Pour Some Magic on Me: A Shoplifter's Guide to Wizardry, page 1
Pour Some Magic on Me
A Shoplifter’s Guide to Wizardry Book 1
Ty Burson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ty Burson
Pour Some Magic on Me
A Shoplifter’s Guide to Wizardry Book 1
© 2021, Argento Publishing, LLC
info@argentopublishing.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
TEASER: You Give Magic a Bad Name (BOOK 2)
MAKE A DIFFERENCE
BOOKS IN THE SERIES
Chapter 1
“What's that you're looking at?” Amanda asked.
“Hmm, oh, something for Trev,” I said. “He's got a birthday coming up.” I held up the Frank Frazetta book, which was big enough to dominate a coffee table. We were standing in Waldenbooks, in the Fantasy/Sci-Fi section. “He’s already got the first one,” I added.
Amanda peered over my shoulder. “You want to get him a book of van art?”
“It's not van art, dummy. It's like, fantasy art, like D & D. Trev loves this stuff. He's got it all over his room.”
Amanda took the book and flipped through some of the pages. “Okay, so this one here with the reaper-looking guy on the big, black horse? I've for sure seen this one on a van in my neighborhood.” She flipped a few more pages. “Yup, I know I’ve seen some of this artwork on vans before.”
“Well, probably. The guy's been doing fantasy and sci-fi covers for a hundred years. I'm sure his art is everywhere.”
“Uh-huh, and this chick, really?” She opened the book wide to reveal a curvy damsel in distress, clinging to some buff dude's leg. “It's like straight-up porn,” Amanda remarked.
The woman's leather thong didn't reveal much more than my best friend's booty shorts. “Pure sluttiness,” I said as I smirked at her partially exposed butt.
Amanda ran her finger under the bottom of her shorts. “It’s all tucked in there.” Then, she pushed her large boobs together. “You're just jealous.”
“And when you're all hunched over from carrying those around, I'll still be able to walk upright.” I was kind of jealous.
“That's what walkers are for,” she said.
“Yup, you’ll be scooting along with your walker dragging your deflated boobs behind you.”
“No, I won’t, because I exercise,” she countered.
“Applying baby oil by the pool does not count as exercise.”
Amanda stretched her arms into the air, jiggling everywhere as she did. “It does the way I do it.”
I looked around to see if she was attracting any of the usual admirers, but the store was mostly empty. “And,” she added, “there are other ways to work out.”
I ignored Amanda's innuendo and went back to studying the book, judging its dimensions. Amanda, for all her sexual bravado, was mostly a big flirt.
“You really going to buy that?” she said. “It looks pricey.”
Something in my reaction must have tipped her off.
“Oh, no, you're not.” Amanda looked past me to the round mirror attached to the ceiling at the back of the store. “There's, like, nobody here,” she whispered. “You'll get us caught.”
I nonchalantly put the book back on the shelf and began to wander around with Amanda reluctantly trailing behind. She was a lot less inclined to draw attention to herself now. She was right, though. There were only two other people in the store, old people, the loitering sort who never bought anything. They were certainly not the kind of people to get the attention of the cashier, who was watching us like a hawk. I could see his scowling, somewhat distorted face reflected in the mirror. Unfortunately, he wasn't some easily distractible high school kid, but an older man who had been eyeing us closely since we stepped in from the mall.
Of course, he could have been ogling us like some creepy old perv, but I hadn’t caught him checking us out when we walked in, so I didn’t think that was it. Otherwise, I might have gotten Amanda to strategically bend over somewhere. Under those circumstances, I could probably have walked out with a set of encyclopedias.
To test my theory, I maneuvered so that the heavy woman in a couch-print mumu dress was between us and the clerk. He immediately came out from behind the counter, not even hiding his suspicions. Maybe Amanda was right, and now was not a good time to try for the book. On the other hand, this guy had profiled us, assuming we were up to no good. Who was he to judge us? He didn't know I was going to try and steal a book. Just because we stroll in here with our hair all teased up and a fair amount of exposed skin doesn't make us criminals. Head bangers read too, asshole.
“Let's get out of here,” Amanda whispered as she nearly bumped into me.
I stood firm, staring at the store employee. “It's personal now.”
“It's not personal. It's not even his store; it's a chain. Here,” she began to open her purse. “I'll loan you the money.”
“Will you relax,” I said. “It's fine.”
“It's not fine. It's a coffee table book. Where're you going to hide it?”
Amanda brought up another good point. My purse wasn't a big one, barely able to hold my coin purse, lipstick, and a few other essentials, certainly not big enough to smuggle out the large book of fantasy art. I pulled at my over-sized Mötley Crüe t-shirt and offered up a reassuring smile.
“You know, if you get caught, they won't just call your mother like last time.”
“Last time? That was like…I was 12 the last time I got caught,” I reminded her.
“That's my point. You're over 18 now. You won't just get sent to juvie.”
“I'm not going to juvie—”
“Jail—”
“Whatever. I'm not going to jail for stealing a Frank Frazetta book. Why don't you wait for me at the food court? I won't be too long.”
Amanda was beginning to look guilty, and we hadn't even done anything yet. She was going to get us caught for sure. “Go on,” I urged. “I'll be fine.”
She looked so distressed, practically chewing on her lip, that I was about to call the whole thing off. She should just let me do this alone; there was a reason I hadn't gotten caught since I was 12.
“Let's just get it over with,” Amanda said quickly.
I almost told her no, but that asshole at the counter was still glaring at us, so I forged ahead with my plan. We moseyed on, stopping here and there to inspect this or that book, looking at its jacket or commenting on the cover. At the romance section, I stopped. “My mother devours these.”
“Mine too.” She held up one with a shirtless pirate cradling a half-naked woman in his arms on the cover. She opened it to a random page, “…he strode mightily aboard, daring the craven cowards to block his way. When he saw me lying helpless and stripped bare on the deck, he ordered his men to take me into his quarters. Rough hands hauled me to his cabin where I waited for my new fate. This is horrible.”
“I know. They're awful, but my mom knows more about history than any of my high school teachers.” The large woman in the circus tent took a purchase up to the counter. “Come on,” I said. “Now's our chance.”
We quickly returned to the shelves allotted to unicorns, vampires, and aliens. It would have been much easier if the books were on one of the perpendicular aisles which partially hid the customer from the front counter, but then I liked a challenge. A quick glance, and I could see the clerk taking the woman's cash. He looked my way before digging into the register.
I pulled Amanda in front of me and did my best to have her block the view from the mirror in the back. I took the book off the shelf, slipped it under my shirt, and tied the front in a knot to hold it in place. Amanda started for the exit, but I held her back.
“Wait. It’ll look too conspicuous. Head up front but don’t leave the store.”
We halted in front of a display of Stephen King’s latest bestseller, Skeleton Crew. It had a creepy monkey holding a pair of cymbals on the cover. I loved Stephen King; he was twisted
“Buying or stealing?”
“Shh, would you? Buying. I can afford a paperback copy. Now, chill out.”
“He’s coming over here,” Amanda whispered.
“He works here,” I said.
“Can I help you young ladies find anything?”
I purposefully kept my back to the clerk. The book really wasn’t hidden very well and kept flopping forward.
“I, uh, uh…” Amanda choked out.
I pointed to the horror books. “When does it come out in paperback?”
The old creep was trying to get around to my front side. I took a copy from the display. Maybe it was big enough to sort of hide the square outline poking through my shirt.
“A year, maybe two,” he said. “Depends on the author, the sales, and whether he puts out a new book.”
“Okay, cool,” Amanda said. “So, hey, Jen, my mother’s going to get here pretty soon, so maybe we should go.”
I looked at Amanda like she’d lost her mind. “We have time… Nancy.”
“Nan… oh, yeah. Sorry, um…”
I half turned to hand the Stephen King book to the suspicious clerk before heading for the door. It took a minute for Amanda to realize we were leaving. She overcompensated by bumping into me on the way out.
“Just a minute,” the man said.
Amanda started to stop, but I took her elbow and pulled her along.
“Are we going to run?” she asked.
“We’re not running. Just keep walking. Don’t turn around.”
“But he’s coming.”
“Walk. He’s not going to chase us through the mall.” But I was wrong. He did chase us through the mall. We pretended not to hear and kept moving.
“You two. Come back here!” he yelled.
A few people began to look in our direction. I kept pulling Amanda along, not at a run, but we weren’t stopping, either.
“We’re going to get caught. He’s going to call the cops on us.”
I glanced back. Sure enough, the overzealous employee had hailed mall security. By now, we were far enough away that we could make a run for it if we wanted to. That would be completely stupid, though, because we could never come back to this mall, and it was the only mall in town.
“We’ve got to run,” Amanda repeated.
“Keep walking. Go to the food court.”
“Are you crazy?” She pointed to the glass doors. “The exit is right there.” She was right. It was only a few hundred steps away. I was more scared than I was letting on; part of me wanted to bolt, too.
“Keep going,” I insisted. Stay calm. I wasn't sure if I was saying that out loud. The food court was just beyond the entrance. I could already see the different restaurants, each with its own signage and menu above the narrow counter area. We were drawn to those irresistible neon lights like bugs to the glow of a zapper. Only, I wasn't interested in a Whopper right then; I wanted to get lost in a crowd. Before we even got to the tables, however, we saw another mall cop heading us off. Of course, it was just an old, fat guy in a blue polo—the mall security uniform.
“Jen?”
“I see him.” Before either of our pursuers could get to us, I pushed Amanda to a short line in front of the Orange Julius booth. “Order us something.”
Amanda looked like a trapped rabbit. “Are you crazy?”
“Trust me.” If I got caught, I'd swear she didn't know anything about it.
I left her with her jaw hanging open and slid into a table. I could see the first security guard approaching fast and the other one was moving in as well. I didn’t have much time. As quickly as I could, I reached into my purse and plucked out a tiny, silver jewelry box. It looked like a little frog. In fact, I called it my silver frog, not super original but descriptive. I flipped open its lid, and, at the same time, pulled the book from my shirt under the table. I whispered into the empty box. For anyone watching, it probably looked like I was kissing a frog. The cops converged on me as I dropped it back into my purse. I hoped they hadn’t seen what I'd just done.
“Where’s your friend?” the older cop asked first.
I gave him a blank stare.
“She had another girl with her, according to the guy at the bookstore,” the younger one insisted.
I glanced at them both as if they were crazy, then pointed to Amanda, who was placing her order. The first cop who’d spoken gestured at the other one to go get her.
“Excuse me? What’s going on?” I asked.
“The manager at Walden says you took something. You and your friend are in big trouble.”
He was middle-aged and heavy. His polo stretched across what was probably a beer gut. He was pretty calm, though, sort of had an easy confidence about him. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Are you a real cop?”
“Was. Retired.”
“And what were we supposed to have taken?”
“Don’t be a smart ass, kid. It’s a bookstore. Now, where’s the book?” he asked as the younger mall cop returned gripping Amanda by her upper arm.
“Hey,” she was complaining, “I was about to order.”
I began to stand up. “You need to let her go.” The cop dragging Amanda was about my height and not much older.
“Hey, sit down, or--”
“Or what?” I turned, so I could face both men. “Did either of you see us take anything? No, that’s because we didn’t. And you can’t detain us any more than that guy behind the Orange Julius counter. So, l--”
“So, if you didn’t take anything,” the ex-cop interrupted, “you got nothing to worry about. But don’t screw with me, girl. I’ve got lots of ‘real cop’ friends, and they’ll be only too happy to haul your asses to jail.”
Amanda looked like she was going to lose her bowels. I sat down, and Amanda did the same. The younger guy puffed up. “Empty your purses.”
I held mine up in front of his face. It wasn’t much bigger than a standard-sized envelope, way too small to hide a book, much less a coffee table-sized one.
“Do it anyway,” he said.
I unzipped it. He must have glimpsed the silver inside because he tried to take it out. I slapped his hand away.
“Hey--”
“Hey, nothing asshole. It’s not a book.”
“She’s got something hidden in there,” he said.
“Let’s see it,” the older man said.
I was going to tell them to screw themselves, but Amanda silently pleaded with me. I took out the silver frog. When the older guy tried to grab it, I pulled it back. “It’s an heirloom; not a book.”
“I bet she stole it from somewhere else,” the younger security guard said.
“Hand it over, or I’ll make the call anyway. You might or might not be guilty, but you’ll spend the next 24 hours in jail until they let you go.”
Amanda shook her head. “I can't go to jail. My parents would kill me.”
I reluctantly handed over the silver box. The former cop studied it closely. “What is it?”
“It’s a jewelry box, like for rings. It’s my good luck charm. I didn’t steal it. You can see how old it is, nothing like it is sold in the mall.”
He ran his stubby thumb over its worn groves. Then, he set it on the table. Asshole.
“Your purse,” he said nodding to Amanda.
She immediately dumped everything right on the table. One of her lipsticks threatened to roll off. The younger guy caught it. He flushed red when he handed it back to her. Men are sheep.
“What’s under your shirt?” the older cop asked me.
I bit back the smart-assed comment and slowly stood, undoing the knot at the bottom. I pulled the shirt out like I was fanning myself. The cops didn’t even bother asking Amanda. There wasn’t enough cloth on her to hide a book of matches.
