Book of Fates ✔

"Welcome"

Alexander stood in front of the antique store, frowning.

In the middle of the day, just above a "Welcome" sign on the door, another one was hanging. "Closed". It was... perplexing.

Narrowing his eyes, Alexander peered through the window. There was no light inside, so all that the man could see were old-fashioned clocks and brooches and silver utensils glittering in the sun.

Before leaving, Alexander automatically tried the door. It was not locked.

"What the hell..." He walked in, slowly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. "Michael, are you there?"

The owner of the store didn't answer.

All the things here were in a perfect order as always, just like in a museum. Paintings on the walls; statuettes and vases in rows on the shelves. In the gloom, everything was plunged into grotesque shadows.

"Michael?" Alexander called again, a bad feeling formed at the back of his mind.

After the noisy city, the store seemed to be deadly quiet and motionless. But soon, Alexander could hear muffled voices coming from the storeroom.

"...so where is it?" the male voice was vexed.

"I couldn't find it," Michael replied.

"What do you mean you couldn't find it? We had a deal."

"I said it would be hard, I need more time. I might know a person who-"

"I don't have any more time! I need the artifact now."

With a heavy thud, something broke and the glass shards tinkled to the floor.

"Hey, you just ruined a three hundred year old jar!" Michael cried, angry. Alexander grimaced, he knew how Michael cherished every single one of his items. They were like children to him.

"Oh, believe me, that's nothing comparing to the troubles you're about to get yourself into!.."

Alexander froze, unsure what to do. Leave? Or intervene? Or call the police? What kind of a deal Michael could possible make? Suddenly, he remembered that Michael had a gun under the counter. There's no overreacting when it comes to safety, the owner used to say. Especially, with so many relics around.

"...Don't threaten me, Leir." Michael went on. "You're going too far with it."

"You have no idea how far we can go," a female voice interjected. One more thud, one more jar smashed.

"No!"

"Where is the map?.."

The map? No way. Alexander soundly darted to the counter, fumbling for the gun. What are the odds? He talked to Michael about a map recently. A sheet of paper picturing a fantasy land. One of the few things Alexander had left from his wife. Michael assured him that it was nothing but a beautiful old drawing, that he wanted it to be in his collection, that's all. Could he be lying?

"...I said I don't know."

"You don't know where the artifact is or the person who has it?" Leir asked in a low, menacing tone.

"Both."

"Liar."

"Well, technically, he can be anywhe-" Michael voice choked off into a cough as he got punched.

"Technically," Leir hissed, "I can kill you, and get away with it. Practically, you know that."

Alexander's fingers found the grip of the gun. With his heart racing, he pulled it from under the counter and turned it over in his hands. The revolver was as antique as everything else in the store, with three bullets in. Hell if Alexander knew how to use a gun, but the sight of it should be enough, right?