House of Magic

The tiny shop caught Mira’s eye as she walked down 5th and Main. It was small. Old. Sandwiched between a bakery and a book store, it was almost unnoticeable. House of Magic, the etched wooden sign read. A quick glance at her watch told her she still had 20 minutes to kill before her dime ran out on the meter maid. Why not?

A bell rang over head as she pulled on the door, its jingle echoing loudly throughout the small confines. No one came out to greet her. In fact, she wasn’t sure anyone was there at all.

Mira glanced around the small magic shop. It was dank, dingy and smelled of moth balls and copper. The air inside felt different. Thick. Like trying to breathe in smoke.

Another world inhabited this place with its trinkets and ritual supplies. Oak armoires filled with crystal balls and skeleton heads, ankhs and juju feet. Tucked in the corner, a curio blinded her with amulets and pendants, every crystal imaginable twinkling at her like a Jared galleria.

She wandered a bit further in to browse the goods. Sandwiched between an ornate hourglass and a wooden box etched with swirls sat a simple elixir bottle. It was small. Cobalt blue. And it called to her. She read the label which said in bright, bold lettering: “Guaranteed to cure what ails you!”


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