It was Tuesday, and I wasn't the biggest fan of Tuesdays. I, like every other sophomore high schooler-slash-high schooler in general, hated Mondays much, much more. However, I, unlike everyone else, had a job Tuesday to Thursday, with Friday off, and the weekend working before getting Monday off. Weird schedule, amiright?
Well, not everyone had a job working for the neighborhood kook in his weird magic shop.
That wasn't so much an exaggeration as you might've believed. See, magic is… well… it's fucking real, okay. Smoke and mirrors be damned, I've seen some eye popping, faith in God testing, no other explanation available kinda shit done with a piece of chalk and a can of Morton's salt.
My boss was a nice enough old man, if a bit smelly at times due to potions and other such nonsense. If I needed to watch my sisters or babysit my niece, he'd happily close shop early or man the counter himself if one of his fellow magi were coming by. I liked him, and the front of the store was a front so, bonus, no selling jars of eye of newt or some other real magical boosters, charms and stuff. However, every now and then, someone would come by looking for that stuff, real magi, and he'd take them into the back, soundproof spell the room and serve them tea and crumpets.
I assume, at any rate. That's right, I knew I worked in a real magic shop, knew a real wizard and he didn't wipe my mind or anything. It was a bit of our unspoken agreement; he had money and an open position for someone to work his gag-gift magic shop so he could do his real magic and deal with his real customers, and I wanted money and could keep my mouth shut rather well. This usually went both ways; I don't ask or tell his business too often, but one of my few questions back when I had first started and a while after I learned the truth earned me a scolding when I asked him how magic worked.
“It's magic, I don't have to explain shit!” he yelled in my face. I didn't flinch, apologize or demand answers; I simply nodded.
“Understood; magic shop is for you and those other magi, joke shop is for me and the dopes who come in the front.”
He grumbled and mumbled darkly on his way back into his lair, but came out as I was getting ready to leave for home. He apologized for the yelling, even offered to teach me a bit about magic, not how to do actual magic of course, but I denied. His business was magic, mine was high school, part time job in a magic shop and my family.
Since then, our relationship has been rather friendly; I'd chat with him about topics that bordered very lightly on true magic, such as astronomy or zoology, and he'd helped me study for the occasional test. No memory potions, although he joked about taking one every evening to keep himself sharp, just pointers and perceptive on math, history, language arts and so on.
I wouldn't call us friends, but we get along well for having an employee/employer relationship. However, on that Tuesday, I had to leave early, having received his okay of course, to…
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