Page 25 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“Not legally, no. Spiritually, the case is stronger.”

I laughed despite myself. “I really should pay you more.”

“And I should stop wearing chartreuse with my complexion, but here we both are.” She pointed at the register. “Do you want it or would you like me to call my nephew the dentist? He’ll pay market value and would love to tell you all about it.”

Sighing, I took out my wallet. There was no winning when Octavia had chosen benevolence as a weapon.

“Fine,” I said. “But when I get paid next week, I’m buying a coat and overpaying on purpose.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I have a camel hair number with your name on it and at least one previous owner’s secrets in the lining.”

“That does sound like me.” I handed her the money. She rang it up with ceremony entirely disproportionate to the amount, then slid the little box back across the counter toward me. Max chuffed in approval.

Octavia looked down at him. “And you, sir, have an excellent eye. Better than half the men I dated in the seventies.”

Max accepted this as his due.

I tucked the case into my bag, an odd little thrill settling under my ribs. It wasn’t just from the thrill, though that was part of it, but the ridiculous generosity of an old woman with strong opinions and independent pricing systems—an old woman who knew me. It reminded me that sometimes life did still hand you something lovely.

As Max and I turned toward the door, Octavia called after me, “If that thing inside is cursed, bring it back.”

I looked over my shoulder. “What if it’s useful?”

“Then keep it and marry rich.”

“That’s always your answer.”

“And yet you never listen.”

Max’s tail wagged once. Apparently, the matter remained under active review. We stepped back out onto the street, three dollars lighter and, in ways that mattered much more, absurdly rich.

By the time Max and I got home, the city had donned its shiny nighttime costume.

My building’s front door resisted the first push, and the stairwell smelled faintly of somebody’s aggressively seasoned dinner. When I got the apartment door open and Max trotted inside ahead of me with his usual purposeful sweep of the place, my body immediately unclenched. I loved the city, but I was so grateful to be home.

I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door and kicked off my boots. “Okay,” I told Max. “Let’s assess the damage.”

He sat in the middle of the rug and watched me.

After putting the little ivory case on the table, I went through my Sunday night routine. I changed into sleep shorts and one of my college T-shirts, fed Max his dinner, washed my face, and laid out my outfit for tomorrow on the chair by the bed: navy trousers, cream blouse, green silk scarf.

When that was done, I went back to the case, grabbing a cloth to clean it.

There was something almost ceremonial about small discoveries when you lived the way I did. I never tore into them. I wanted to earn them first.

Max had settled half under the coffee table, chin between his paws, but the second I sat and picked up the case, his ears tipped forward.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “You found it. Your instincts are unparalleled. You’re Indiana Jones in dog form.”

His tail thumped once.

The case was prettier when it was clean than it had been under the dust it had accumulated in the thrift store. Still singed at one corner, still worn smooth with age, but undeniably beautiful now that I could really look at it. I ran my thumb over the burn marks again, then opened the lid.

Inside, nestled in faded velvet, lay a necklace.

It was a simple piece and somehow lovelier for it. An old coin pendant, bronze or something close to it, hung from a slim chain that had darkened with age. The surface of the coin was worn down in places where fingers would have touched it more often, but there was still enough detail to make me think it had once been handsome in a stern, ceremonial manner. One side of the pendant was blackened at the rim, the metal uneven where fire had kissed it hard and then moved on.

It should, by all reasonable standards, and to reasonable people, have looked damaged.