In the heart of Queens, New York, nestled between a pawn shop and a laundromat, sat a curious little establishment: the High Claw Gold & Exorcist Shop.
Sunlight filtered lazily through the windows, casting a soft glow over the empty counters and idle shelves.
Garfield lay sprawled like a loaf of laziness on a sponge cushion atop the main counter. His tail gave the occasional flick, but otherwise he seemed to be in a deep, meditative state only cats could achieve.
Nearby, Queenie and Baima occupied themselves with quiet boredom.
As a shop open to No-Majs, Queenie had prudently placed a Muggle-Repelling Charm around the storefront, just in case any unsuspecting New Yorkers wandered in.
Unfortunately, that also meant business had slowed to a crawl.
Actually, 'crawl' was generous.
It had been days since anyone stepped inside.
Baima, sweet and curious as ever, glanced at the slumbering feline. "My lord, you were the one who told Queenie to cast the expulsion spell."
"But if no one can see us, how will we do business?"
Garfield cracked open one golden eye, flicked an ear. "The economy's garbage this year."
"No one's coming to pawn gold unless they're desperate. And exorcisms, those aren't for ordinary folks. Only people who've brushed up against real magic can even perceive this shop."
"The ones who need us... they'll find us."
He flexed his paw, licking it idly before adding, "And when they do, I'll give them... the mark."
"The what?" Baima blinked.
Garfield tapped his sponge cushion with a flourish. "Cat paw print. It's my signature."
With that, he yawned, flopped onto his side, and resumed his nap.
Meanwhile, the shop's live stream had become something of a regular hangout for fans.
With Garfield mostly lounging around, viewers used the chat for idle conversation. The barrage of on-screen comments varied between amusement, admiration, and complaints about Garfield's utter lack of effort lately.
'I'm throwing money at the screen and nothing's happening!'
'Please do something. Even your naps are getting boring.'
'Day 5 of no plot. I'm begging for a ghost attack. Anything.'
Garfield twitched in his sleep. Pandora's voice crackled in his mind like a lazy radio signal.
"You seeing this mess?" She sighed.
"You're bleeding viewers."
"I'm not running a charity." Garfield grumbled. "They throw money at me anyway. I don't feel like I should pretend to care."
"Please. You just want to see the numbers go up!"
Garfield's tail thumped smugly. "Watching those donation digits rise makes my fur fluffier. Besides, if I ever go back to my world, I'm going to be loaded."
Pandora deadpanned. "Go back?"
"You really think that other world was your original one? Dream on, Furball."
Garfield puffed up slightly. "I never said I believed it. But I can dream of my five-star mansion, imported tuna, and warm laps every night."
"Warm laps? You mean Queenie." Pandora snorted.
Garfield didn't deny it.
He drooled slightly at the thought. Tonight, he would demand cuddles to soothe his imaginary heartbreak.
Then…
A faint buzzing sound rippled through the shop, followed by a strange scent. Garfield's nose twitched. Death. Decay. Sulfur.
His eyes snapped open.
Outside the fogged window stood a wretched-looking old man.
He wore a pressed black suit, a small black hat, and leaned on a ruby-encrusted cane. His thin smile pressed against the glass like a ghostly fingerprint.
Garfield sniffed again. Not human.
Something old.
He flicked his tail at Queenie. "Take Baima. Now."
"What's wrong?" Queenie's brow furrowed.
"Just go."
She sensed his unease and nodded. "Baima, let's go grab something from home."
"Okay!" Baima chirped, still clueless.
Once they left, the shop fell silent.
Garfield slowly sat up on the counter, back arched and eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the intruder.
The old man noticed. His grin widened.
He stepped to the door and gently pushed it open.
Jingle-jingle.
The bell rang like a death knell.
"Oh dear." The old man said softly, eyes scanning the empty shop. "Is the master not home?"
Garfield hissed low in his throat, fangs bared, fur rising along his back.
The man approached casually and reached out a hand toward Garfield's head. "You're a special little thing, aren't you?"
"I only wish to speak with your master…"
Shing!
Garfield's claws flashed~
The man flinched. Blood bloomed across the back of his hand. A perfect paw-shaped wound.
The shop fell silent.
"Touch me again… and I leave more than a scratch."
The old man stared down at his hand where Garfield's claws had slashed him, precise cuts leaking a foul stench of sulfur and rot.
"You actually scratched me?"
"This body may be a fraction of my true form, but it's still not something mere mortals can harm. What... are you?"
Garfield calmly lifted his paw again.
With a soft ripple, a dimensional tear opened beneath them.
Reality twisted inward, pulling them both into a sealed space filled with cosmic echoes and floating sigils.
Inside the dimensional space, the old man shed his disguise, his body morphing into its true, grotesque form… a hulking devil with twisted horns and skin like charred leather.
His ruby-topped cane transformed into a spear of black flame.
This was no ordinary demon.
His eyes darted around the shimmering pocket dimension.
"Kamar-Taj..." Mephisto growled. "This is their signature. Who are you?"
Garfield's gaze remained calm as a ripple of arcane energy danced across his whiskers.
"When you walk into someone else's store."
"You should introduce yourself first. But judging by the sulfur stink and that dollar-store disguise, I'd say... you're Mephisto."
The demon's hellfire eyes narrowed, then curled into a sly, dangerous smile.
A devil's smile, always one breath away from a lie… or a murder.
"So I am." Mephisto admitted, inclining his head mockingly. "But who are you, little familiar? One of the Ancient One's pets?"
Garfield chuckled, tail swaying lazily behind him. "You crossed a line today, Mephisto."
"This shop? It's under Kamar-Taj's protection. You entered it uninvited. That means... there's a price to pay."
Flames erupted along Mephisto's arms as he bared his fangs. "You think you can threaten me?"
"Even the Ancient One wouldn't challenge me lightly."
"Oh…" He purred.
"Why don't you say that to her yourself? She loves uninvited guests."
Something shifted in Mephisto's posture. For a split second, the Lord of Lies looked… nervous.
He'd thought this was just some magical cat guarding trinkets in a backwater shop. But now? An actual apprentice of the Ancient One?
Not good.
Demons like Mephisto thrived on breaking deals, but only when they could get away with it.
Against Kamar-Taj, and especially her, there were rules, even devils feared consequences.
"Well, well." Mephisto said smoothly, dialing back the menace.
"A misunderstanding, surely. No harm intended. As a gesture of goodwill… perhaps a gift?"
Garfield narrowed his eyes. "You don't offer gifts. You offer traps with glitter."
"So… what would you call fair compensation?" Mephisto gave a devilish shrug.
"Two succubi."
"…?" The demon blinked.
"Succubi? What for?"
Garfield gave him the classic you-know-why look.
Mephisto paused… then laughed, strangely delighted. "Ah, you're a naughty one. Much more fun than your teacher. I like you, cat."
"In that case." Garfield said, tail flicking in satisfaction.
"Make sure they're not fully matured. No corrupted minds. I want them young… still mischievous and not monstrous."
Mephisto chuckled again, his expression as wretched as ever. "You have peculiar tastes, but fine."
"I'll have them delivered… in three days."
"Make it two." Garfield yawned. "I hate waiting."
"Done."
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Phantom your way through a treasure trove of chapters waiting on P@treon!
PhantomDream