distinct vibrancy, a definite glow, that makes the world around them appear old, faded, and worn. These items get put in the glass case under the till.

This morning, the only dimensional item to arrive was a small chest filled to the brim with bits and bobs. I was in the process of rifling through it to determine how best to display everything when the bell above the door jangled.

I closed the chest and shoved it into the case while putting on my 'happy to help' face. "Hello," I said before looking up. "What brings you by?" The last word lodged in my throat.

There, standing just inside the door, was a giant Siamese cat.

I blinked a few times and my eyes adjusted. Not a cat. A woman in a sleek ivory fur coat with three quarter length sleeves. The soft brown of her slacks matched the long sleeved shirt peeking from the coat. Both matched her heart-shaped face and the headband with cat ears anchored in the soft cloud of her hair.

Words fell out of my mouth before my brain fully engaged. "I thought you were a cat." Heat stained my cheeks. "I mean-"

"It's fine," she said with a throaty laugh. "Some might say I'm cursed. I've considered blue contact lenses to complete the effect."

I smiled. Most of the heat drained away. "That would definitely keep the illusion."

She strode toward me with the grace and fluidity I associate with dancers; barely putting weight on the floor, limbs lithe, step assured. By the time she reached the till I realized I was staring. I took a deep breath to ground myself as she spoke.

"I'm looking for something," she said, smooth and confident. "I was given this address."

"Oh?" I've noticed that regular customers barely glance at what's in the glass case, whereas special customers make a beeline for it and rarely notice the rest of the shop. This person neither examined the shop nor peered through the glass. Instead, she kept her soft brown eyes on mine.

Somewhat unsettled, I tore my gaze away only to have it tumble and land on her hands.

Long, unpainted nails adorned delicate fingers wrapped around a small black notebook. She opened it to about the middle and set it on the glass surface. The notebook remained flat without help, and the exposed pages displayed an illustration of my shopfront. Not just a quick drawing either. This was remarkably detailed and very recent.

I put thirteen clocks in the window yesterday, arranged to look like a clock of clocks with the fanciest one in the center. That display took some work. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but the end result was satisfying and eye-catching. This illustration represented that display beautifully.

“The detail is amazing,” I said and squinted. I swear, the hands on the fancy clock moved in the drawing. “It looks like a photograph.”

“Mmmm,” she said with a rumble in her chest. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

My ears must have failed me. I thought she purred. “What can I help you find?” I asked in an attempt to remain professional.

“I'm looking for a small key.” Soft pink lipstick the colour of a cat's tongue glimmered prettily as she spoke. "I was told you might have it."

"A key?" I dragged my attention away from her and over to a bookshelf. Keys dangled from the side, spilled from bins, and lined the top. "I have so many. Can you be more specific?"

"Yes." She pulled her coat open and exposed a crushed velvet collar necklace with a little bell dangling from the center. "One that will fit this." With one hand, she spun the necklace around to reveal a clasp.

I leaned forward. The clasp had a tiny keyhole. "I see. So a jewellery key."

"Mmmm. Maybe," she said and let go of the collar and coat. "Or a key that resembles a charm. Whatever the form, it'll be..." she trailed off and scratched behind an ear. After a moment she added, "It'll be enchanted."

Did she mean 'enchanting'? I opened my mouth to correct her then snapped it closed. Magical stuff could be considered enchanted. My usual intuition felt jumbled and garbled. I couldn't quite read this person enough to know if she was entitled to an item from the glass case or not. Something about her obscured everything else, including my sense of decency, apparently. Desire to pet her coat rose up so fast I actually reached out. I caught myself in time and snatched my hand back. "Let's look through this," I said and pulled the chest out of the case. "It arrived recently and might have the key you want."

Her whole face lit up. "Oh yes!" She plucked a large blue marble out. "This is pretty."

I pawed through the chest as she batted the marble back and forth over the glass. A thorough search revealed four keys. One an old iron key for a jail, one that looked like a roller skate key from the middle of the last century, a skeleton key made of brass, and a tiny, delicate key no bigger than a bracelet charm. I held the little one up. "This one, maybe?"

She gasped. Her eyes twinkled. "That's the one. Now, would you mind?" She abandoned the marble, pulled her coat aside, and bared her neck. "I can't do it myself."

"Why not?" That came out far more abrupt than I'd intended. "Do you need a mirror?" I asked, much more reasonably.

A long sigh slipped from her. "I can't actually say. But here, this might help." She flipped the page in her notebook and displayed a new drawing. My stomach chilled.

It was a picture of my hand putting the key in the clasp.

The small scar on the pointer finger, the arthritic knuckles, the broad and short nails, the wide palm and stubby fingers, all mine. A laugh bubbled out of me and warmed my belly. Magical items have an enchanting vibrancy, so did this person.

It hit me that from the instant I set eyes on her, everything else faded away like an old, dusty photograph. I couldn't hear the soft music playing over the speakers, or the vehicles outside, or the tick-tick-ticking of the clocks in the storefront window. Special items, and customers sometimes, grabbed my attention and held on tight.

She tapped on the picture. "I can pay you for your troubles."

I expected her to pay for the key, that wasn't in question, but I couldn't charge for removing the necklace. I don't like to take more than what's offered. "A dollar or two will suffice."

"Twenty."

I shook my head and smiled. "That seems like a lot. Either way," I said before she could respond, "come closer. Let's get that collar off."

She leaned in, craning her lovely neck for ease of access. The key fit nicely and clicked into place without effort. In one breath I had the clasp open. "There you go."

"Thank you." Relief flowed from her voice like a soft song. She slipped the necklace off and set it on the glass. "It was starting to chafe."

"I can imagine." The collar still had the key locked in place. My eyes refused to budge from the sight. The unit had the vibrancy of magical items. This collar belonged inside the glass case along with the other oddities. But it wasn't mine unless she gave it to me. "I'd like to buy this-"

The bell over the door jangled. My head snapped up in time to see the woman's back, a dark streak running down the ivory fur, as she strode out the door.

"Wait!" I fumbled to move my aging self to the door fast enough to catch her. When I got there I yanked it open and scanned the sidewalk.

Nobody was wearing a fur coat, as far as I could see. Quick movement snagged my attention. A brown tail flicked as a cat darted into the narrow space between shops. I harrumphed lightly and went back inside.

Normal sounds resumed the moment the door settled into the jamb. I shook my head gently and felt my cheeks lift in a small smile.

The collar hadn't lost its vibrancy. Someone would be by to purchase it at some point, so I tucked it into the case and moved to clear away the items from the chest.

There, sitting next to the till, was a twenty dollar bill. I rang up the service with one hand and reached with the other. As my fingers made contact I realized it wasn't one, but a stack of twenties.

My hand froze.

I stared at the money.

Was it only one twenty that I saw? Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Why would she have left so much?

I counted it out. Once, twice, three times to be sure. Twenty thousand. "She overpaid," I murmured to the empty store.

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3

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