The year: 2023

Dragon's Den,
Oadley,
Albion

[Marty's POV]

"Damn it!" Dwight yelped as the cutter's edge dug into his index finger. 

After approximately three minutes of struggling with the packages- without success- the delivery boy had lost his patience. Yanking the smaller of the two out of my hand, he slid a blade out of the back pocket of his pants.

Crouching next to me, crossed-legged, Dwight had taken his cap off and run his finger through his short crop, almost blinding himself with the blade peaking out of its sheath. It reminded me of a turtle taking in its surroundings. 

Just like I had done previously, he tried jabbing it in the middle as well, the only difference being that I was careful not to poke myself with the pointy end of the instrument. 

The blood from his finger dripped into the fabric, turning it an ugly shade of maroon. Both items- the package and the blade- slipped through his fingers. They landed on the floor with two small back-to-back thuds.

"Oops!" He made a derpy face. For some reason, his silly, lopsided grin made my mind conjure Henkley's golden retriever. "I am sorry. I got impatient, I guess." He picked up the package and handed it to me without looking at me.

I shrugged, "It's alright. I would have done the same thing if I were you." I picked up the knife, "You were just trying to dodge the complete destruction that would befall you if I failed to open it." 

Dwight let out a deep throaty laugh, "Yes. Let's go with that."

Subconsciously, without wiping the blood off the blade, I ran it along the edge of the package. Surprisingly, it gave way without offering resistance. 

'That's right. Blood is the key.'

I heard an unfamiliar voice from somewhere to my left. Even though I was sure it hadn't come from Dwight, I glanced at him. Sure enough, his eyes were fixed on my hands. They hadn't wondered, I was sure. Still, I had to ask. 

"Marty, you opened it! How?"

"Did you say something just now?"

As our questions overlapped, Dwight's cool blues narrowed. "Sorry, what?"

His question had answered mine. Moreover, the voice had not sounded like Dwight, so I shook my head. "Nothing." 

"The package," he stuttered, "how did you open it?" the young man asked excitedly; curiosity colored his tone. "It was like magic. In fact, this whole thing, from finding the packages to this point, everything reeks of magic."

"There is no such thing as magic." I deadpanned. I had wasted enough time and energy believing in its existence. It had brought me nothing but disappointment.

Dwight cocked his head to the left. 

Henkley's pup, Caramel, popped into my mind again. 

I wanted to pet, tickle and hug him. By him, I meant Chocolate; I absolutely did not mean Dwight. Nope. Not at all.

I have a girlfriend.

Dwight's brows crawled closer to each other, "Ummm. Good to know. Congratulations."

It was now that I realized that I had spoken my thoughts out loud.

Marty, you dim-wit!

It was my turn to avoid looking at him. Luckily, it was easy to do. After all, we had two mysterious packages to open before the 'end of the world' reached Dwight and his courier service. 

Pretending not to have heard the youngster, I made another slit at the opposite side of the box. I repeated the action till the fabric fell away to reveal a wooden box.

Silence fell over the café. Even the resident birds of the nearby oak tree stopped singing to their little ones. 

The box was secured shut with a tiny latch. It looked like an antique jewelry box. I slid the latch and opened the box to reveal an emerald-encrusted necklace.

"I knew it!" Dwight's awe-laden voice caressed the side of my face. "It must be super valuable." He added, reaching for it, but just before touching it, he stopped and cussed, "Fuck! I forgot to record the unboxing!"

"Oh. It's alright. You can record it now. Also, there is one more we need to open." I reminded him, trying to pull him out of the panic mode he had slipped into right after cursing. 

'I like this one.'

A woman's voice drifted over to me from my left and was followed by a male voice, sounding much like the one I had heard barely minutes ago. 

'Why? Is it because he uses filthy words or because he is handsome?'

'Both. Do you have a problem with that, Merlin?' 

For some reason, the woman sounded pissed with this Merlin, whoever he was. 

"Marty. Hey. Earth to Marty Wyllt. Can you hear me?" 

I was hearing voices. I was sure of it now. There were two. I recalled what Mum had said about how I had become obsessed with the old coffee table when I was a mere toddler. My eyes drifted over to the furniture that occupied the left corner of our café. 

I had come close to discarding it many times. However, something always came up at that very moment, making me forget about the almost useless piece of furniture that did nothing but take up space in our tiny café. 

Recently, however, I had given up trying to get rid of it. Instead, it now served as a place to display our customized mugs and other accessories that Henkley's mother had generously designed for us. 

I remember it like it was yesterday when Jodi, Hensley's Mum, had walked into the cafe and announced, "Young ones like such silly things these days, Marty. Moreover, it will serve to remind them of our charming little place whenever they look upon it." she had argued, trying to sell the 'souvenirs' to me. Jodi had looked at her creations-a bunch of key chains with the name Dragon's Den etched on it- dejectedly and muttered, "Well, can't you at least give them a chance? You never know; they might bring you luck. Lord knows you lads need it."

The next time she arrived with cookies to see how the café was doing, she left a happy woman believing we had sold two of her creations.

"I knew it! I knew they would sell. Didn't I tell you they would sell!?" She had chirped, rubbing her palms before practically waltzing out of the cafe. 

We hadn't thought it necessary to inform her that the ones who had bought her creations were none other than her son and me.

"Marty? Dude, stop scaring me. Snap out of it." 

Dwight's voice and the way he was shaking my shoulders brought me out of my thoughts. He looked genuinely concerned. It was an expression I had rarely seen directed at me. It touched me more than it should have. Once again, I dismissed the feeling.

I was not attracted to him, at least not romantically. I was not gay. I had a girlfriend. 

"Sorry, I just remembered; I forgot to pay this month's electricity bill." I lied. Placing the jewelry box aside, I reached for the other package. To my surprise, this time, it felt light as a feather. 

There is no such thing as magic. There is no such thing as-

'Blood, boy. Use blood.'

I heard the male's voice again. What had the woman called him? Ah. Yes. Merlin. He sounded frustrated. 

Wait, was Merlin referring me? Was I 'the boy'!? 

'I am sure the gorgeous boy wouldn't mind helping him with it. Why isn't he asking for it? Do you think he hasn't understood how it's supposed to be done yet?'

'Morgana, let's be honest. It is unlikely that the boy has figured it out yet.'

"Hey, Dwight, how is the wound?" I asked the brunette, who, by the looks of it, had forgotten about his injured finger. Without waiting for his response, I grabbed his hand and pinched the area, making him wince and pull it back. He cradled his hand and pouted. His brows crept closer, and he opened his mouth, probably to demand an answer for my mean conduct. To avoid suspicion and save my image, I gasped at the blood gushing out of the wound and gasped, "I am so sorry! I am such a clutz."

Running my fingers over it lightly, I made it look like I was wiping it on the discarded packing material, where in fact, I was smearing it on the blade. Once sure it was enough to take care of the second package, I helped Dwight up and to the sink. 

A few minutes later, with the wound cleaned and dressed, we returned to the problem: unwrapping the package. 

"Here," I handed Dwight his phone, "Don't forget to record the unboxing," I warned, making him forget about his injury again.

Adjusting the angle and other settings, he threw me a thumbs-up sign, "Rolling!" He announced with a bright grin. It transformed his already above-average face into something majestic. 

Without much ado, I took the blade to the fabric and exposed the contents of the second mystery box. 

"What the bloody hell is that?" Dwight demanded. Whatever he hoped to find in the package, this was not it.

"I have no freaking idea." I shrugged. All I knew was that soon after holding it, I had started hearing voices in my head.

I couldn't tell Dwight about that, though, could I?

Dwight pursed his lips in concentration. "That was super anticlimactic if you ask me. Why would anyone send you a piece of wood?" 

When I said nothing and continued to stare at the item with confusion, he pressed on, "Well, let's look on the bright side. At least I am not dead, I mean totally destroyed." His eyes met mine, "It was nice meeting you." He looked out the window where the first rays of the sun weaved through the lush green leaves of the oak tree stationed right in our line of sight. He sighed, "If you figure out what they are-"

"I will let you know..." I finished for him and pretended to read his name off his tag.

"Dwight. I am Dwight Peyton." He gave me one of his toothy smiles again and offered me his hand, "I know it's belated, but Marty, it was nice to meet you."

"Same," I replied. 

I wanted him to stay, but I had no reason to ask that of him. 

I wanted to ask him for his number, but it didn't feel appropriate. 

I watched him wave, turn his heel, and leave. My eyes followed him till he dropped off from my line of sight. Then I turned to objects I had unboxed not long ago; shoving them in my cubby under the cash counter, I forgot about them till night when I usually closed shop.