Mimic (Wardens Legacies - Ancient Blood III)

1 - JANUARY 23RD, 1932

I would love to say that this day is a fond memory. Indeed, in this case, it was not. Business had been slow since Christmas. Usually business slowed right before New Years, but picked back up close to Valentines Day. I admit that even I found those months a relief, considering the amount of time I spent with my hands firmly grasped around a person's wrist or calling to the spirits for guidance. Before you jump to conclusions, I am not a sham. Many like me have already been given the reputation of providing false connections with the spirit world. I, on the other hand, have not been given such a horrible reputation. Nobody had been able to prove any of my connections as a spoof of any sort. Trust me many had tried.

I was closing up shop on this fateful day, minding my own business, and humming the sweet symphonies that I had grown up hearing. The door opened, and I turned to see two men staring at me intently. They looked similar, but their faces were too close in resemblance to be a father and son. The spirits around me were screeching in terror as the younger man's eyes shot around my tiny shop until they finally rested on me. Shivers are not the right word to explain how I felt at that moment. They were present for a reason, and I feared that what was about to happen was not going to be in my best interest.

"I'm sorry, but I'm closing up for the day." I stumbled over my words as I swooshed my hands through the air in an attempt to calm the raging spirits.

"You sure you don't have time for just one more?" The older of the two gentlemen asked as he held up a stack of American dollars. I eyeballed the money greedily. This was more than anyone in my occupation could make in ten years.

I looked at him intently and prayed that what I was about to do did not turn out as deadly as the spirits were predicting. Money was a necessity to live. It paid for me worn down hovel, the rent for my tiny shop, and my clothing. Money is the lifeblood of the human culture, without it you are nothing. What he was holding in his hands was more than enough to get me passage to America and put me up in a lovely lavish home, where I could live my days in peace with the spirits. I looked around my beautiful shop with all its oddities and went against the spirits requests.

"Take a seat. I will be just a moment." I instructed pointing towards the small table in the corner of the shop.

"I appreciate this milady." The older man smiled and turned towards the other.

They both walked with the same speed and manner to take a seat side by side at the weathered table. Again, their relations baffled me as they were not brothers, but were related at a deeper level. I had no idea then what I was getting myself into.

I made my way to the back of the store so that I could freshen up my face before I returned to complete their request. Many decades I had lived in this town, continually morphing my image so that I could continue to live the same miserable life that I had started after my banishment. Now here I was, yet again, in another situation that could very well cause me to flee from my home in terror. What was I doing?

"This is suicide." The spirits were chanting around me. I could feel their cold prickly hands touching my skin.

"Yes, I know," I said aloud, hoping that the men could not hear my argument with one of my essences. "What harm could they do?"

"They are not natural." The loudest spirit groaned.

"That's preposterous!" I exclaimed, as I turned and hurried back towards the table, fixing my hair as I walked.

They were sitting there with their hands crossed on the top of the table, engaged in a silent exchange of some sort. They did not feel unnatural, but then again, the spirts always knew things that I did not. As I approached, they both looked at me with steely eyes. I was starting to think that the spirits warnings were ones I should listen to.