It's been ages since I've blogged. That said, I have been writing. This is somewhere in the middle of an idea that I have.

            The Devil’s Dilemma was not the kind of establishment Allison had ever imagined herself frequenting. In fact, the large, red devil’s head on the sign was enough to prevent her from crossing the threshold entirely. Allison reminded herself that Louisa’s instructions were very specific. She took a deep breath and entered.

            The proprietor greeted her immediately. The red-faced man had a prominent nose and chin. He wore his graying hair styled into points on either side of his crown, like a devil’s horns. There was no subtlety in his appearance. Allison tried not to stare.

            “I am Mr. Cruz.” He announced with a flourish. “Welcome to The Devil’s Dilemma!” He bowed deeply and without skipping a beat, took Allison by the hand and led her into the heart of the shop.

            The displays within The Devil’s Dilemma consisted of an odd mix between what one would find in an antique shop and an electronics repair shop. Some of the items appeared positively ancient. Others looked shiny and new. A smart phone (still in its packaging) lay next to a rusted hammer. Allison spotted the mounted head of a water buffalo hanging on the wall above an old-fashioned console television, complete with rabbit ears. The organization made no sense. Or probably it made no sense to anyone with the exception of Mr. Cruz, who appeared to know every inch of the place. It didn’t take long for Allison to suspect that every item was placed just as it was for a specific purpose.

            “Here,” he suggested, picking up a jewel encrusted tiara, “This should be perfect for a beautiful young lady such as yourself!” He offered the tiara to Allison, but she kept her hands down at her side.

            “It’s lovely, but I’m not a tiara kind of girl.” She answered, remembering what Louisa had told her. She would be drawn to the item that would aid her most, and was to touch nothing until she was certain. The tiara held no such appeal.

            Mr. Cruz led her around display tables and cases, showing her an assortment of objects. Allison politely acknowledged each, but never ventured to examine any of them, no matter how much the proprietor insisted.

            “You are obviously here by referral.” He frowned.

            “Mmm hmm.” Allison replied vaguely. He had guessed that she had been warned of his tricks and was obviously fishing to find out who had revealed his secrets. It was no matter to Allison. She wouldn’t give up Louisa.

            The proprietor changed tactics, opting to follow her around as she perused the contents of the dusty little shop. Every once in awhile he would draw her attention back to an object she had just passed. It finally dawned on her that Mr. Cruz was trying very hard to lead her away from one particular corner. The more he tried to keep her away, the more drawn she was to it.

            The more she insisted in moving toward that corner, the more agitated Mr. Cruz became, and the more agitated he became, the redder his face appeared, making him look even more like the devil that adorned the sign outside the little shop. Allison grew uneasy as the pitch of the man’s voice became higher. But she knew the rules. Once a customer entered his shop, he could persuade- even tempt the buyer- but he couldn’t force a sale. The customer was always right.

            Allison pushed past the proprietor to a bookshelf leaning against the back wall. There wasn’t a lot there. Nothing was particularly hidden. So what was it that he didn’t want her to see?

            Just as Louisa had told her, Allison knew immediately what it was that she was here to buy. A short stack of books lay on one of the shelves, a coat of dust covering them, as if books were the least desirable of all the treasures to be found in the magical junk shop.

            “I love to read.” Allison ventured.

            Mr. Cruz picked up the red book on top. It had a soft leather cover tied shut with a beaded ribbon. “An excellent choice!” he praised, gesturing for Allison to pick it up.

            “I would like to know what it is I am getting.” She hinted. Knowing that it was no use trying to trick her, Mr. Cruz untied the ribbon and opened the book, turning the pages slowly so that Allison could get a good look. It was a book of colorful illustrations. Shining palaces topped with silver minarets surrounded by sandy deserts and shimmering oases adorned the pages. It was utterly magical and indeed, very tempting. But Allison was not drawn to this book.

            “As stunning as it is,” Allison complimented, “I enjoy a book with a little more reading so I can let my own imagination do the illustrating.”

            “Of course.” The proprietor replied, setting aside the red book and picking up the next one on the stack.

            It was a thin, yellow hardbound book. As the proprietor thumbed through the pages, Allison looked over his shoulder, noting that this was written in the form of a script. “You’ll see,” Mr. Cruz indicated a page in the front “It is signed by the author.”

            Allison noticed the signature of William Shakespeare. In any other world, she would doubt the authenticity of a bound tome signed by a sixteenth century writer, but here in the gyre, it did not seem at all out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, this was not the object that Allison desired.

            “Tempting.” She answered, leaning in, “But what about the green one?”

            Was it her imagination? Or did Mr. Cruz visibly relax when she suggested the next book in the stack? Allison reached for the third book before she could be shown the contents. Instead of taking it, however, Allison pushed her hand toward the proprietor’s wrist, knocking the book from his grasp.

            “Excuse my clumsiness.” Allison apologized.

            “No harm done.” He smiled, reaching down to pick up the dropped item.

            Quickly, Allison reached over his hunched back and scooped up the object that had drawn her attention: a small, worn, leather bound journal in black.

            The older man’s face fell when he realized what Allison held in her hand.

            “I don’t think you can afford that one.” He scowled. “It’s a valuable object of powerful magic. Much too powerful for you, I think.”

            His expression made Allison fearful. Louisa had said he could do no real harm, but at this moment she wasn’t so sure. She only hoped that Louisa was right about this -and the method of payment. If she lacked the funds for the exchange, she would be in breech of contract, the deal would be off and she would be in the control of Mr. Cruz.

            “I’m sure I have enough.” She responded, hoping she sounded confident.

            “One hundred twenty.” The proprietor demanded, holding out his hand for payment. Allison pulled the coin purse from her satchel. It had been empty when she had taken it from Louisa, but now it was heavy with gold. She poured the contents into Mr. Cruz’s hand and turned to leave.

            “There is only one hundred here!” he protested. “Where is the rest?”

            Allison swallowed. Louisa had explained that the magical purse would always produce exactly what was needed. No more, no less. She straightened her shoulders, looking down at the man, realizing only now how much shorter he was than she.

            “When I was referred to your establishment,” Allison maintained, “I was told that in spite of your rather unusual practices, you would be fair in your dealings. If I have given you one hundred, it is because one hundred is what this object is worth. I wouldn’t have you taking advantage of me just because I am young and you think I’m uninformed.”

            Mr. Cruz frowned and looked down into his palm, fingering the gold coins. For a moment, Allison wasn’t sure how she’d get out of this, but finally he waved her toward the door without a word.

            Allison breathed a sigh of relief as she exited The Devil’s Dilemma. Truth be told, she had no idea what kind of monetary system they had here in the gyre. She didn’t know the value of the coins the purse had produced. One hundred or one thousand…. It was all a mystery to her. She stuffed the now empty coin purse and the little black journal into her satchel. She would make sense of what it was and how it worked when she returned to Wisteria Cottage.