"Look man, this isn't a bartering system or a negotiation. The prices are the prices.” I glance down at what he's trying to offer me. “And I don't want your goat." It's odd how many people try to trade here. This store may be old, but we don't trade in goats.

At least I don't think we do.

I'm pretty sure.

Ninety percent sure . . . Sixt–no, fifty percent.

“Can you ask Ephraim?” Ah, yes. The equivalent to, “Can I speak to your manager?” This guy just doesn't get it. I thought I had issues with the clientele at the bookstore I used to work at, but jeez.

That's not fair, there's much less poop to clean up here. None, in fact.

I could ask Eph, but this place is struggling to make money as it is. At least, as far as I can tell. He would probably say it was okay 'just this once,' because he doesn't really need the money. Ephraim is the owner, and he's also an ex-wizard–the ‘ex’ being something he's very proud of. And although he doesn't need the money, Mike does. He does a lot. I know, because I'm Mike. Mikael Balthazar to be precise. Your local resident half-demon and employee at Ephraim's Emporium of Enchantments and Effects.

This shop caters to magic users that don't have access to the guild's resources. Whether they be novices who think they know what magic is or the most expert practitioners, we serve them all–though we mostly get the former in here. Eph is a good man who turned away from the local Wizard's Guild after some stuff went down that I can never get him to talk about.

And I've tried.

He hired me after I got fired for no call no shows from my bookstore job last year. I was saving the city I live in, and quite possibly the world, from a potential catastrophe. But no one knows that. At least, none of the humans at my old job. I missed days because of fighting and recovering and had no excuse they'd believe, so I don't blame them–mostly. A guy named Brad wanted me gone and I gave him cause, through my absences, to get rid of me. So now I work here, dealing with people who want to trade livestock or other things in exchange for magic they probably can't perform. On some level, I think they know they can’t. That's probably why they don't want to spend money on it.

“No, I won't. Sorry, man. Everyone here pays money for their items, and you can too.” He opens his mouth–I assume to protest–but closes it again and looks down. The expression on his face isn't hard to read. The lines in it are becoming canyons and his skin is weathered and sun worn. The hands he's wringing anxiously are visibly calloused and rough and his graying hair is kept short, cropped closely to his head. The cut of it is unevenly buzzed and is most likely done at home from the look of it. This man has worked hard, still works hard if the state of his dirt covered clothes says anything, and he has come here looking for a miracle. He needs hope, needs something to work, and he's about to give up. My resolve partially crumbles. I'm a sucker for people in dire straits sometimes.

“But if you can't afford this, I know someone who might be able to do something for you. He's a practitioner like Ephraim. Not as tenured, but he can probably take a payment plan of some kind.”

His face snaps back up, but his eyes don't meet mine. Not an uncommon thing for people versed in any level of real magic. With eyes being the windows to the soul, I'd rather not see what is kept inside most people's.

“Are you sure?” he asks. Hope puffs his chest and straightens his posture more.

“Yeah,” I say, handing him a sheet of paper, “Write down your info and I'll make sure he gets it.”

He excitedly scrawls on the paper and hands it back to me. “Thank you, Mike.” He grabs my hands and holds them in his. “Really, thank you so much.”

That's more of a thanks than I got for all my efforts last year. He glances back at me again when he's exiting the door. He nods, and I do the same back before he turns and walks out. I'll try to give it to either my roomate or my buddy, Kai. Either one has abilities that could probably help him.

“You're good with these people, Mike,” Ephraim says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I mask my surprise with a cough, then clear my throat. “Some of the more aura sensitive customers may avoid you, but those that give you the time really appreciate your help.”

I glance at him. His long white hair is tied back in a low tail, but his beard hangs down in three long braids. “I was a bookstore customer service rep, I know how to make people feel listened to,” I say.

Ephraim chuckles. “It's more than that. You care. It's not the same thing as it was at your bookstore–you care about people when magic or . . . other things are involved.”

He's not wrong. Those other things he's talking about are usually half-demons like myself, or any manner of supernatural, fairy tale, fae or otherwise. Last winter some demons with bad intentions came to my city and drummed up a whole lot of trouble for me. Well, that's a little self-centered. It wasn't exactly just for me. They’re the ones that were working toward the aforementioned catastrophe. They had designs on gaining power in the demon world and causing a war on this world. I stopped them, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Two of them died, both as a result of some of my actions. One survived and, unfortunately, it was the one I really would have preferred hadn't.

My luck in that moment had run out and he survived with terrifyingly astounding resilience. I learned from my infernal father's weakened essence after the confrontation that Rhal, the incredibly powerful demon, was shamed and shunned out of his rank in the Pit and was looking to create his own place amongst the Lords there. I don't know what a demon has to do to be shamed out of Hell, but it happened to him. I was able to get out of the situation with only a few near fatal wounds and have been looking for signs of his return since. So far I've heard nothing, but my thoughts keep returning to that day. Especially during downtime.

“I appreciate that Eph.” I rub the back of my neck. “I definitely do care about people. Even if they don't deserve it sometimes," I say the latter part under my breath.

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Eph sighs. “Yeah . . . Sometimes.”

He knows how people can be, as is evidenced by his life of solitude among the practitioners in the area. He's not a big fan of how the guilds run. Eph's been around awhile and he knows that those within the various wizard guilds have a tendency to act like they are the moral authority and never do anything wrong. This is especially true when it comes to pointing the finger at non-human folks. Guild members get really self-righteous toward non-wizards having magic abilities. The reason for this is because only humans are wizards.

Other beings can use those magic-like forces naturally, but wizards, through study, can wield magic energy–and many use it against us. Some talented wizards have also wrought some pretty terrible destruction throughout history against other humans as well, both magic and non. Oddly enough though, they tend to forget their own atrocities when a random supernatural being decides to do the same. Within the guild, wizards that go bad get lumped in with us instead of tarnishing the guild's 'perfect records.' Records, of course, that they wrote. This prejudice is kind of baked into their teachings.

Though Eph tries to hide it, that same indoctrinated prejudice still creeps up sometimes. We had a moment where I brought this to his attention last year. During my bumbling investigation, my sister visited his shop, and I chased her out. We exchanged words after the incident. I got pretty heated because his questions felt more accusatory than inquisitive, and I was already trying to help. It wasn't good timing. There are always wards covering the shop that reduce the power of supernatural creatures by half or more as soon as they walk in the door–this only lasts until they leave. The wards also alert him to our presence. It's a necessary precaution for anything that may come. So when she walked in, I felt her demon, and he got a warning from the wards. After that, and some of our talks, he extended the wards to add higher tiered wizards to the list as well. The first time I saw a more powerful practitioner walk in, they scoffed once they felt the power of the wards targeting them, and they left. The look on their face was truly disgusted and appalled. It was great.

We stand and survey the shop in silence until I feel awkward. I move from behind the counter.

“I'm gonna make some rounds then take a break. Cool?”

“Yep, sounds good.” Eph says with a nod, still staring off into nothing. I make a few passes around the shop and listen to conversations to see if anyone needs help. The work here is marginally different from my old job. It's mostly the type of customer that's different. In the bookstore, you had to serve all kinds of people. People spanning all demographics, political affiliations, persuasions, everything. They all had their own niche of what they liked to read, and some weren't the best kind of people to deal with, which is a guarantee in regular retail customer service settings.

But here at the magic shop, they come in for very specific reasons. Most want magic, and some can actually wield a minor amount. For others, it's more of a placebo effect. It's not that the spells are fake or anything–Eph wouldn't do that–but we've had customers thank us when we know they had no magical ability. They think they cast a spell correctly and that their problem was magically fixed. Sometimes you fix the problem you wanted the magic for by thinking more positively and/or working harder. Regardless of skill level, very seldom does someone come into a place like this that can whip up major mojo. They most likely are part of the local Wizard's Guild if they’re at that level. That place is where real magic is learned and practiced, but you get a whole new set of rules to live by.

After my rounds, it's clear no one needs help right now so I take my break. The nice thing about having a wizard as a boss, even an ex-wizard, is that he likes the comforts magic can afford. No matter how the shop itself looks, the "break room" is palatial–and by that, I mean gigantic. Which is odd because the building is not. It's a small one story structure close to a strip mall just off a busy road. The moment I opened the door, I felt like a Dr. Who character stepping into the T.A.R.D.I.S. for the first time. I always thought I would handle dimensional manipulation better than those people, but it's easier to understand now how their brain broke for a moment and they uttered that phrase, “It's bigger on the inside.” I might have even said it myself.

Not only is it a huge space, in what should be a closet, it also has a large skylight. Sunlight is always lighting up the whole room any time of day. There are many places to sit and tables full of self-refilling food and drink. I have to say; if wizards manage to be able to control their magic and end up breaking away from the guild, that's gotta be the way to do it. I'm no caster myself but, because of my lineage, I am able to work a few minor magics. It's nothing major yet, but small things like certain location spells for inanimate objects and gathering energy for magic circles are definitely in my wheelhouse. However, I’ve taken a break from those to focus on my other abilities. Eph, though? He’s on a level all his own. He’s able to tap into the spatial and dimensional energies to cast the magic that creates this amazing relaxation area. I eventually want to pick his brain and ask him about the things he knows. From what I've seen of the stuff he does just for comfort, if he wanted to go bad, he'd be one tough customer.

Like, really tough.

I shake away the thought and grab a glass of Coke and what looks like a turkey sandwich from the table then move toward the sitting area. The chairs in here are the epitome of comfort. I never experienced real comfort until I sat in one of these chairs. They look like normal recliners, but I think these things must be made of some kind of impossible mixture of mythical creature feathers and clouds–it's like you're floating. The cushions conform to your body to the point that you don't feel like you're on anything. At least that's how Eph explained it, he said it's done by putting pressure and support in all the right places–and that's even with my feet still planted on the floor. If I were to put my feet up, I wouldn't come out again.

That actually happened the first time I took a break. Eph had to come and get me. I had fallen asleep and was dreaming of being in space, weightless and floating amongst the stars. It was the most peaceful rest I've ever had–I wanted to live there. Now, I set an alarm just in case. I also don't sit the whole time if I can help it, or I have to convince my body to get up. I sink into one of the chairs and set my drink on the table next to its arm. While scarfing down my sandwich, I scroll through the local news on my phone. I spend a lot of my time looking for any unexplainable animal attacks or strange occurrences.

There has been a certain level of anxiety to my daily life after I maimed a demon but failed to kill him. I thought out a better plan than he did and, to him, that may have been worse than the maiming. After all, they can regenerate. While this guy is strong, he is also a very cunning predator. Intelligence is a trait a lot of demons share–they love to be the smartest in the room. So, when he realized I had drawn him into confrontation with another demon and then blew him up with a mixture of his own energy and his opponent's, he vowed revenge. I had thought it was over when I saw him spiraling away, being burned by the other demon's energy. I realized I was wrong after I ran to my car thinking I was safe. But, as I was getting the car started, he slammed into it and nearly removed a tire. He seemed unstoppable. It was terrifying and evoked a primal sense of fear in me.

I’m doing it. Again, I am thinking about it. I take a drink and sit back, closing my eyes and leaning into the chair. I need to relax and this is definitely the easiest place to do so. I can't let my mind wander too much though, or the trauma of last year will catch up to me–and not just the stuff with Rhal. The more I think about the fact that he's out there somewhere, the darker my thoughts get. Taking a few deep breaths, I calm my nerves and pick up my phone to play a quick game of solitaire. It works to distract me until my break is over.