“Put your hands where I can see them, both of you.”

Timothy frowned and gingerly reached for a stray piece of paper so he could mark his page, he hated leaving creases in his books. The robber leveled the shotgun at him warily. Assistant stood completely still except for sharp twitches at the tip of her tail, she was tense and ready to leap the moment she saw an opening.

With a long suffering sigh the satyr closed his book carefully. “Sir or madam, I can never tell these days, the fact that you somehow bypassed my wards and you don't seem surprised by the staff working behind the counter, it leads me to believe that you are aware of the nature of this store. Am I correct in this assumption?”

The barrel of the shotgun quivered. The most surprising thing about the thief is that he seemed like a child, or at least young by human standards. Twenty at the oldest. How could someone so young break the seals that prevented anyone but paying customers and help from entering – and then after such a display of power choose to use a crude gunpowder weapon in a robbery attempt?

“Tim?” Assistant hissed the word and the barrel of the gun swung at her.

The satyr steepled his hands across the book and shook his head faintly at Assistant. “Yes yes yes, you have a firearm. Now if you would be so kind as to tell us what exactly you want?”

The boy's finger stroked the trigger. “Firstly tell your guard dog to back off.” He licked his lips nervously. “Then I want you to hand over your money.”

“Back off, guard dog,” Timothy murmured to Assistant. Her ears flattened and she relaxed a fraction. “As for money, we don't have any.”

“What the hell do you mean? You should have tons of it!” The shotgun barrel swung back and stared down at the satyr. “I'll blow your head off and take it.”

Timothy sighed, suddenly feeling as if he were trying to explain something glaringly obvious to a particularly dull child. “We are a magic shop. Magicians do not pay for things with cash. They pay in favors, in trade, in spells, or they simply expend chunks of their energy into keeping this place running. The only magicians with wealth are the ones who invest in smoke and mirrors.” He glanced at the assistant. “If you will refrain from blowing holes in my staff members or property I'll be more than happy to let you look in the till yourself.”

The boy looked dubious as the satyr pushed against the table and rolled his seat back enough to unlock a drawer set into the shelf. He pulled it open and yanked it loose, then in one neat motion he dumped the entire contents of it out. It contained a few shiny stones, a piece of bright red string, a few folded pieces of paper, some dried flowers, and a very confused albino mouse.

Timothy hardly blinked as he heard the shotgun's hammer click back. “I don't have a safe either, that's what you were going to demand to see next, correct? The items that I am paid in either get traded out again, put on the shelves, or are intangible.”

In reply, the shotgun fired, pulping a cluster of books behind the shelf. The burglar shouted a demand or a threat, but the blast had deafened him.

The satyr slowly rose to stand in the stool, his black hooves splayed over the cherrywood. His gaze leveled on the would-be robber. Assistant gaped at the tattered remains, and then gaped at the robber as if he'd hit the satyr's mother.

“You...” Timothy's skin reddened. “You shot my BOOKS.”

---

The mouse skittered across the countertop. Assistant was expending her pent up frustration by darting a hand in the mouse's path every time it came close to the table's edge and swatting it back to the center of the counter. The damaged books were piled on the floor, divided into ones could be repaired and ones that were beyond saving. Timothy would set Assistant to mending them later, but for now she needed to vent a little bit of those predator urges before she bit the next customer.

He would never know for certain, but Timothy suspected the robber was an apprentice who had stolen a lockbreak spell and thought he could rob the place by mundane means, or else was handed the spell and told he could make a fortune by a magic user who felt like pulling a prank. He didn't have any of the signs of being a thrall so that was out. Anyway, it didn't matter anymore.

The satyr put the last of the items he had upended from his junk drawer back in their place and carefully slid it into the counter once again. He'd been honest enough about the absence of money even if he neglected to mention the locked chest of gold coins that he 'traded' for spells. Still, it wasn't a safe, and it wasn't modern currency.

He studied the mouse sitting in the drawer. At least the familiar put up as collateral would have some company, just as soon as Assistant finished smacking the new mouse around.



Copic marker, ink, and gelpen on heavy 4x6 cardstock. This image is available for sale.