With that cryptic statement, she finally takes her leave through the back door, leaving me alone with my thoughts as the music box continues to play a haunted melody in increasingly dramatic keys.
I move to silence it, but pause when its notes transition to a familiar tune—an old love song from the East, its notes twisted by whatever spirit possesses it.
Fitting, somehow.
Monday suddenly feels both too close and impossibly far away.
Chapter 5
Learning Curves
Aubrey
Monday morning feels likethe start of a bizarre dream. By Friday, I’m convinced reality has permanently shifted sideways.
The thing is, most of Sundar’s pawn shop operates exactly like any other—we buy, we sell, we haggle over vintage guitars andslightly battered electronics. The register works the same way as the one at my old waitressing job, and the steady stream of customers seeking quick cash for their treasures becomes routine rather quickly.
It’s the other stuff that takes getting used to.
Like how some items need to be handled with dragonhide gloves—apparently rubber just melts. Or how certain displays have to be arranged by lunar phase. Or the way Sundar can taste lies in the air when someone tries to pawn stolen goods—which, let me tell you, makes for some incredibly awkward conversations.
But the biggest adjustment isn’t the magical artifacts or mysterious clientèle.
It’s him.
“The key,” Sundar says, his voice a deep rumble that I swear I can feel in my bones, “is to recognize the difference between genuine magical resonance and simple paranormal residue.”
I try to focus on the ornate hand mirror he’s holding, I really do. I mean, if I’m going to work at a supernatural pawn shop, the information he’s trying to teach me iskindaimportant.
But his tail keeps accidentally brushing against my ankle as he shifts position, and every once in a while I brush up against a stone-hard bicep.
This isnotan ideal learning environment for a single woman trying desperately not to notice how hot her monster boss is, I can tell you that much.
“The genuine article will have a distinct…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Signature.”
“Signature,” I repeat weakly, watching his scaled fingers trace the mirror’s frame. Every movement is precise, deliberate, like he’s handling something infinitely precious. It’s distracting how elegant yet powerful his hands are. “And how exactly do I detect that?”
He moves even closer until his chest nearly touches my back. “Close your eyes.”
I do, though it’s probably a mistake. Without visual distractions, my other senses kick into overdrive. His scent surrounds me, that mysterious mix of old books and exotic spices that makes my head spin. The soft rasp of his scales against the floorboards seems impossibly loud in the quiet shop.
“Now,” he murmurs, and God, his voice should be illegal, “extend your hand. Palm down, just above the surface.”
I comply, trying to ignore how his proximity makes my skin prickle with awareness. My hand hovers over the mirror’s surface, and the air feels different here, charged with something I can’t quite explain.
“What do you feel?”
“Um.” Besides the overwhelming urge to lean back against his chest? “Sort of a… buzzing? Like static electricity, but slower?”
His pleased hum vibrates through me. “Good. That’s genuine enchantment. Now…”
His tail shifts, curling around my ankles in what has to be an unconscious gesture. The smooth scales send a jolt of electricity up my legs that has nothing to do with magical signatures. I’m aware of every point of almost-contact between us—his chest barely brushing my back when he breathes, his hands hovering near mine, his tail’s gentle touch.
“Try this one.” He must be holding something else now, though I keep my eyes firmly shut. “Compare the sensations.”
I move my hand sideways until I feel… nothing. Just empty air and the weight of his attention. The shop’s usual sounds feel distant—the tick of various clocks, the hum of the ancient ceiling fan, the muffled street noise from outside.
“I don’t—” I begin, but then there’s the faintest whisper against my palm. “Oh! It’s like… an echo? Like whatever magic was here is just a memory?”
