As a magic-less son of a witch, owning a store full of magical objects isn't easy. But with my unhelpful rottweiler Bailey and a handful of supernatural staff, we've sold everything from elfin wedding china to a life-size dwarven statue we don't like to talk about. Everything's going smoothly until a goblin customer starts coughing up a disgusting green goo.
Combine that with a weird set of glasses that let the wearer see every type of magic and we have a serious conundrum.
Then I get a frantic call about my dog. Cheat me out of a heck of a lot of money and I'll angrily grumble but come after Bailey and you and I have a problem.
To top off the last few insane weeks the semiannual supernatural auction, where I'm selling a few things, is cancelled when someone sets fire to the building as cover to steal some of the more expensive antiques being sold, including some of mine.