“Get in, shitbags! We’re gonna do something weird today!” Baph yelled as she continued to hammer on the horn of her shitty VW van as the three of us made the hungover death march of the five feet between Kev’s front door and the car. We stumbled into the back onto the plush seats one by one, desperate to find any sunglasses or just protection from the cruel world. Everything was too loud and too bright and goddammit, she was honking the horn just to mess with us, wasn’t she? 

I had come home from Nemo's last night and found that my partners in crime had been getting equally plastered at home. They decided to watch Almost Famous and drink every time someone was drinking on the screen. Poor bastards. I was worried for a moment that they were going to scold me for being drunk.

“Baph, I swear to God I’m gonna puke directly on you,” I mumbled, trying to sound as menacing as possible. “I’m going to go all Linda Blaire and just projectile chuck and you’re going to show up to your weird cursed trinket dealer all covered in vomit. He’ll be like, ‘Where’d the vomit come from, Baph?’ And you’ll just have to tell them how you fucked around and found out.”

“Ugh, you’re being more annoying than her now. Justin shut up.” Chris had his face in his hands, which wasn’t that surprising. After I’d come home from drinking with Baph, I’d convinced my bandmates to stop practicing drinking for a moment and play Wheel of Shots. Chris just couldn’t stop landing on the particularly rough liquors. 

“Ladies, ladies, no fighting.” Baph slung a large bag back from the passenger seat. “I’ve brought the cure to all that ails you. I had a feeling that none of you were going to have eaten breakfast, so I made sure to get extra biscuits.”

For those of you not from the South, I need to take a moment to explain exactly what Bojangles is and why it is mana from the gods. Born in North Carolina, God bless it, Bojangles have been serving chicken and biscuits for decades. But unlike Popeyes, whose biscuits are basically just a little puck of inedible bread, or KFC, who we aren’t even going to devote more words to as it would be an insult to the concept of biscuits in general, Bojangles biscuits are Good. Like capital G Good for your heart and soul. They’re salty, buttery, have a great little crisp outside and are fluffy and warm on the inside. 

And then they fuckin’ put other stuff on it. Delicious egg or fried chicken or sausage if you were a total pervert. We tore open the bag, hungry scavengers desperately searching for the food inside. Baph always seemed to remember our favorites, and also just to remind us to eat in general. Food was hard! Sometimes I would just get so excited to listen to music or play a song that eating was towards the bottom of my list of priorities. Or, in this case, sometimes you wake up five minutes before you’re supposed to be picked up. You roll out of bed. Avoid looking at your hungover mess in the mirror. Shave. And find the least dirty clothes that you have left behind at your friend’s house. I mean, I basically already lived with Kev anyway, even if I hadn’t moved in. 

There were still a few major important things that I had left at my parents’ house, and I wanted to still have a presence there so that I could draw some of their attention away from my brother. It was hard to get mad at him for dropping law for baking when your other son only cared enough to slink home once or twice a week smelling like who knows what. Then they’d get their snipes in about me living in the gutter with my queer little friends, and I’d be all “Well, at least I have friends outside of the cult you call a church” and we’d go a few verbal rounds. Enough to get their ire up and burning, but always focused on me. That way when Sam told them about the sick cake that he’d baked in school, or how proud his instructors were about his technique, they could take genuine joy in his accomplishments. 

Of course, I could also tell them about how my band has been steadily improving, but the first thing they’d ask is if I had a real job yet. So, I don’t tell them. I don’t have a problem with it, they’re the ones with the problem. I’m sitting here in a van going ham on a cajun filet, egg, and cheese biscuit and some Botato rounds (basically hash browns but with some onion). I’m living my best life, so fuck them, alright? 

The rest of the trip passed in silence as we continued to munch on the greasy spoils of life. 

Ever so slowly our humanity returned to us and we were amiable, productive members of society once more. Well, as much as we could be. Baph filled in the other two a little more on the plan to go to Tony’s and give his little magical doo-dad a shot. Kev was a little skeptical that we were attempting to play better with magic, or at least in his words ‘That shit always has a price, man.’ Chris seemed up to give it a shot, shrugging and saying that even if nothing happened it would be interesting to see. 

The undercarriage of the ol’ beater that Baph kept one step away from the scrap heap scraped against a small speed bump in the little strip mall, signaling our arrival. From the outside “Paws for Effect” didn’t seem like much, just a local dime a dozen thrift store. Although tucked out of the way, I’m sure I could spend an hour or two in there searching for hidden gems. Maybe they even had a retro games or record collection that hadn't been pilfered to hell and back. The major thrift stores usually got pretty well picked over by the college students looking for cheap clothes or whatever it is that college students do. Search me, never really was one. 

Baph took the lead and we ended up trailing behind her like little ducklings, entering into the store one after the other. Apparently, the gimmick of this thrift shop was it was also a place where you could adopt an abandoned puppy or kitty. All of the proceeds of the shop went to upkeep and taking care of the animals until someone could give them a nice little forever home. 

It must be nice, honestly, being in the place where you are secure enough in your life where you can take care of another living thing. As I walked past the cage, one of the cats pressed their face against the bar to get a closer look at me. It was a calico, and it made the most precious weak little mews to get my attention. For a moment I calculated how much I would have to make and what job I would need to get to wrap this little thing up in my arms and run away with it. 

I loved my life, sure. If I had my way I'd spend the rest of my life with Baph and my band. We looked out for each other in a way my family never did. But it wasn't really a home. There was a spark missing and I never really could place it. And I definitely couldn't bring it upon myself to adopt a cat and have to take care of it in a home without a spark. But.. oh my god, she was pawing at my hand trying to get my attention for more pets. Oh my god, my heart. I am a big punk dude but you can't not melt when a kitten wants attention. It's impossible. You try it.

Before I could fall in love even more with this precious furry little angel, I felt Chris tap me on the shoulder. “Uh, Baph just asked the lady at the desk if they had any special pets for adoption and now they want us to follow them down that way.” Waving goodbye to the adorable little kitty (her name would be Charlie Jane Grace, I had decided) I reluctantly followed him into a dark side room to where the magic, allegedly, happened. 

***

We walked through the back corner of the thrift shop which had the lingering smell of cat piss and old furniture. There were stacks of clothes, books, and electronic shit that not even the weirdest connoisseur of defunct appliances wouldn’t even want to pick through lining the halls waiting to get priced and shoved onto the store floors. Our whole little crew were mostly quiet, Chris was doing his antsy thing where he taps out beats when he’s nervous. Once a drummer, always a drummer. 

The whole crew stopped in front of a door marked “Storeroom” and waited while the sales assistant did her thing. The door itself looked like it had seen better days. Much like the whole store, you could politely refer to it as ‘well loved’ or less charitably ‘a real piece of shit.’ The assistant, whose name was Chloe, tapped three times on the door and waited a moment. When there was no response she shouted, “Tony, get your lazy ass out here, it’s Baph and she’s brought some weird lookin’ guys!”

That got an immediate response; the door swung open and we were face to face with the man himself, Tony. Okay, I’ll be honest here. Whenever I hear the name Tony, I just think about Tony Soprano. I can’t help myself! I never really watched the Sopranos, but it was something that one or two other friends had talked about. And film nerds on Twitter wouldn’t shut up about the fuckin’ gabagool or whatever. And James Gandolfini just looks like a prototypical Tony. Like even without seeing much of it you point at that guy and I’m like, yeah, that’s a Tony alright. 

Our Tony, the Tony behind the door? Well, I could be a gabafool, but that guy wasn’t necessarily the mystical gangster that I had painted in my head. 

He was small, maybe barely five feet. He reminded me of my teeny grandmother -- well, if my teeny grandmother was built like a brick shithouse. This guy was ripped, almost as wide as he was tall. He was balding, wrinkly, and had this look in his eye like he was someone whose time was never wasted. And if you were out there looking to waste his time, then this motherfucker was going to waste you instead. 

“Ah, well if it isn’t my favorite little reprobate! Baphomet, come on in. I’ve got some coffee, and please introduce me to your friends!” Yet another surprise, his croaky voice was warm and inviting. I really need to stop assuming things about people, it’s pretty not punk rock of me. Punks never try to judge a book by its cover, something that I was still trying to beat out of myself from my parents. 

Some of the nicest, most kindhearted people that I ever knew were caked head to toe in filth and did stick and pokes for a living. I mean look at Baph; sure, her job was nebulously legal. Okay, extremely illegal. But she never sold any of the really hard stuff. One time she took me on a delivery run and half of her weed and pill sales were to nice little old ladies who used the stuff to manage chronic pain. And if that was wrong, well, I didn’t want to be right. 

Speaking of the devil, Baph walked forward and swept the little guy up into a big hug. “Tony! You’re looking fit as ever. Did you try that new workout that I told you about?”

“Eh, I have no need for that cycling BS. Candy has got me a nice weight system rigged up with her fancyass magic shit. I’m so proud of her, she said it was a practical test. All I need is to put the weights on the bar and it will magically adjust to what I tell it. Coolest shit I ever seen!” The foulmouthed grandpa had a smile that only a boxer could love, but I couldn’t help but be excited for him. He moved like a predator, but he had this easy demeanor that seemed to scream ‘I can either be your best friend or your worst enemy.’ And god, if I could help it, I would stick with being his friend.

“That sounds sick as fuck, Tony. Alright, so this is the band that I was telling you about, and you better be nice to them because they’re my best friends, k?” Best friends? We were seriously her best friends? I mean, I guess she hung out with us all the time. And stole our food. And had movie nights with us. And would talk to us about her dreams and aspirations and that shit. But best friends? There had to be someone else out there better than us, right? Weird. “The one in the leather jacket trying desperately to look more badass than he is is Kev; don’t ask if it’s short for anything, we all just call him Kev. The big guy is Chris, and I think he could seriously give you a run for your money, Ton’. I’d love to see you two have a friendly spar, cuz this guy is all muscle.”

Chris gave a friendly wave and a light flex. “I’d love to know your routine if you want to talk sometime. I’ve tried to talk to these two about taking care of themselves a little more, but--”

“But we don’t want to become some jacked up steroid jockey, Chris. No offense, I know that’s all natural, dude. But I can’t even picture myself with muscles like that.” Kev shook his head, shuddering at the mere thought of being able to open a pickle jar on his own. 

“And finally the silent one trying to blend into the background is Justin. Say hello, Justin.”

“Hello, Justin!” I gave her my best parrot imitation with a satisfied shit-eating grin on my face.

Baph sighed and turned to the small guy. “See what I have to work with here? They’re all a total mess.”

“Ah, but they’re your total mess.” Tony smiled, “And I hear you gentlemen have a band. Do you play parties? See, my wife and I are having our fifty-year wedding anniversary and we need someone to play for us.”

Kev scoffed, “Well, our music isn’t necessarily for everyone’s consumption, y’know. We might go a little too hardcore for you. Don’t want to freak anyone out; no offense, old man.” 

“Oh, you think so, eh? When I was a younger man, I lived in New York and would go to CBGB all the time, you little shit. I can’t tell you the number of times I saw the Ramones, the Talking Heads, the Runaways, the New York Dolls. All those bands that big corporations try to sell to you fuckin’ kids on t-shirts nowadays. I fuckin’ bled in those mosh pits. Were you even alive when the club got shut down?” The kindly grandfather had quickly shifted into shitkicker mode. I hated being a total Cassandra, man. 

“Hey, it’s okay. He didn’t mean anything by it.” Baph put a hand on Tony’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down a little bit. “He’s young and stupid, aren’t you, Kev.”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot, sorry Tony.”

“See? He’s sorry. Next time he’ll think twice before he doubts your credentials. Now how about you show the guys the item that we talked about, hmm?” Baph shot Kev a look and he winced. Out of the three of us, Kev was the one who would shoot his mouth off without really thinking about it. It wasn’t his fault; impulse control didn’t always find its way into his brain. 

You never really knew what you were going to get with that guy. Was it going to be the calm and collected leader who liked to think things through, or was it going to be the brash kid that I went to middle school with? I loved both sides, but also every now and then I wanted to give him a little love slap. Just to let him know that I cared about him and he also simultaneously needed to shut the fuck up.

Tony just grunted and motioned for us to follow him. The backroom was a space full of sealed cardboard boxes, each one scribbled on with various codes, symbols, and patterns. The old man noticed that my eyes were wandering around and pointed at the merchandise. “We got all sorts of stuff in here, but it’s the kind of stuff that can attract the wrong attention. That symbol on the boxes that looks like an eyeball and shit, that’s to protect ‘em from prying eyes. Those letters are part of my index system, as well as a rating of what the fuck is in there. No offense to any of you goons, but I’m not takin’ any chances with nothin’ here. We’ve got some stuff that’ll really flip your wig. And it’s all warded to hell and back, so don’t even think about funny business.”

“I would never,” I stammered out. “I don’t even have a funny bone. No business, funny or otherwise from me.” 

Tony jabbed his thumb in my direction and looked at Baph. “I like this one, easily trained. Anyways there’s a lot more to the whole system than this, but I’m kind of simplifying it for ya. I don’t really know much more than that, Candy’s the one who really does the mystical shit around here.”

This time it was Chris’s turn to speak up. “Um, excuse me Tony, sir. Who’s Candy?”

“I am!” The closed door in the back of the mystical storage room slammed open as an amazon of a woman stepped through, hauling a trash bag behind her back like a garbage dump Santa Claus. She was tall and athletic; the light pink tracksuit that she wore looked phenomenal on her dark brown skin. She had a bright shining smile, and Tony’s nose. They we're obviously related despite the fact that she absolutely towered over him. “Grandpa, is this the test subject group for the KTs? Fuck yes, I’m so excited!” 

“Candy, sweetheart, you made it! C’mere and give your grandpa a hug!” Candy dropped the garbage bag on the floor, which led to a few stuffed animals falling out onto the ground as she rushed and picked him up into a big sweeping hug. “Ah, I missed you, little flower.”

“I missed you too, Gramps. I still cannot believe that you got a hold on not just one, but a whole trove of KTs. These things are just, well, let me just say that you’re not going to really want for buyers if we can prove that it works. Where did you even find them?”

“Ah, well, it is a secret. But who cares, you’d find out anyway. Down in Charlotte there’s this family, makes big money. They’re connected to Belk and all that shit. Anyway, word goes out that they’ve got a hoard of all kinds of rare and valuable materials in there. I know a guy who says they’re gonna be away for the weekend at a NASCAR race, so me and some friends pay their house a visit.”

“Wait,” I interjected. “These are stolen magical goods?”

“Mmhmm!” Candy chirped. 

“But… how? Aren’t wizards or magical people supposed to like -- well, I’m still wrapping my head around magic existing, honestly. But wouldn’t they take care of that stuff like all rich people do? Lock it up, have the best kind of home security? All of that?”

Candy shook her head. “Well, kind of, but not really. Most old money magical families are so entrenched in the magical side of things that that’s all they really care about. They have their place sealed up tighter than Fort Knox, but only for spells and ill intent. These people have been around magic their whole life, and if you only have a hammer every problem is a nail.”

“Which very much helps because I have a hammer and I’m not really afraid to use it,” Tony chuckled. “Well, really it’s a crowbar, but ultimately it’s the same principle. They’re not really set up for a smash ‘n’ grab. Candy lets me know about any potential high profile target. She heard from a friend who heard from a friend that the Spencer family had been hoarding a powerful magical resource because they were worried that more people were ‘abusing it’ or whatever. Which in rich asshole speak really means that something about the status quo was changin’ and they didn’t like it. And hey, knowing that they’re NASCAR fans made it even easier to break it. Less guilt. NASCAR fans aren’t really people.” 

Candy nodded. “Mmhmm! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m so excited. Are you all excited?”

We looked at each other and nodded, still not entirely sure what we were plunging ourselves into. Kev looked the most nervous, but that might have been left over from getting chewed out by Tony. Chris still seemed kind of ambivalent to the whole thing, but that was just natural Chris. 

“Hey, before we experiment on my friends, can we at least talk a little bit about what’s supposed to go on here? Tony was a little cagey with me last time we met.” Baph, our savior. Ever the voice of reason, she was unafraid to speak up for us.

“Oh right, right. Sorry. I’m just so excited to get a chance to practice this and cannot wait to help some friends out if this works for real.” Candy reached down and picked up a violet-colored stuffed elephant. “This is a Knot Thing, or a KT as most people in the magical community call it now. So it used to be this handwoven thing. The person who produced it would infuse the materials that they sewed it with with their magic as they produced it, essentially creating a handcrafted vessel for their life force. Nowadays they’re a little more mass produced, but it’s time consuming and super expensive. Well some of it is covered by healthcare, if you can afford that. But you already have to be in their secret little club to get it.” 

“Okay, but what do they actually do?” Asked Kevin.

“Right, right. That was all magical theory. Um, well ultimately they’re like…. Replacement bodies? Oh no, don’t look at me like that, we’re not going to hurt you. Say someone is hurt and not doing well, maybe they have cancer or something. The knot exists as a hollow shell to transfer their life force to. Then once that life is settled into the toy, it grows until it matches their ideal self. Most people, they don’t look that much different after using a KT. Like a very close family member and in some cases an identical twin. However, there have been some cases where people turn out completely different, particularly if their ideal self doesn’t match the body that the person previously had. Nowadays KTs have found a second market for trans people after some recent research and a really positive case study. None of y’all happen to be trans by the way, right?”

Kev and I shook our heads while Chris made a so-so motion with his hands. Huh. I had to remember to talk to him about that later. Or her. Or them? Shit, I needed to make sure that whatever happened, he needed to know he would always have a spot in the band. And in my life; dammit, Justin, think less about the band and more about your friend. 

Candy snatched the plastic bag off the ground with barely contained glee. With a wicked flourish she dumped them out on the ground with reckless abandon. A rainbow of colorful critters spilled out, and I have to admit it was mesmerizing. There was a weight to them that drew me in, a promise of something better. “Alright, well now that that’s all out of the way, what’s your favorite animal?”