The bell above the door didn’t ring.

  It sighed.

  Which was weird—because I was pretty sure it only sighed for me, and also because it was just a rusty scrap of metal nailed to a beam

  In walked a man who looked like the living embodiment of a warm cup of tea.

  His eyebrows drooped past his chin. His robe was ten layers of beige. He smelled faintly of ink, dust, and strongly-worded memos.

  Vaarg looked up - then actually stood up.

  “Guildmaster Evernod,” Vaarg said, bowing slightly.

  The old man gave a kindly chuckle. “No need for that, my boy. Just here on a teensy check-in. Routine business. Union for the Guild of Guildmasters and all. You know how it is.”

  He pulled a clipboard out of his sleeve. It was too large to fit, but reality gave him a polite exception.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  Vaarg’s looked suspiciously similar.

  In fact - I was almost certain it was the same.

  Vaarg cleared his throat and stuffed his clipboard behind the counter where I couldn’t see it.

  I leaned around a shelf to get a better look.

  It was exactly the same.

  “Bit of a stir,” the Guildmaster continued, flipping pages that didn’t seem to be written in ink so much as remembered. “One of our junior guildmasters—bit high-strung, nose like a pickaxe—went missing. Reports say she was last seen… here.”

  He looked around, blinking slowly.

  The store creaked.

  One of the walls rearranged its bricks slightly, trying to look innocent.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Evernod said brightly, as a jar behind him tried to crawl away.

  “She is the new guildmaster for the,” - he took a moment to look at a note on his clipboard - “The Guild of Returns—Keepers of the Grand Receipt, Paladins of the Eternal Refund and Vanquishers of Voided Warranties.” He looked up. “Wow isn’t that a mouthful! Anyway, she takes her position a bit too seriously, but we all did when we were young,” he laughed jovially.

  Vaarg pulled at his collar with a nervous chuckle, sweat beading on his nose.

  “That’s an actual Guild?” He asked weakly.

  “So it seems,” Evernod acquiesced. “Not everyone should start a guild - but that is beside the point.”

  He turned his clipboard sideways, then upside-down, as if trying to remember which way the story went.

  A few pages tried to wriggle free but were quickly subdued by a sharp tsk from his pen.

  “The thing is, she filed a formal grievance last week,” he went on. “Claiming your establishment was… let me see here… ‘harboring aberrant artifacts, engaging in enchantments of uncertain legality, and displaying a general attitude of smug uncooperativeness.’” He looked up with a soft smile. “I love the enthusiasm of youth.”

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  I blinked. “Did she say smug?”

  “She underlined it,” Evernod confirmed.

  I coughed slightly.

  She described Vaarg perfectly.

  With no wasted words.

  Formidable.

  A low thrum passed through the floor. One of the books on the top shelf shivered, sneezed, and then turned to face the wall.

  “Of course,” the old Guildmaster went on, as if we hadn’t just witnessed a minor haunting, “the report was never formally submitted. She seems to have vanished before she could file the proper form. Triplicate, you know.”

  He levied a stare at Vaarg.

  I hoped I mastered a stare like that in my old age.

  Vaarg cleared his throat, then again, louder - like he was trying to cough up plausible deniability.

  “And, ah, what exactly does this check-in involve?”

  “Oh, just a quick look around.” Evernod smiled gently, and his pen clicked itself. “A few boxes ticked, a few questions asked. Entirely painless.”

  His eyes swept the room.

  I suddenly became very aware of the ticking jar behind me.

  It didn’t usually tick.

  “I trust,” he said, now peering at a particularly dusty corner where the shadows moved like they were embarrassed to be seen, “that everything here is… above board?”

  Vaarg opened his mouth.

  The broom closet rattled.

  We all stared at it.

  Evernod adjusted his spectacles.

  The rattling stopped.

  There was a long silence.

  Then Evernod beamed. “Excellent! Well then. Unless anything else comes up, I’ll just need your signatures and a small vial of blood—purely symbolic.”

  “Symbolic of what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “Oh, nothing in particular. Tradition, mostly.” He waved a hand. “Could be worse. The Guild of Ink-Gilded Notaries requires a footnote in your own soul. Dreadfully inefficient.”

  He held out a silver pen, and the clipboard.

  Vaarg reached out to sign.

  “Ah - actually, not you!” Evernod said - as if an afterthought.

  He turned to me with a smile.

  It felt like the weight of an ocean engulfed me.

  He handed me the clipboard.

  On the paper was the rune for fire.

  The exact rune Vaarg had handed to me.

  I glanced up, the old man’s eyes piercing my very soul.

  I gulped.

  I looked up at Vaarg, only to see him -

  Holding Stupid and tickling her nose with a feather?

  Stupid sneezed.

  And flash-banged everyone.

  When the pink fog cleared, Stupid was gone.

  Which, frankly, was even more concerning than when she was there.

  And there sat Vaarg, the perfect picture of innocence.

  Which was a sign in and of itself.

  The clipboard now had a Stupid-shaped, magic-cannonball-sized hole punched clean through the middle.

  Evernod blinked at the paper - then laughed as he took his pin and clipboard back.

  “Oh Vaarg - it has been most wonderful to see you!” He wiped a tear from his eye, all smiles.

  “Lovely shop you have here. Terrible energy. Must come again.”

  “Oh - and Beeg,” he glanced over his shoulder, “I am sure we will speak soon.”

  With that, he turned and stepped out the door.

  The bell didn’t ring.

  It sighed.

  Which now made so much more sense.

  The door had better judgment than I.