hells-PAWN 24

“Would you like a receipt?”

The female pixie hovering a few inches above my counter nearly jumped out of her skin. “Wh—what?” she stammered, as if the question were some mysteriously ticking package I had just thrust into her arms.

“A receipt,” I repeated, pretending to examine one of the threadbare flying carpets Mistletoe Root had dumped in front of me.

“Ah. Um. No. No, I don’t think so. No.” Mistletoe’s voice trailed off, as she risked another terrified glance around the room. Her blue skin sparkled with sweat, and her gossamer wings trembled with nervous energy. A sudden draft of supernaturally icy air tickled my neck, and I shivered. Agnes—my assistant and soon-to-be replacement—materialized beside me, inspecting Mistletoe’s inventory of broken and stained junk with obvious disgust. The blue-skinned fraud had even tossed a tarnished brass oil lamp into the mix. Agnes was the sort of woman who believed godliness was next to cleanliness, which made her an invaluable asset to hells-PAWN 24.

I don’t see why Worm buys trash this, Agnes signed, her ancient hands a blur of effervescent blue. Like most ghosts, her vocal chords weren’t able to produce sound anymore.

It’s not about the merchandise, I signed, so Root wouldn’t notice. It’s about the creatures selling it. We’re buying information. What won’t people sell during the day? What won’t people buy, except after dark?

Agnes shrugged, whipped out a rag, and began polishing the lamp. 

“Same price as last time,” I announced, tossing a bag of gold coins into Root’s tiny hands.  

“A—and remember, don’t clean th—them,” Mistletoe squeaked. “They—um—they—”

DING!

This time, the pixie actually did jump out of her skin. As Mistletoe squealed in terror, her vibrating body disintegrated into a pile of leaves and a swarm of blue and yellow butterflies.

“Thank you for visiting hells-PAWN 24, Ms. Root,” I intoned, calmly, opening a window for the butterflies to escape. “Please come again soon.”

“Oh dear,” my new customer said, as Agnes swept up the leaves. “I do hope she didn’t leave on my account?”

“Not at all, Ramiel,” I assured him, clearing the pixie’s merchandise into the TO ORGANIZE box. “Missy’s under a lot of pressure right now. She’s dust-smuggling again.”

“Dust smuggling?” Ramiel asked, his ice-blue eyes wide with innocent bewilderment.

“Pixie dust,” I explained. “This junk’s coated in it. Purify it, and you get high quality PixE. Worth a fortune if you can find a buyer stupid enough to try it. Stay off it, Ram. What can I do for you today?”

Ramiel’s head drooped in defeat. His halo slipped off his head and into his hands, where he twisted it nervously. “Just for a few days,” the angel choked out, tears slipping down his face. “I just need the money for a few days. I—I have a…”

I fought back a surge of pity. I liked Ramiel. Well, liked him as much as anyone can really like a Celestial. He was one of our most loyal customers, anyway. He wasn’t so much a ‘fallen’ angel as a repeatedly fallen-off-the-wagon angel, who sold odds and ends to fund his habit. It would have been sad, if it hadn’t been so lucrative. “I’ll keep it safe,” I promised. It was an old promise and, like everything in this shop, it wasn’t worth much.

“Thanks, Jay,” Ramiel mumbled, handing over his halo. The glowing disc dulled in my hand, but I could still feel the crackle and pop of power zipping through my fingers. “I wish it didn’t come to this,” the angel wailed in despair. “I wish I could kick the habit for good. I wish—”

I grabbed a piece of paper and inked out a few currency runes – Ramiel’s preferred method of payment.

DING.

I glanced up, swore under my breath, and whisked Ramiel’s halo out of sight.

“Good evening Commissioner Zajac. To what do I owe this unscheduled pleasure.” The vampire’s pale pink eyes swept over him, cold as starlight.

“Jay, isn’t it?” Commissioner Zajac murmured silkily. “I don’t think I ever caught your last name, Jay.”

“No,” I grinned. “I don’t think I ever threw it.”

“Ah yes, the delightful wit I’ve come to expect from all Worm’s people. Is your boss in? I wish to see him.”

A jade hedgehog tumbled off a shelf and shattered. The electric lights flickered and hummed. Agnes dematerialized, and I leapt onto the table, my teeth chattering as the center of the floor started to slide into a hidden groove in the walls. With infuriating grace, the vampire leapt up and clung to the corner of the ceiling.

“Then see him you shall,” the owner of hells-PAWN 24 boomed.  n

If you’ve never seen a dragon’s head emerge from an underground lair into your place of business, then you should consider yourself very lucky indeed. If you have seen such a thing before, then you probably spend most of your time considering yourself very dead. The Worm’s heavily armored jaw could have swallowed a small van. His long teeth curled over the corners of his mouth, and his golden eyes gleamed with the peculiar light of cunning madness.

 “You wished to see me?” the Worm purred, his long neck arching like a whip.

 “Good Evening, Tanynar,” Zajac greeted, somewhat nervously. Even a vampire Commissioner of Police isn’t likely to call a full-sized dragon ‘worm’ straight to his teeth. The vampire dropped to the ground and inclined his head. “Glad you’re in. I’m here to investigate some stolen property. Some very valuable stolen property.”

Worm growled low in his throat. The dragon’s laugh wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was the sort of laugh that made you feel like curling up in a ball and waiting for something to eat you.

 “Stolen property,” the dragon chuckled. “I can’t imagine why you would look here, Commissioner.”

“I misspoke. I am looking for some mislaid property,” Zajac crooned. It’s the sort of treasure you would have heard about, Tanynar.” I winced at the greedy edge in the vampire’s voice. He could scent blood on the wind. 

“Wishes,” the Worm breathed. Even in the dim light, his teeth sparkled. “Precious wishes.”

“There are no magic lamps here,” I interrupted brusquely.

Zajac’s head jerked in my direction. “You seem very sure,” he snapped. “I see fifteen or twenty lamps in this room alone, and I’m sure you’ve got extra stock…put out of the way for cleaning.”

“Fifteen or twenty?” I jeered. “We’ve got more than fifty lamps in the upper levels alone, and you could rub them all until your fangs fell out and never get a wish. There are no genie lamps here or anywhere. We’d have heard.”

 “Yes, I think you would,” an old-as-nightmares voice growled from the doorway, where a massive shadow loomed. “That’s why I came to you.”

“Mr. M!” the Worm exclaimed, sounding genuinely interested for the first time that evening. For the first time in a thousand years, as far as I knew. “This is an unexpected surprise. What brings you to my little shop so late in the night?”

“Like you said, Tanynar—wishes. Precious wishes.” The Minotaur stepped into the light and, for the first time in my unexpectedly long and interesting life, I longed to shrink away into nothingness. The city’s most powerful crime boss was dressed in an expensive, goblin-tailored suit. In one skull-crushing paw, he gripped his signature silver-topped cane, topped with an imp’s skull. His horns were silver too, tipped with two long cuffs that gleamed in the shop’s dim light. Mr. M didn’t need the Worm’s golden spell-soaked eyes or Zajac’s pantherlike grace. Mr. M radiated his own special type of power. He might have left Crete half an eternity ago, but he was still the same old terror—the same Devourer of men.

“I was taking care of it, Mr. M,” Zajac hissed, but Mr. M held up his hand. The vampire scowled, but fell silent.

“I would like to inspect your lamps,” Mr. M requested politely. I didn’t need to glance at the boss. I knew what he would say. Agnes and I gathered up every lamp in the shop, even the ones Worm had set aside for particular customers. Mr. M. held each one for a long time, running his shaggy paw along both sides.  Nothing happened. I’d been conservative in my estimate. The Worm had one hundred and three lamps in his possession, but not one of them housed a genie.

“Like I said,” emboldened by Zajac’s sour sneer. “No genie lamps in New York City.”

“What about in there?” Zajac snapped, pointing a long fingernail at the TO ORGANIZE Box. Tip it out, Jay No Last Name.”

I shrugged, picked up the magically enlarged box, and tipped it out onto the floor. Its contents piled one on top of the other, spilling over and cluttering the entire pawn shop. There were another six lamps buried in the junk, along with a rocking horse, two dollhouses, an old tea kettle, a set of bagpipes, a toy 1969 Maserati, half a dozen spell books, and hundreds of other broken, dirty, or useless items.

Mr. M picked up each of the six lamps, turned it over, and discarded it with a frown. Last of all, he picked up Mistletoe Root’s lamp.

“It would seem,” he murmured, “That your information is incorrect, Zajac. Perhaps Root hoped to save her skin with one of these pathetic forgeries. Tanynar, my associates will buy all the lamps you wish to sell me, in compensation for wasting your time. Good evening.”

Mr. M walked to the door, then stared at each of us in turn.  “I need hardly remind you that, were news of my search to spread beyond this room, the consequences would be…undesirable.” His voice dropped an octave from threateningly ominous to murderous intent. I felt his gaze rake across my face and fought the urge to check for scarring. His black eyes were ancient and terrible and predatory. They reminded me of mazes and cages and centuries of torment. “And, of course” he added, as an afterthought, “Unprofitable.”

Mr. M tipped his silver-horned head and stalked out the door.  

“What’s your stake in this lamp business anyway, Zajac?” I demanded a few moments later, relishing the vampire’s spasm of fear. “If there were a real genie lamp back in this city, what would you want with it? I thought vampires only had one wish, and it comes in scarlet, not brass.”

Swift as terror, the vampire had me in a headlock. “Be careful, Jay with no surname,” Zajac said, his needle fangs a breath away from my throat. “You know something about this lamp. I can taste it. Worm won’t be able to protect you once your employment ends. Next time I see you, you might end up as Jay with no surname on his tombstone.” He laughed, wrenched my arm, and disappeared into the night.

“Clean up this mess, Jay!” the Worm snapped. “You and…who are you?” The Worm leveled his golden eyes at Agnes, who had rematerialized and started clearing away the pile of discarded lamps. “New?”

No sir, Agnes squeaked, transparent with fright. You hired me almost two centuries ago.

“New,” the Worm repeated, withdrawing his massive head back into his office. “I wish I could get a live one, but none of them will take the job. Live ones put customers at ease. Oh well.”

You can leave it to me, Agnes offered, but I knelt and started shoveling Root’s garbage back into the TO ORGANIZE BOX. I was annoyed by the extra work, but she looked positively radiant at the prospect of so much cleaning. Her skin took on a pinkish glow, and her eyes sparkled with real life.

“Is it always like that?”

This time, it was my turn to jump. I had completely forgotten about Ramiel. He stood before the counter, looking a little bit queasy.

“Most nights,” I agreed, tossing the broken hedgehog into a garbage can.  

“I see. Might I have my halo back, Jay? Somehow, I don’t think tonight…that is…might take a walk instead. I never thought—genies.”

Agnes produced the halo, and I handed it back to the angel. It glowed golden between his fingers and settled upon his head with an indisputable feeling of rightness. Ramiel smiled benevolently at us, then vanished with a flutter of wings and a shower of golden sparks.

Think he’ll be back? Agnes asked.

I grinned. “Maybe he’s finally kicked the habit.”

Your last shift’s almost over, Agnes noted a few minutes later, as we straightened a carpet over the entrance to Worm’s office. You’d best be going before the Worm eats you. I’ve heard that’s his normal termination method.  Want to take anything as a keepsake? She winked at me and smiled. I blinked. She had the loveliest amber eyes I had ever seen. They were bright with tears.

I glanced around. Worm kept most of the more precious treasures in his office, but a few of the room’s possessions sparkled with gold or glowed with magic. People sold everything here. Hopes. Dreams. Nightmares. Secrets.

I fished inside the TO ORGANIZE box and pulled out the tiny red Maserati. “I guess I might need a set of wheels,” I joked, placing the car on the counter with a handful of gold coins.

Would you like a receipt? she asked.

“Please.”

What about Mr. M and that vampire, Agnes asked, handing over the car and my receipt.

“All good things come to those who wait,” I murmured, tucking both the scrap of paper and the car into my pocket. I grinned, wrapped my arms around her, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“And those who wish,” I whispered in her ear.

DING.

“So, wish me well, Agnes” I called over my shoulder, as I walked out of hells-PAWN 24 for the first time in two centuries.

“I wish you well, lad,” the living, flesh-and-blood Agnes shouted hoarsely. "I wish you very well!"

I walked four blocks, crossed a street, cut through an alley. The fresh light of dawn had just peeked through a break in the line of buildings. Skyscrapers. That's what people called them now. Skyscrapers. I whistled. I stretched. I walked over to a street vendor and bought a bagel. I laughed. I hadn’t felt this alive, this free, in years. In an eternity of years. I bought a coffee and wandered through the waking New York, my hand wrapped around the tiny car in my pocket. My fingers brushed a scrap of paper. My receipt. My proof of purchase. My certificate of ownership.

Lamp. People get so hung up on the word lamp. As if that were the important part of the story. No one cares about Cinderella’s dustpan or Robin Hood’s best tights. But the lamp—that was a different story. That was where the magic was. One eccentric genie makes a drunken real estate choice, and people rewrite everything they’ve ever known. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t the lamp that mattered. A lamp could take any shape. It was the wishes you had to look out for.

I opened up the tiny car door and peeked inside. It was empty, of course, had been empty ever since Worm had eaten its last master and spat his bones into the TO ORGANIZE box.  That’s the weakness of dragons. Dragons don’t see value outside of gold and gems and dinners that wriggle. It’s the reason they don’t rule the world.

The car was mine now, and I had the receipt to prove it. Mine for the first time in half an eternity. Jay’s car. Jay’s freedom. A genie’s wish.