Disappointingly, shelving the books went quickly, as they fit perfectly into the large, expectant gaps that lay open waiting for them, and many of them came from the same section. It appeared that we got in a new shipment of travel books. That’s what I got for shelving on a friday, a lot of new releases that no one cared to read. I frowned down at the cart, hoping that the shuffling of feet on the other side of my shelf was not what I feared.
I was wrong.
The woman stood at the counter, pale with skin that was almost paper thin and grey, frizzy hair that passed her shoulders. Her complexion was mottled, years and years of sunlight wearing down on her in the form of heavy brown blotches marring her features. Her eyes were blue, made almost royal in color in comparison with her almost completely faded eyebrows and nearly invisible eyelashes. All over her were wrinkles, ones that dominated her features like the shrunken apple-headed dolls I’d seen in craft magazines.
Clenched tightly in her fist was a wad of wrinkled cash. On the counter in front of her, a single, secondhand cookbook. Her finger repeatedly pointed to the title, her eyes wide as she attempted to pay for it, unaware that it was Emma’s very job to make sure that she didn’t leave with an item from this store.
“The book,” the woman croaked desperately, small wrinkled eyes downturned as she begged the girl. “Please.”
“Again,” Emma said with a disinterested look, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave.” Emma cast me a look, beckoning me over to eject the woman. My lungs tightened.
“No, no, no,” the woman replied, growing increasingly hysterical. “The book, I need--”
“The only thing you need is to leave, we don’t take kindly to witches--” Emma glared in my direction. “Lyra,” she demanded.
I tried to breathe, but the air didn’t fill my lungs. Hundreds of times I’d done it, and yet it didn’t get easier. And something about her, something about her genuine need for this particular cookbook, this one stupid thing-- I wished I was a bigger person, I wished I wasn’t a coward, I wished I could tell Emma to shove it because I’m--
“I’ll buy it.” A male voice carried through the shop, footsteps that I didn’t notice before growing louder until a man poked his head out of the stacks, eyes level and confident as he came into view. I was unable to even begin to process the man, I was so in awe of his disruption.
Emma fell quiet as he approached the counter, already digging in a leather wallet that he withdrew from his pants pocket. I could see small bits of eraser fall from his forest green sweater as he dug out the money, slamming it on the counter with a loud smack that ran throughout the shop. The man looked up, dark, curly bangs falling to the side as his near-black eyes met Emma’s.
“The book’s twenty, right? I can see it on the back. This is forty dollars, double the price. Give it to her.”
“Excuse me?” Emma blinked.
“This is forty dollars,” he said, gesturing to the money in front of him, the elderly woman beside him merely gaped, shocked that he would bother to stand up for her. “Books cost money, right? So I’m paying you money in order to buy this book.”
“That’s-- I---,” Emma veered around, her eyes falling on me. High pitched, she demanded, “Lyra, tell him the policy. Witches aren’t allowed to shop here!”
“She’s not shopping,” the man tsked impatiently, looking over to his newly made acquaintance with an expression that read ‘can you believe her?’ “I’m shopping. I’m buying this book, you see. What I do with it after this transaction is kinda my business, you understand? So if you don’t mind, ring it up and then hand it to the lady beside me.” He pushed the book towards her, offhandedly stating, “don’t look at the other girl like you don’t know what’s going on, ring me up.”
“I…” Emma gaped, her mind lagging far behind the situation. After a moment, she evidently completed her risk assessment, her shrill voice commanding me, “Lyra, you ring them up. I don’t want this on my hands.” Her face communicated the extra tidbit that she didn’t share, this is your fault anyway.
I swallowed, hesitantly nodding as I rounded the desk, Emma moved out of the way and walked through the door behind the desk that led to the employee breakroom. Evidently, just this was enough for the day. Scurrying behind the desk, I stared at the barcodes hesitantly, hand not yet reaching for the scanner as I contemplated whether or not this was a fireable offense.
“Well,” the man asked, his voice more even and patient than before. His voice was pleasant, an underlying warmth to it. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Good question. My hand drifted to the scanner, but my eyes did not lift up. This was likely the first time any witch had ever been checked out at Able’s. The red line went over the barcode, a reassuring beep hit the air. I took in his hands as he pushed the cash towards me again, the knuckles of his fore and middle fingers dusted with graphite. Thankfully, the money gave me something else to look at; I popped open the cash register, counting the money in my hands.
“No change,” he kept things simple. “And one of those big green bags so my new friend doesn’t get her book wet.”
I nodded, turning to mechanically bag the book while the receipt printed, shoving the piece of paper in once it was done. I twisted the top so the rain wouldn’t get in, swiveling around to look at the
