The musty scent of old paper and leather hit me as I pushed open the creaky door of Whispers & Pages. Just another second-hand bookstore in Tampa, Florida—at least to the untrained eye. But to someone like me? It was a treasure trove waiting to be pillaged.

I paused just inside the entrance, letting my senses adjust to the magical currents swirling through the shop. It's not something you can see, exactly. More like a feeling, a tingling at the base of your skull that tells you there's more to this place than meets the eye. Bindery's are like that—natural attractors for all things mystical and arcane.

As I made my way deeper into the store, I couldn't help but smirk at the oblivious customers around me. A college kid with thick-rimmed glasses was flipping through a physics textbook, completely unaware that the book next to it contained actual instructions for bending the laws of gravity. An elderly woman squinted at the back cover of a romance novel, not noticing the faint shimmer of a love potion recipe hidden in the author's bio. The Sightless, we call them. Blind to the wonders and dangers lurking just beneath the surface of their mundane world.

I ran my fingers along the spines of a shelf of weathered paperbacks, my senses on high alert. There—a faint tingle, like static electricity, emanating from a tattered copy of "Pride and Prejudice." I smirked. Austen, you sly minx.

As I pulled the book from the shelf, a spark jumped from the cover to my fingertip. Most people would blame it on carpet static, but I knew better. This, ladies and gentlemen, was grade-A magical camouflage.

The name's Declan Graves. Dex to my friends, of which I have precisely two and a half. I'm what you might call an antiquities dealer, though my specialty lies in items of a more... unique nature. Yeah, I'm talking about magic. Books, trinkets, the odd cursed butter knife—you name it, I've probably fenced it.

I flipped open the Austen book, my eyes skimming past the flowery prose to focus on the shimmering symbols hidden between the lines. Definitely a charm of some kind, probably protection. Not bad, but not exactly payday material either. I've seen better—hell, I've sold better. Just last week, I offloaded a first edition Dickens that could literally transport you into the story. Made a pretty penny on that one, though I did have to fish the buyer out of Victorian London afterward. Occupational hazard.

As I slid the book back onto the shelf, memories of past deals and close calls flashed through my mind. The cursed music box that nearly turned me into a toad. The enchanted mirror that showed you your heart's desire—and nearly trapped me in an endless loop of watching myself nap on a beach in Tahiti. This job isn't for the faint of heart, that's for sure. But for someone who can see the hidden threads of magic woven through the world? It's one hell of a ride.

I was about to move on to the next shelf when a high-pitched, glass-shattering scream ripped through the back of the store. Shelves rattled, a few books toppled over, and my ears were still ringing from the supernatural noise.

The cashier didn't even blink—like most of the Sightless, her mind just blocked it out. Couldn't perceive the supernatural even if it was juggling fireballs in front of her. I winced and sighed, muttering, "Why can't I have a quiet afternoon for once?"

I shoved the Austen book aside and headed toward the noise, weaving through narrow aisles crammed with too many volumes on too few shelves. As I walked, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. See, I'm not just a dealer in magical antiquities. I've got another job, one that's less about profit and more about keeping the peace. I'm a Warden enforcer, tasked with making sure the magical world doesn't bleed too much into the mundane. It's a thankless job, full of danger and paperwork—my two least favorite things.

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And there it was—the source of the scream. A banshee. Not the usual "omen of death" type, though. No, this one was sitting cross-legged on the floor, right in the middle of a pile of romance novels, clutching one to her chest like it was her lifeline.

She looked up at me with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. The goth getup—spiked choker, smeared eyeliner, the works—didn't exactly scream "traditional banshee," but I guess times change. Even supernatural harbingers of doom have to adapt to the 21st century.

"I thought you guys were only supposed to scream when someone's about to die," I said, raising an eyebrow.

She cleared her throat, sounding a little hoarse. "Yeah, well, that was before I got hooked on these." She held up the offending book: Midnight Passion: A Vampire's Love Affair.

I blinked, not sure if I'd heard her right. "You're screaming over romance novels?"

"I scream when I get emotionally overwhelmed, okay?" she snapped, her voice momentarily hitting that ear-piercing pitch again. I winced and clamped my hands over my ears. "It's not like I can control it!"

"Alright, alright, easy," I said, waving her down. "But could you maybe dial it back a notch? You're causing a seismic event in the self-help section."

She let out a long, dramatic sigh and visibly tried to calm herself. "It's not my fault. These stupid books make me feel things."

I leaned against the nearest shelf, crossing my arms. "So, what—you've traded being an omen of death for a book club?"

"I still do the death thing," she said, defensive now. "But there's not much demand these days. People mostly just die in hospitals. It's boring. So... I have hobbies."

I smirked. "Right. Good for you. But maybe save the screaming for the book's climax, yeah? Some of us have work to do."

She glared at me, but her tone softened. "You don't understand. These romances? They're tragic. It's like... I can't help but scream. It's a curse."

"Yeah, well, we've all got our curses," I muttered, thinking of my perpetually fried electronics. Speaking of which, my phone chose that moment to buzz in my pocket, probably shorting out as usual. I pulled it out, half-expecting it to be fried, but it held up long enough for me to see the message:

"Found something interesting. Get your ass to my shop. - C"

Ah, Cerys. My longtime friend, sometimes lover, and eternal pain in my ass. Also the owner of the unimaginatively named Blackthorn Emporium, one of the only other known Bindery's in Tampa.

What's a Bindery, you ask? Picture a cosmic magnet for magical crap. Items with mystical properties just seem to find their way to these places. Of the dozen or so known Bindery's in Tampa, only two of us know what we really have. The rest? Blissfully unaware, or as we call them, Sightless.

I glanced back at the banshee, who was now flipping through her book like she hadn't just shattered half the store's peace. "You, uh, do your thing, but keep it to a dull roar, alright? I've got enough problems without a paranormal noise complaint."

She rolled her eyes and waved me off. "Yeah, yeah. I'll keep it down."

I turned to leave, but not before adding, "And try not to kill anyone with your feelings, okay? Last thing I need is paperwork from the Wardens."

As I made my way to the exit, I couldn't help but sigh. Yeah, that's the other part of my job—Warden enforcer. Someone's gotta keep the magical world from bleeding into the mundane too much, keep the balance. And if things get messy? Well, that's where I come in. Whether I like it or not.

I pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming. For a split second, I could have sworn I heard it whisper, "Come back soon." Just another day in the life of Dex Graves, magical antiquities dealer and reluctant supernatural peacekeeper.

As I stepped out onto the sun-baked sidewalk, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. Maybe it was the way the shadows seemed to stretch a little too long, or how the air felt charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm. My instincts, honed by years of dealing with the unpredictable nature of magic, were screaming at me that something big was coming.

I glanced down at my phone, Cerys's message still glowing on the cracked screen. "Found something interesting," she'd said. With Cerys, "interesting" could mean anything from a mildly enchanted teapot to a portal to another dimension. Knowing her, it was probably closer to the latter.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Whatever Cerys had found, whatever storm was brewing on the magical horizon, I had a feeling my life was about to get a whole lot more complicated. But hey, that's the job, right? Keep the peace, maintain the balance, and try not to get turned into a toad in the process.

As I set off towards Blackthorn Emporium, I couldn't help but grin. Complicated or not, dangerous or not, I wouldn't trade this life for anything. After all, in a world full of magic, who wants normal anyway?