Timothy looked up from his 'Investors Business Daily' when the door opened. It only took a moment for his appraisal. Her figure was Top Ten: nice breasts, not too big and well supported, he suspected without a bra; nice waist, slender and firm under her cotton blouse; hips flaring just a little and a nice bottom. Her legs were apparently long and slender in her expensive slacks. She would obviously be welcome in any man's bed. Her light brown hair fell below her shoulders and was straight and glossy. Her blue eyes glistened under long lashes. And her makeup was subtle and perfect.
Then he remembered that her perfection had run out just south of her perky nose. She had more than enough teeth, and they all seemed to peek out through her lips. Something her parents might have had corrected. But she had more jaw than Jay Leno. No solution for that, short of a miracle. He resisted thinking she was a perfect candidate for a paper bag. She would never win a beauty contest, but she would never be lonely for male companionship.
She declined his offer of help and he went back to his paper, frowning. He had seen her in the market on a couple of Saturdays and he thought he remembered the sort of thing she shopped for. "There are a couple of new buys in space R-7 you might want to check out, Young Lady."
She looked over her shoulder and her imperfect smile was radiant nontheless. "Thanks." And she turned toward the back of the shop.
He was savoring the sight of that body when the door chime rang again. He turned to see a shriveled little man, age indeterminate, undernourished, tattered, grey skin. On his way down to 'out.' He hefted a box onto the counter and it sounded like the box weighed more than he did.
"Got some books," he panted.
Timothy's attention immediately focused on the box rather than the girl. Books were his business at the market. And his passion. Especially old books. "Want me to have a look at them?"
"That's what we're here for." The man was getting his breath. "Unless you want to buy them blind."
"Better not," Timothy smiled. He opened the top of the box and lifted out half a dozen dusty books. They were all old, most of them leather bound. The subjects weren't likely to attract much attention from the customers at the flea market. But he knew a couple of rare book sellers who might be interested. At the bottom of the box was what he thought might be an oversized cigar box. When he lifted it out he saw it was, indeed, a box, but not for cigars. It was a finely fashioned case designed as a container for a book. When he opened it he found two compartments. In one was a leather bound volume with no title. He lifted the book out and opened it carefully. The title page displayed the word "MAJIK" in large gothic letters. The index page had entries for "Potions," "Spells," "Incantations," "Receipts," "Defenses," "Cures and Remedies," and "Wonders."
He eagerly turned the page, to find a blank sheet. Another. Another. Every one of the apparently fragile pages seemed to be blank.
"It's beautiful," he said. 'But it must be an elaborate and expensive joke."
"What did you expect?"
"Some of the stuff the Table of Contents promises."
"Start at the back." The man's voice was growing stronger.
Timothy flipped the pages starting at the back. The last page was blank. The second page was a beautiful pencil sketch that featured a couple in a very intimate embrace. They were both completely naked. The next page pictured an artistic nude of a buxom and inviting blonde. As he flipped through the book it was like flipping through a catalog of 'Playboy' centerfolds. Combined with a westernized version of a Japanese 'Pillow Book.' Naked or half-dressed men and women in all the positions he'd ever imagined and several that had never occurred to him.
"Unbelievable."
"Different."
"Unique."
"And valuable."
Timothy began leafing through the book from the front and was amazed that every page was blank again. He looked up at the man. "Are you some sort of hypnotist?"
"Not any more. It's in the book."
Timothy didn't pursue the subject. His attention was caught by the velvet pouch, which seemed to be squirming in the narrow compartment along the spine.
"What's this?"
"See for yourself."
Timothy picked up the pouch and tipped the open end toward his hand. At first he thought the object was a large black feather, but it was too heavy for a feather. And too solid. And it seemed to be warm. "What is this?"
"It looks like a writing stone." The words didn't come from the man. Instead they came from the blonde who had brought two small carvings to the desk. "May I see it?" She held out her hand.
As he reached to give it to her, Timothy felt the stone move in his hand. And when she tried to take it, it seemed to be glued to his fingers.
"Sorry," he said. "There must be some glue on it." But he held up his hand so the girl could study the carving.
"It's exquisite. Is it for sale?"
"I'm still negotiating," Timothy said, quickly. "No idea what the price might be." He tried to smile, but he was still confused by the whole situation.
The girl dug in her purse. "Well, you know I collect carvings. I'm Joyce Tompkins. When you put it on the market, please give me right of first refusal." She handed him a business card and turned away to let another clerk ring up her purchases and she soon exited the shop.
Timothy realized the stone was no longer sticking to his fingers. He looked at the man.
