Magic Shop Novels & Stories

"The Smith Shop in the West Base can make fake identities." "Huh? Isn't the Smith Shop for creating weapons?" She was confused. "The shop name is just for a show, master. The front sells weapons, but the back has an underground area for modifying fake identification." "As far as I know, the current year has more advanced technology. Won't we get detected that easily?" "Don't worry, master. You don't have to go there. I’ll connect to the network and create your identity in this world without a problem. I'll just add a new person to it from their birth to their current age. How old would you like to be, master?"

“Please Alpha,” “If anything goes out of line, I can’t assure you that I won’t act.” He replied calmly and I nodded. Hopefully, nothing went out of line. I exhaled deeply as I pushed the wooden door open only to be welcomed with the familiar scent of booze. One would think this place was a beer parlor but in fact, this was a gathering place for all species. It was a shop for all kinds of artifacts, weapons, grimoires, potions and of course, ingredients. Their gazes fell on us and some of the people there who knew me simply gave knowing gazes.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. There are gloves for this; it is silver, just in case you want to buy it for a loved one." "Why do you sell silver products when you know this is a pack?" I hissed. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Due to popular demand, I do have a jewellery store in the city. It just got mixed up." I shook my head, leaving the tent out of annoyance. I clutched my bag a little tighter because it was a crowded place. I trued calling Diana to know when she was coming. She told me she was already close. I stood at the place where I was supposed to wait for Sophia. While enjoying the view, as I got some apples to chew, a young girl was screaming in pain as the store owner continued to beat him to a pulp

Even a Warrior of the same level couldn't be a match for a master of these arts. However, the old man didn't expect Sebastian to remain unafraid. He even looked at him with a mocking expression. The Sacred Medicine Society had extensive records on charms. Sebastian was well-versed in them and even had a shop specializing in it, though it had been taken back by the Sutton family.

I was calling the pack house home now, I guessed. “Before we head back, do you think that we’d be able to stop in bloodmoon?” I asked, spotting a witch’s shop that had poisons and potions in the window. “If you’re fighting my father, I need to stock up on supplies to help you guys out.” They glanced at each other, and then Asher clenched his jaw and nodded. “Be quick.” Not having to be told twice, I hurried across the street and toward Witch’s Brew, which looked to be a magic shop with golden-accented windows. I glanced into the door window, then walked into the black-mystical atmosphere.

The incense smoke curled languidly through the air, twirling its way around gemstone towers and flickering candle flames. Zalindra sat behind the counter of her metaphysical shop, a quaint paradise of mystic oddities where crystals glimmered like stars trapped in glass jars, and the scent of sage and spices whispered tales of forgotten magic.

Now here he was a full grown man of probably twenty five now trying to get me in better shape than I was when I was his age. Marius returned, his facial expression had changed… it was tighter and even more focused than he had been. He nodded once at Damon. “We’ve got a possible lead. There’s a low profile blacksmith in Amber Brook reportedly sold a batch of trinkets to a rogue five days ago. The same style. No permits.” Damon’s gaze sharpened. “Trinkets? They’ve never used trinkets before, do you still think it’s a part of the ring?”

I need to find a more interesting approach with them. After thinking it over a bit, a brilliant idea hit me. I’ll take my nephews to work with me! They’ll find it insanely interesting, and I need to show up anyway to stay on top of things. A few years ago, I fully moved to the capital, where my relatives have multiplied a lot. I opened a store called “Moto-Style,” where I sell various types of motorcycles, from sport bikes and Harleys to mopeds and all kinds of parts for our two-wheeled friends. My store also has a repair service where different iron horses get serviced.

My vision blurred into a hazy mess, and my head felt like it was about to physically explode from the pressure. The sudden, splitting headache offered absolutely no relief, acting as a relentless torment that pushed me closer and closer to the very edge of breaking. Against my will, my hand reached out, unlocked the latch using the curse’s dark magic, and forced me to step inside. The shop’s interior was a gorgeous, breathtaking flirt towards classic Ottoman craftsmanship. The dark wooden floors normally gleamed beneath the weight of intricate burgundy rugs, and ornate walnut cabinets perfectly framed the glass showcases filled with priceless historical treasures.