Jorren Fenwick had been many things in his life—a struggling merchant, a failed bard, an exceptionally bad gambler—but he had never expected to become a warlock. And certainly not this kind of warlock.

  “Jorren, my boy!” A voice rang out just as he was about to take a sip of his hard-earned morning ale. “Have I got a deal for you today!”

  With a resigned sigh, Jorren lowered his mug. The air around him shimmered, and with an unnecessary burst of sparkles, Slick Zyx’nor materialized in the chair opposite him. His suit—a garish patchwork of shimmering fabrics—shifted colors so violently it threatened to give Jorren a headache.

  “No,” Jorren said immediately.

  “But you haven’t even heard—”

  “No.”

  “It’s a limited time offer!” Zyx’nor insisted, slamming a glowing, rune-covered box onto the table. It jittered ominously, emitting a faint humming noise. “Behold! The Mystery Cube?! Its contents are unknown even to me! But legend tells of artifacts of great power—”

  Jorren crossed his arms. “I’m still dealing with the ‘Boots of Speed’ you convinced me to take last week. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be followed by my own personal theme music every time I walk?”

  Zyx’nor grinned. “Ah, but branding, my boy! Presence! And you’re just one sale away from a temporary boost to your powers! Who wouldn’t want a cube of mystery?”

  Jorren took a slow, deep breath. If he didn’t make a sale today, the consequences would be—

  He checked the contract, which he kept folded in his pocket. His patron had scribbled an addendum in the margins.

  “Failure to make quota: shadow will attempt to sell random objects independently.”

  As if on cue, Jorren’s shadow suddenly peeled off the ground, gave him a thumbs-up, and turned to the nearest tavern patron.

  “Sir, have you considered the many benefits of portable holes?” his shadow began, pulling out a writhing sheet of blackness from seemingly nowhere. “Perfect for storage or an emergency escape!”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The patron screamed.

  “Fine,” Jorren hissed. “I’ll sell the cube! Just—sit there quietly!”

  Zyx’nor beamed, reclining in his chair and producing a pair of spectral sunglasses. “Atta boy, Jorren. Always be closing.”

  Jorren gritted his teeth, grabbed the Mystery Cube?, and turned to the nearest unfortunate soul—a burly dwarf who had just sat down at the bar.

  “Greetings, fine sir!” Jorren began, trying not to sound like he wanted to die. “Might I interest you in an artifact of untold power?”

  The dwarf squinted at the glowing box. “What’s in it?”

  “Well, that’s the beauty of it! No one knows! But legend tells—”

  The box shook violently, and an eerie, unearthly wail leaked from within.

  Jorren swallowed. “—of great and wondrous things!”

  The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “Does it explode?”

  Jorren hesitated. “Unclear.”

  “Does it summon demons?”

  “…Possibly.”

  “Does it curse me, turn my limbs into tentacles, or make me speak only in limericks?”

  “I mean, I doubt all three at once—”

  “Pass.”

  Jorren groaned and turned back to Zyx’nor. “This is impossible! No one wants this junk!”

  Zyx’nor tsked. “You gotta create demand, Jorren. People don’t know what they need until you sell it to them.”

  At that moment, the Mystery Cube? emitted a strange purple light and let out a shrill, prolonged squeeeeeeak before abruptly falling silent.

  The tavern collectively paused.

  The dwarf frowned. “…Okay. How much?”

  Jorren blinked. “What?”

  “I don’t trust it,” the dwarf muttered. “And if I don’t trust it, I want to know what it does before someone else opens it near me.”

  Zyx’nor grinned and nudged Jorren. “See? Supply and demand.”

  Jorren slowly exhaled. “Fifty gold.”

  The dwarf slammed the coins onto the table and cautiously picked up the box. “If this thing eats my soul, I’m coming back for you.”

  “Understood,” Jorren said quickly, shoving the coins into his pocket. He turned to Zyx’nor. “Quota met. Give me my boost.”

  Zyx’nor snapped his fingers, and for a brief moment, Jorren felt a rush of eldritch energy surge through his veins. His mind cleared, his muscles tensed, and for once, he actually felt like a proper warlock.

  Then, as always, the sensation faded.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard!” Zyx’nor said cheerfully. “Now! About next week’s featured product—”

  Jorren downed the rest of his ale in one miserable gulp.

  Meanwhile, across the tavern, the dwarf hesitantly opened the Mystery Cube?.

  It let out a dramatic whoosh of air—

  —and a single chicken popped out, clucking indignantly, its feathers slightly singed and its eyes glowing with an unsettling eldritch light. It took a deep breath—then exhaled a small, but definitely real, jet of flame.

  The dwarf and Jorren locked eyes across the room.

  Jorren immediately grabbed Zyx’nor by the collar. “Run.”