“Don’t worry about that. The curious will come. And that’s because they’re right. The game is fixed, I’m psychic, remember?” he responded in a low voice, his sapphire eyes searching their surroundings. Sam snorted, shaking her head as her eyes met Griffin’s. “What?” he asked.
“You can’t control when it happens though.” Sam muttered as a boy around the age of seven wandered over. He watched, mesmerized, as Griffin did various rather simple tricks that involved guessing the boy’s card. Each time, Griffin won, and the little boy was amazed. Sam rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her fist as the time passed.
More people started to gather, and they would pay to see the tricks, but Sam thought there was something…wrong. In the growing twilight, she searched the faces of the crowd, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A man that looked in his forties approached in a black tailcoat and pants, with a low set hat that covered his eyes. His unkempt brown hair went down to his shoulders and shadowed his neck. He lingered at the back of the crowd, watching, observing, Griffin and the game. Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she sat up straighter, clearing her throat in an attempt to get Griffin’s attention. Something was wrong about this man. She could feel it.
As the streetlights twinkled on one by one, the people grew uninterested and meandered along their way, either into the nearby shops or to go home. But the man stayed. Griffin looked up at the man just as he was putting the cards and tips away. Sam stood and took a step so that she was beside Griffin, and the man glanced at her, eyes flashing a shade of violet. She took a step back as Griffin asked, “Can we help you?”
The cloaked man shrugged, “I can help you.” He replied instead.
“Oh, and how is that?” Griffin asked, his face a mask of skepticism. Sam wrapped her arms around herself as a breeze ruffled her hair and sent shivers running down her arms.
“I know He’s after you,” the man said, eyes flickering to Sam once more. She looked up, startled.
“Just who the hell are you?” Griffin asked, putting himself slightly between the mysterious man and Sam.
The man took off his hat and lowered his torso into a slight bow, “I’m the Alchemist, Frederick Roux. And I can help you find what you’re looking for. Or…one of the things you are looking for.” He said, meeting Griffin’s eyes with an arch of his eyebrow. Griffin’s face flushed the crimson color of his hair and he looked away as Sam stepped around him.
“You said you were an…Alchemist? I didn’t think anyone studied that anymore.” She said, eyeing him with critical emerald eyes.
Frederick Roux grinned, showing slightly yellowed teeth as he put his hat back into place. “They don’t, usually. I studied it in a time where such things were quite popular.” He said, fingering with the cuffs of his cloak, “The 1600’s, if my memory serves right.”