“Fix this.” Someone said in a demanding tone, slamming a rusted chest, which seemed about a hundred years old, onto my desk. I rolled my eyes and brought my feet up next to the chest in my desk, leaning into my chair. My signature braid fell onto my shoulder and I chewed on the toothpick in my mouth and looked up to face the person. But what I saw made my jaw drop and the toothpick fell without a sound. Well, at least I didn’t hear it, I’m sure it made a small thud, but I was so shocked at the person I was looking at and the chest in front of me, I couldn’t hear anything. It was a witch. Definitely. No, witches are girls. But still, this witch, wizard, thingy, person was familiar. I was slightly aware of the hushed silence in my shop. “Fix it!” The man demanded, his black cloak swishing behind him. “I- what is it?” I stared, knowing it was probably rude, but I couldn’t help it. “Just a chest, dimwit.” The man said, betraying nothing in his eyes or tone. But somehow I knew this was not just a chest. Something weird is going on in my little repair shop. Something inexplicable. Something magical.