I storm into Mr. Gold's shop, making the bell sound like it belongs on a fire truck.

"I need help," I say, striding to the counter.

"Don't we all?" he says from behind it, reading a book larger than Henry's. He flips a page, then glances up from it. "You look different."

"Mary Margaret took me shopping."

"Well, that was kind of her." He turns another wrinkled, crisp page. "What do you want, Miss Palmer?"

I want a lot of things, as most people do. I want a family. I want a mom and a dad. I want to be happy. I want to be a singer/songwriter. But, right now, I want to know what happened to me. "You clearly have a knack for magic. I saw that creepy stuff in the back room."

He looks up from the book again, closing it. "So, you're the one who took the pirate clothes?" He wears a smug, intimidating expression.

I sigh. "You knew it was me."

"I did." He smirks, amused by the situation. What's so humorous about me stealing from his shop? Doesn't he care?

"Why didn't you have me arrested?"

"Why would I arrest you for taking back what's rightfully yours?" What's rightfully mine?

"What are you talking about?"

"That costume. It belongs to you."

"It's a pirate outfit. Besides, how could something of mine end up in Storybrooke?"

Mr. Gold lowers his head, then brings it back up. "What do you need my help with, Miss Palmer?"

"I was looking at Henry's book, and something weird happened..." I take a deep, shuddering breath. "Light came out of it, and it... shot at me."

He straightens himself, intrigued by the mention of the supernatural. "Magic?"

"I don't know what it was," I say, avoiding his eyes.

"Do you remember anything from your past?"

"I wish people would quit asking that. I don't know what I'm supposed to remember."

He gives a mischievous grin—one that frightens me. How am I supposed to know whether he has any tricks up his sleeve? "I might have something that can help with that." He bends and pulls out a small, wooden, black box. He slides the book over and sets the box on the glass countertop.

"What is that?"

"It holds one of the many things I have collected over the centuries."

I raise an eyebrow. Centuries? He's exaggerating, right?

"All those acquisitions ended up in my shop with the curse." Mr. Gold removes the lid with a crystal nob at the center. He puts his hand inside the box and takes out something strange.

My stomach turns, and it isn't because of my late-night lasagna or because I haven't had breakfast yet. "Are these..." my head lifts to him in disgust, "bones?"

"Indeed. They belonged to your pet. In the Enchanted Forest, you carried them around with you after she was killed."

"Was I really that creepy?—Not that anything you said happened. It didn't. Magic doesn't exist."

He nods with a tight expression and a condescending grin. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"Then go ahead. Touch them. Magic is in everything, especially the things which mean the most to us."

I stare at him, confused, then look at the tiny bones. Whatever this was has been dead for a while, right? All the germs should be dead, too. I'm sure he cleaned them.

This is ridiculous. He thinks there's magic in these bones? Out of all the places it could be—bones. Dog bones.

I reach out to touch them.

God, this is disgusting.

My fingers barely get a chance to graze the bones because an energy pulse shoots from them. It sends me flying backward across the room, and I slide on the warm-toned floor.

"What the hell?" I ask, afraid.

"I told you." Mr. Gold appears satisfied with this result. He must've known this would happen. I knew I shouldn't have trusted him.

"That's the second time this happened!"

"Well?" How can he be so calm?

I push myself off the oak wood floor with difficulty. My back still hurts from last night. "'Well,' what?"

He stares at me.

"I don't remember anything, if that's what you're asking," I say, raising my voice.

"That," he says, pointing to the bones, "was magic. It means you're starting to believe in it."

"I'd appreciate it if it didn't shoot out at me all the time," I say, adjusting my clothes.

"We cannot all control magic, Miss Palmer. One must have great power to do that. Magic can be quite... unpredictable."

"What makes you think I want to control it?"

"It sounds to me, Miss Palmer, you're accepting magic and everything else you've been told."

"I don't remember anything, though."

"But you are accepting it, even if you don't remember... yet."

"'Yet?' What do you mean by 'yet?' I'm not Queen Anna," I whine.

"Give it time. Also, I've been meaning to make a deal with you," he says, walking around the counter.

I push my shoulders back. I finally get the chance to say it. "What kind of deal?"

"I can offer you protection in return for something of great value."

"You? Protect me? Sorry, but aren't you a little too old?" I say, shifting my eyes to his cane.

He looks down at it, pondering. When he lifts his head, he says, "I have powers you couldn't possibly imagine."

I smirk to myself while folding my arms and turning my head away. The magic stuff is kind of humorous coming from him. He's older, wise, and distinguished. Why should he believe Henry? Why does he? Because he's his grandson?

I said before that it's easier to agree than to fight them. And to be honest, I'm a bit curious to see where this goes since he's been wanting to make this deal for my entire visit. "What do you want?"

"You must do me a favor, no matter what it is I ask of you, to get me the thing I want."

"You're not gonna ask me to murder someone, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm not that kind of man anymore."

Whoa, okay. But when you turn to the dark side once, what stops you from returning? He already knows what it's like over there. It's not unfamiliar territory. But fine. He says he's not that kind of person anymore. Said every villain ever.

I still don't trust him, and he still doesn't have me convinced. But I'm curious. "What do you want me to do?"

"I will tell you when the time comes." Are you fucking kidding me?

"Tell me," I say with stiff posture, mainly because of my back. I can't stand up straight.

"I will tell you when the time comes."

"You'll protect me from... whatever, and I must return the favor by doing whatever you ask?"

"Precisely." Not sketchy at all.

I shake my head. "Sorry, but I don't think so."

"You know?" He returns to the back of the counter and picks up a phone. "Sheriff Swan is only one phone call away." How petty? Threatening to call the Sheriff on me. I thought he had power I couldn't possibly imagine.

"You wouldn't." I smirk. "You said it was mine."

"She doesn't need to know that."

"She knows I stole it, dude. She told me herself."

He puts the phone down. "Very well."

"I don't know what kind of operation you're running here, but I know when I should walk away. Consider this the last time I ask you for help."

"Bear in mind, Miss Palmer, you cannot foresee when you will need my assistance. I have an inkling you will be back very soon."

"I never should've come here."

"Also, bear this in mind—All magic comes with a price. One you'll need to pay," he says through clenched teeth. But where have I heard that before?

"You're a con man. You think I'm gonna pay for that?" I ask, pointing at the box. "This place is rigged with special effects, and you think I'm gonna fall for it being magic?"

"I'm not looking for a monetary payment, and you won't be paying me. Not until we've made a deal. But you will be paying for this use of magic one way or another. It's only a matter of time before we find out how, ...Anna."

I stiffen further. "Now, I know why they call you 'Dark One.'"

He lets out a gruff scoff. "You don't want to know why they call me 'Dark One.' Have a good day, ...dearie."

It's my fault for coming here. I thought, due to the claims that he knows so much about magic and, given the witchy stuff in the back room, he might be able to help me. I was wrong. He made things worse.

Whatever shot at me in the apartment and now can't be magic. Someone's messing with me—pranking me. Who's capable of that? Henry, I guess, but he's more serious than the average male pre-teen. Besides, he wasn't at Gold's shop. And it couldn't have been Regina. She'd make sure her prank hurt me physically. Also, antics are below her. She's a "pick you apart mentally" kind of person. I don't think it's that Leroy guy, either. He would run me over to get back at me, not pull a lousy prank.

I get to the corner, and my head pounds. My legs stop walking, and I raise a hand to my forehead. I close my eyes from both the pain and blurred vision. What's happening?

Visions of random scenes flash through my mind. They're all fuzzy. I can't focus on them. As sudden as it happened, it all stops. My head's fine. It's as if nothing took place. I look around, confused. Did anyone see me in that state of pain? It doesn't seem like it.

I don't remember what I saw. They came in too fast. I can recall colors, but that's about it. Green. Blue. White. Purple. I think there was some black. Maybe red.

I turn my attention to something else and continue going to the apartment. I know for sure I heard "All magic comes with a price" before, but when—where? It's familiar. Someone in my life said it. I don't know who. I don't know why, either. Why would someone say that to me? Besides Potter, I never talked about magic before Storybrooke.

The quote keeps repeating in the back of my mind. It transforms from me saying it to Gold. His voice changes into a giggling, child-like version as it continues to play like a broken record.

I stand like a statue on the sidewalk, and my eyes stop blinking.

It sounded like a demon.

I check all around me to see who might've said it.

There's no one.

It was in my head.

I look toward Gold's shop.

I can't stop myself from trembling as my breaths burst in and out.

What did he do to me?