Fic: The Geneticist and the Frog - Ch. 1
Title: The Geneticist and the Frog
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Author's Note: I got my Blu Ray copy of Princess and the Frog yesterday and I'm more in love with the movie than ever. It's so good and pretty! I just want to watch it over and over again! XD Seriously peeps, if you haven't seen it yet rent it, buy, just don't illegally download it.
Prologue
The trolley shook, lurching forward as it came to a halt and Mohinder -- in his worn out, slightly sleep deprived state -- found himself tipping forward from the force of the stop. His nose slammed into someone's back just as someone else crashed into him. The smell of too many sweat coated bodies filling the muggy air made his skin crawl and nostrils burn. It was moments like these that made it so hard to believe that he was going to get his doctorate soon.
Although, that "soon" was starting to feel more like an "eventually" and that "eventually" was slowly merging into a giant question mark. Despite his high marks and his good rapport with his professors, Mohinder constantly found himself being hindered by a far too common foe: money. Just when he was ready to move on into his last semester, the funds from his scholarship had disappeared, just as it always did during this time of year, and once again Mohinder found himself working to the bone just to make money to pay for school and to support his mother and put away funds for that book that he just had to get published.
Yet work was hard to come by. He could tutor the Bennet children every single day of the week, but they were his only pupils. The other families didn't want someone like him around their children and those that didn't mind people of his background usually couldn't afford his services. So Mohinder had gone from full time college student and part time tutor to full time waiter and part time tutor.
It was humiliating having people barking their orders at him like a lame animal, working double (sometimes triple) shifts for a thankless boss, and all in a profession that he had absolutely no interest in! And to make matters even worse, the Indian was slowly starting to realize that he may need to take on a third job. He briefly wondered how much driving a trolley paid as he was suddenly shoved off the bus along with several other passengers.
He frowned, stumbling to his feet and squinting against the harsh afternoon light. It was hard to believe that they were still in the middle of winter given the balmy weather, but he supposed that that was part of the charm of the Crescent City. A small smile tugged on his lips, as the sound of a band playing in the distant came floating through the air. The city was always so alive and vibrant, it made having to trudge off to work for the day that much harder.
The Indian was practically sprinting as he rushed through the restaurant's front door, the bell mounted to the wall chiming and announcing his arrival.
"You're late," he heard a voice sing-songed from just the other side of the room.
Mohinder turned and pinned the young woman with a bitter scowl as he shrugged off his coat (it's only purpose to hide the clothes underneath) and marched off to grab his apron from a peg on the wall. "Cute Monica," he griped, pulling the white cloth over the mustard yellow uniform that he had come to loathe with such fury.
He had no malice towards Monica -- she was the only employee at the restaurant that he could stand -- but it was hard to view any single aspect of his job without the tiniest shred of malice. Snapping at her was just a knee jerk reaction at being reminded of the depths he would forever have to stoop to just to get by in this country.
Hours crawled by and his shift carried on without much occurrence. Of course, when eleven o'clock rolled around, he prepared a pot of coffee and a small tray of beignets for their morning regulars. He glanced over at the clock mounted just above the wall, watching with mild amusement as the second hand ticked by.
Three... two ... one...
"Mohinder!" Claire's overly excited voice practically screeched, overpowering the chime of the bell. "Mohinder! Mohinder! Huge news!"
The Indian turned towards her, caught off guard by the girl's enthusiasm. Claire had always been a lively, exuberant creature, but the blonde girl wasn't usually this excitable, especially just to come visit him at work. Mohinder glanced over at Monica, who looked just as startled and taken aback as he did, before turning his eyes back to Claire, who was practically bouncing on her heels, clutching a newspaper in her hands.
He flashed a weary smile her way just as her father, HRG, strolled in, looking completely worn out and ready to collapse. Apparently, whatever had Claire so worked up had been all the teenager was able to talk about with her father on the drive over.
"Hello Claire," he said, trying to maintain an ounce of professionalism as he placed the tray of beignets on HRG's usual table by the widow. "Mr. Bennet," he greeted, pouring the man a mug of coffee. HRG gave him a tight nod before sighing and resting his head in his hands. "What seems to be the matter?"
"Matter? Matter!" Claire laughed, strolling up next to him and flashing the front page directly in his face.
Right in the center of the newspaper was a black and white picture of a handsome, yet someone what frightening, young man. He had a very serious look on his face, his thick brows furrowed in what looked like contempt as he stared darkly at the camera. Even with the lack of color, Mohinder could tell that he was pale. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and a very prominent, distinguished nose. Yet what really caught the Indian's eye was the crown resting on top of his dark hair. Suddenly the strikingly bold headline caught his eyes: Prince Arrives Today!
"Prince Gabriel Gray of Maldonia is here! In New Orleans!" Claire gushed, ripping the paper away from him and staring at the picture, her eyes sparkling with fascination. "A prince! A real live prince! Just like in those books you used to read me! Can you just imagine? Isn't that the bee's knees?"
"Well that certainly is..." He trailed off, his eyes going towards HRG, who looked just as dull and uninterested in this conversation as he felt. "... something."
"It's more than 'something'," Claire huffed, playfully offended as she pulled up a chair across from her father. "Dad, tell Mohinder the rest of the news."
HRG cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter as if he had suddenly remembered that he was expected to give off a certain appearance. "Well, I extended an invitation to Prince Gabriel to attend our annual masquerade ball."
"Can you believe it, Mohinder?" Claire exclaimed, just as HRG had finished speaking. She was practically bouncing in her seat, the excitement too much for her to contain. "Oh, Jackie Wilcox is going to be absolutely green with envy when she finds out that a prince is coming to our party! Can you imagine all the things he's seen and done and ... Oh! And tell him what else, Dad! Tell him the rest."
The man chuckled at his daughter's excitement, taking off his glasses and casually wiping the lenses with the tip of his handkerchief. "Well, I also invited the prince to stay as my guest at our estate."
Mohinder hummed, nodding his head thoughtfully. So a royal from a distant country had come to Louisiana and was staying in the house of one of the richest men in town. It was certainly one of the most interesting things that had happened in quite some time, but it didn't really matter to him. The prince wasn't going to pay his bills, or fund his schooling, or even get his father's book published. Claire seemed excited, and that made him happy, but it still didn't seem like that big of a deal.
"Well, that's really big news," Monica said, flashing a bright, sincere smile at Claire, but Mohinder could tell that she was just as aloof and indifferent to the news as he was. After all, neither one of them were going to even catch a glimpse at the visiting royal. "I'm happy for ya, Claire. I hope y'all have a great time at your party tanight."
"And you two are coming, right?" the heiress asked, nothing but sincerity and concern flashing in her light green eyes. "You'll come to the party, right? I want you both to be there."
"To wait tables?" Mohinder teased, yet his eyes flashed over towards HRG, daring the man to actually request him to perform such a demeaning task. "No thank you."
Claire laughed, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Mohinder, I'm not going to invite you to a party just so you can work! I want you to have some fun! You never do anything even remotely fun."
"You are a bit of a stiff," Monica joked, poking his arm playfully.
Mohinder scowled at both of them, disappointed at the two young women -- especially Monica -- for their careless comments. He couldn't afford to have fun and they both knew that. He had to fill all of his free time with work; it was the only way for someone like him to get by in this world. Life wasn't going to give him a break and he wasn't going to take one.
"I don't think so," he sighed, looking around the restaurant to see if any of his customers needed him, yet he was out of luck. It was still fairly early, the lunch rush would start in about an hour, but even then this restaurant never got very busy. There was no escaping this suddenly awkward conversation.
"But what about the book," Monica reminded him. "Didn't ya tell me just the other day that you finally got enough money ta get your daddy's book published? We should celebrate."
Claire's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect "o" as she gaped at him. "What? You're getting your father's book published? I thought you were gonna wait until after you got your degree!"
Mohinder blushed, squirming uncomfortably and wondering why he had said anything to Monica. "Well, it doesn't seem as if I'm going to be graduating this semester like I had anticipated, and... well, I have the money to publish it independently, and that's what really matters," he explained, although that wasn't the whole truth. He didn't want to explain to Claire that having the title of "Doctor" wouldn't matter so long as it was attached to his name.
"That's very true," HRG said, nodding thoughtfully, although Mohinder had to fight against the urge to roll his eyes at the man. HRG had offered many times to publish the book for him, but Mohinder had always refused. This book was his father's legacy and it was Mohinder's responsibility as a son to see it succeed without the help of others. That was certainly how his father would have wanted things. "I think that the girls are right. In honor of this achievement, you should definitely attend our party to celebrate all you've accomplished."
"I don't have a costume," Mohinder sighed, still struggling to get out of this mess.
"Neither do I," Monica shot back.
"Well you two can just throw on anything," Claire said dismissively. Monica and Mohinder had to roll their eyes, because when an heiress said "throw on anything" it had a profoundly different meaning. "It's a costume party after all!"
Monica sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, it's almost Mardi Gras. I'm sure there are plenty of costumes we can pick up for cheap."
"Fine, I'll go," Mohinder conceded. "But I assure you I won't have fun."
Claire squealed with delight, jumping out of her seat and wrapping her arms around his waist. Some of the customers turned and gave them confused looks, and Mohinder knew right away that they were not regulars. After all, seeing a young white girl hugging a man of his color in broad day light -- in front of her father, no less -- was a strange sight to behold, but a common one for anyone who frequented this restaurant.
-+-+-+-
The streets were vibrant and alive, music filled the air, and the people were so boisterous and enthusiastic as they preformed for the passing crowds. He had heard of Jazz music back home, but listening to it live, here in the country that had created it was a whole new experience. It was like listening to music for the first time. He smiled, tapping his feet and nodding along in time with the beat. America certainly was a fascinating country and New Orleans was an exciting city.
The sound of someone calling his name could be heard in the distance and the young man felt himself visibly cringe. He pulled the brim of his flat cap down, hunching his shoulders and slinking further into the crowd. Yet the call continued, getting closer and closer and all the more frantic. He grunted, slipping away and hurrying down the street, but he wasn't quick enough. He felt a hand on his arm, begging for his attention -- or for him to at least stop his retreat -- but he didn't bother to slow down. If the little runt wanted his attention, then he'd just have to work for it.
"Prince Gabriel, please wait," his valet pleaded. "Wait a minute. We have to go to the Bennet estate! They were expecting us over an hour ago."
Gabriel grunted, kicking at nothing as he trudged along in the opposite direction. He wasn't exactly excited to get to the Bennet estate. After all, once he got there, he was expected to play the part of the charming, cultured, amorous prince. He would have to woo the pretty young heiress and sweep her off her feet. He was sick to his teeth of playing a part to please his parents, his people, and everyone else. They all expected so much from him.
His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a handsome young man walking along the other side of the road. Gabriel's eyes instantly traveled to the dark skinned man's tight rear, watching the way it moved as he hurried away. His head tilted thoughtfully, a gesture that his lackey instantly recognized.
"Your Majesty," the young man groaned wearily. "You can't keep doing this. Remember what your mother said? She wanted you to come here and fix your... 'little problem.'"
Gabriel's thoughtful expression quickly morphed into a distasteful scowl. His young valet was really starting to work his last nerve. "I'm well aware of why I'm here, Luke," he grumbled bitterly. "Just give me a few more hours to myself."
Luke said nothing, but the sigh he heaved was one that spoke volumes and it annoyed Gabriel to no end. He didn't understand what the little brat had to be so sour about. After all, Luke had a good life. He got to spend all his free time hanging around with a prince, seeing the finest places and people in the world. Sure he had to carry around all of Gabriel's things and do his chores, but that was a fair trade.
He glanced over his shoulder at the younger man -- just a boy really. His arms were loaded with suitcases of various shapes and sizes; nothing but straps and handles crossing his limbs and torso. His face was bright red and dripping with sweat, this unusually warm weather making his task that much harder. Gabriel smirked. It was an amusing sight.
"Maybe we should get something to eat before we head to the estate," he mused. His stomach was talking to him and Gabriel desperately wanted to waste as much time as possible.
His valet let out a pathetic whine at the prince's suggestion. "With what money, sir?" he whimpered. "Remember, your mother cut you off until you fix your problem. We have to get to the estate so you can win over Miss Bennet, regain your mother's approval, and-"
"I know, I know!" Gabriel groused, waving the younger man silent. Honestly, he could not be sicker of the subject. As much as he enjoyed hearing about himself, he loathed focusing on all the things he could not do. "Let's just... keep walking."
-+-+-+-
Their door didn't open easily anymore. Years of fair and foul weather and over use had caused the hinges and knob to rust almost beyond repair. So whenever anyone entered the small house, they would first have to twist the knob back and forth and then ram their shoulder into the hard wooden surface. Mohinder sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder with his tired hands. One of these days he was really going to have to take the time to fix that door.
'Mother, I'm home,' Mohinder announced wearily, shrugging off his coat and setting his satchel down next to the door.
'I'm upstairs,' the woman called back, the creaks and moans of the ceiling alerting him to her approach.
Mohinder glanced around the kitchen, seeking the pile of letters that was usually waiting for him after coming off his second shift. He sighed, spotting the mail resting on the dinner table. He thumbed through each envelope, only to discover nothing of great importance.
'Is this all the mail?' he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see that his mother was standing behind him with an apologetic smile.
'Yes,' she said, 'and before you ask, there weren't any phone calls for you, either.'
Mohinder sighed, running a tired hand through his thick black curls. He was probably over reacting, because he had submitted the text for publication a little over a week ago. There was still plenty of time for Primatech Publishing to get back to him.
'You'll hear from them soon, Mohinder,' his mother assured him, wrapping her tired arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. 'Trust me darling, you're almost there.'
The Indian smiled, slinging his arm over his mother's shoulder and returning the hug. 'Almost there,' he repeated wistful. 'Yeah. I'm almost there.'
In spite of his weak, weary tone, the young man couldn't help feeling his stomach twisting with excitement at the prospect of sharing his father's ideas with everyone. People across the country, maybe even around the world will soon be able to read and appreciate all his father's hard work.
'Don't dwell on it,' his mother instructed, patting him on the hand encouragingly. 'All this sitting around and waiting will only make you upset. You should do something to take your mind off of it. Go out tonight.'
He chuckled, rolling his eyes and stepping away from his mother's warm, reassuring arms. It was more than a bit ironic that she would be saying this after everything that had happened at work today. 'Well, the Bennets did invite me to their masquerade ball, but...' Mohinder sighed, shrugging his shoulders. 'I'm not sure I want to go.'
'Why not?' the woman practically pouted, swatting his arm playfully.
'Because I have to open at the restaurant tomorrow,' he told her. 'Besides, I was already late today. I cannot afford to be late tomorrow as well!'
His mother frowned, placing her hands on her hips the way she always did whenever an excuse did not work on her -- and that was quite often. It was strange, almost shameful, to admit that the chiding look she often gave him still worked to send shivers down the young man's spine. 'Mohinder, you work too hard for someone your age!'
'I have to work hard! Father's not around anymore and someone has to take care of you.'
Her frown slowly melted into a sad smile as the woman reached out and cupped his face in her hands. 'You are a good son Mohinder,' she whispered. 'But I told you a long time ago that I do not want you to be like your father. How are you ever going to meet someone if you work all the time? Go to the party. Have fun. Dance.'
'I don't have time for dancing,' he laughed softly, stepping away from his mother's grasp and shaking his head slowly. 'It's not exactly my style... but if it'll make you happy, I suppose I could give it a shot.'
-+-+-+-
He saw him from the corner of his eye, but he didn't pay the man much attention. Yet when a long staff being held by spidery fingers with blackened nails blocked his path, stopping him mid stride, the prince couldn't help but take notice of the stranger.
Gabriel scowled. He could hear Luke shrink back in fright at the sight of the man in front of them. He wasn't tall, but his form was long and lean. He had black paint or mascara smudged under his eyes, silver rings encasing his fingers, and wild brown hair sticking out in odd tuffs. The man flashed them a smile -- charming, soothing, disarming -- and it made Gabriel's senses go on high alert.
"Gentlemen," the stranger greeted, an Irish accent clear on his tongue. He bowed down to them; a sweeping gesture that caused the tail ends of his long coat to sway along with his movements. "I extend my warmest welcome to the both o' you."
"And... you would be?" Gabriel asked, his jaw squared and his arms folding over his broad chest.
"Samuel Sullivan," the man introduced, stepping beside him and draping a too familiar, too casual arm over his shoulder. "A well respected citizen of this fair city and one who may be o' some services to ya both."
A card seemed to materialize out of thin air and into the man's hand, but Gabriel wasn't impressed. It must have been some sort of trick, a slight of hand or something of the sort. Yet he took the card, deciding to play along. He needed to kill some time anyway.
"'Samuel Sullivan,'" he read aloud, "'Fortunes, Potions, and Charms...' Voodoo? Are you telling me you're a witchdoctor?"
Samuel chuckled softly as if Gabriel had somehow managed to embarrass him simply by stating the facts. "Such an ugly term," he chuckled, "yet accurate I'm afraid. An' my powers o' perception seem ta be tellin' me that I'm in the presence o' visitin' royalty."
"He's a psychic, sir," Luke whispered to him, fear and awe mingling in his words. "He read your fortune."
"Or this morning's newspaper," he shot back tersely, his hardened eyes never leaving Samuel's face. "There's no doubt that my face was all over every paper in town. Everyone in New Orleans knows who I am."
"But would jus' anyone be knowin' why yer here?" Samuel pressed, a cunning smirk gracing his features. "'Bout yer... 'lil problem'?"
The prince stiffened, fighting back the urge to blush uncontrollably or break out in a panicked sweat. Yet that announcement didn't really prove anything except that this Samuel Sullivan was a dangerous man to have around. "And what problem do you think I have?"
Samuel stepped aside, waving his cane in the air before striking the cobbled street noisily. "Only that you seem ta... how should I put this? Aren't much o' a skirt man? Aye, ya seem ta prefer the trousers."
Gabriel growled, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"
"Nothin' o' the sort," he assured. "In fact, I may have somethin' that could help ya with yer lil problem."
Despite the little voice nagging at the back of his head to be weary, Gabriel couldn't help the way his ears instinctively perked up at the man's words. "And how will you be able to accomplish that?" he asked, releasing the Irish witchdoctor from his clutches.
Samuel chuckled, straightening out the front of his shirt. "Jus' step this way," he said, waving towards a dark, narrow alley. "Step inta my parlor an' I'll see what I can do for you two fine gentlemen."
Without another word the voodoo man walked off, expecting to be followed. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at Luke, who looked nervous and confused, before turning back towards Samuel's quickly retreating figure. He sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and following along. He didn't really believe in magic or voodoo -- he was Catholic after all, born and raised -- yet if this witchdoctor had some way of making his problems go away, or at least make the idea of courting a young girl a bit more tolerable, then he should at least hear him out.
They wandered through a few back alley ways before coming across a small shop in a modest sized building. The location wasn't terrible, but it wasn't exactly what Gabriel had been expecting. A decorative wooden sign hung just above the door, the curtains in the windows were thick and well maintained, and there were a few strange, mystical looking symbols carved into the walls. It looked for all intents and purposes like a regular store, not at all what he would have expected a voodoo man's shop to look like, and for that the prince was a bit disappointed.
Samuel opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the prince and his valet to enter. Once inside, Gabriel quickly realized that he had spoken too soon. The voodoo man's parlor was dark and ominous. There were several crooked shelves mounted on the walls -- seemingly stacked right on top of each other -- containing jars and boxes of all shapes and sizes. There were trunks full of exotic goods, skulls and bones and cobwebs everywhere, thick dusty curtains draped against everything, and somewhere in the distance the young man heard the very distinct hiss of a snake. This was what he had expected from a voodoo man.
"Feel free ta make yerselves comfortable, gentlemen," Samuel said, patting Luke on the back affectionately (yet hard enough to make the boy lean forward from the force). "Put your minds at ease. If you'll relax it'll help me... concentrate."
Luke set the bags down in a corner by the door. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, sending his young valet a warning glance, reminding him not to mistreat his luggage.
The room brightened ever so slightly, the candles scattered around the cramped space lit seemingly on their own, bathing the parlor in an eerie glow. Gabriel turned and watched as Samuel approached a small table at the center of the room and gestured towards the two empty seats.
"Have a seat, my good sirs," the Irish man said, pulling out a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffling them.
"Tarot cards?" Gabriel scoffed skeptically even as he sat down at the witchdoctor's table.
"Somethin' like that," Samuel smiled as if deeply amused by something the young man had said. "The cards will help me tell the past, the present, an' the future as well. Jus' take three an' we'll take a lil trip inta yer future."
Samuel spread out the deck, fanning the cards in his hand and holding them forward. Luke sat down quietly beside Gabriel just as the prince rolled his eyes and plucked three cards at random. The valet did the same, but from the way he was trembling, Gabriel would have bet money that the boy was convinced something terrible was going to happen.
"Lay 'em flat on the table," Samuel instructed. "Face down."
Gabriel slapped his cards down noisily, crossing his arms over his flat chest and leaning back in his chair while Luke very meekly set his own cards down. Samuel reached for Gabriel's cards first, just as the prince knew he would, but his eyes didn't bother to stray from the witchdoctor's face.
"Now you, my good sir," he began, giving Gabriel his full attention, "come from a land across the sea. Ya hail from two long royal blood lines. Yer life style is very carefree an' excitin', but yer mother caught on ta yer dirty lil secret an' cut ya off, aye? But you, ya jus' wanna be free, hop from place ta place an' do as ya please. Course, ta do that, you'll be needin' ta find yerself a pretty lil miss ta settle down with. But I can fix everythin'. You prefer trousers to skirts, but I can make it so ya won't have that problem anymore."
"And just how do you plan on doing that?" Gabriel challenged.
Samuel's grin turned dark as he leaned forward, looking Gabriel directly in the eye. "I'll let you boys in on a lil secret," he whispered. "I've got connections, very powerful friends, if you will. I can use their influence ta change things 'round for ya."
Gabriel frowned, but said nothing. He looked around the room at the dark artwork and furniture and knew exactly what sort of "friends" Samuel was talking about. Yet he said nothing, because Samuel's attention quickly shifted from him to Luke and Gabriel could not understand why.
"Now you, my boy..." He laughed, waving his hand dismissively at the valet. "I won't waste much time with ya. You've been pushed 'round near all of yer young life. You've been pushed 'round by yer mother an' yer father an', no doubt, if you were married, you'd be pushed 'round by yer wife. But in yer future, I see ya becomin' the man you've always wanted ta be."
He flicked his wrists and flipped over the last card resting in front of Luke. Gabriel didn't look -- because he didn't care -- but he heard the way the boy gasped, straightening in his seat with pure excitement.
"Now boys," Samuel said, drawing both of their attention. "I can help ya. Both o' ya. All ya have ta do is shake my hand an' my friends will do their best ta change yer lives for the better." The man offered the two a long boney hand, his eyes serious and intense as he waited for them to respond. "Do we have a deal? All ya have ta do is shake a poor sinner's hand."
Gabriel heaved a long sigh, reaching out to grasp the Irish man's hand just as Luke very enthusiastically clapped his hand in Samuel's. As soon as their hands touched, the lights flashed, brightened. The room was glowing bright green and Gabriel found that he couldn't move. He looked down at his body and saw that twin serpents had come out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around his middle. He paled, looking back up to see that Samuel was now standing above him, a skull pained over his thin face.
The prince struggled twisting and turning in his chair as the room shifted, changing into a whirl of shapes and colors. The shelves and walls melted away, revealing nothing but ghastly looking wood carvings, giant faces that seemed to stare at them with grim glee.
"Are you ready boy?" Samuel cackled, approaching one of the faces. Its mouth opened wide and a strange charm, a miniature version of the face, came floating out and into Samuel's palm. "I hope you're ready."
Luke gasped, jumping up so quickly that his chair went toppling over and crashing onto the floor. Gabriel grunted, desperately trying to pull his hand away, but Samuel was at his side in an instant, grasping his hand in a vice like hold. Purple smoke spread through the air, winding around them as the little amulet's mouth opened and then bit into his index finger. He winced as the blood slowly came dripping out, making the charm's eyes glow bright red. His vision blurred. The purple smoke askewed everything as the world around him seemed to grow.
"You're changing, alright," he heard Samuel say. "I hope you're satisfied. O' course, if ya ain't, don't blame me, boy. You can blame my friends on the other side."
The witchdoctor's cryptic words were the last thing he heard as the world around him was consumed by smoke and darkness.
Chapter 2 - I Know This Story
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When the Prince kissed the Frog the real story began.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or The Princess and the Frog.
Warnings: Humor, Language, Slash, AU
Author's Note: I got my Blu Ray copy of Princess and the Frog yesterday and I'm more in love with the movie than ever. It's so good and pretty! I just want to watch it over and over again! XD Seriously peeps, if you haven't seen it yet rent it, buy, just don't illegally download it.
Prologue
The trolley shook, lurching forward as it came to a halt and Mohinder -- in his worn out, slightly sleep deprived state -- found himself tipping forward from the force of the stop. His nose slammed into someone's back just as someone else crashed into him. The smell of too many sweat coated bodies filling the muggy air made his skin crawl and nostrils burn. It was moments like these that made it so hard to believe that he was going to get his doctorate soon.
Although, that "soon" was starting to feel more like an "eventually" and that "eventually" was slowly merging into a giant question mark. Despite his high marks and his good rapport with his professors, Mohinder constantly found himself being hindered by a far too common foe: money. Just when he was ready to move on into his last semester, the funds from his scholarship had disappeared, just as it always did during this time of year, and once again Mohinder found himself working to the bone just to make money to pay for school and to support his mother and put away funds for that book that he just had to get published.
Yet work was hard to come by. He could tutor the Bennet children every single day of the week, but they were his only pupils. The other families didn't want someone like him around their children and those that didn't mind people of his background usually couldn't afford his services. So Mohinder had gone from full time college student and part time tutor to full time waiter and part time tutor.
It was humiliating having people barking their orders at him like a lame animal, working double (sometimes triple) shifts for a thankless boss, and all in a profession that he had absolutely no interest in! And to make matters even worse, the Indian was slowly starting to realize that he may need to take on a third job. He briefly wondered how much driving a trolley paid as he was suddenly shoved off the bus along with several other passengers.
He frowned, stumbling to his feet and squinting against the harsh afternoon light. It was hard to believe that they were still in the middle of winter given the balmy weather, but he supposed that that was part of the charm of the Crescent City. A small smile tugged on his lips, as the sound of a band playing in the distant came floating through the air. The city was always so alive and vibrant, it made having to trudge off to work for the day that much harder.
The Indian was practically sprinting as he rushed through the restaurant's front door, the bell mounted to the wall chiming and announcing his arrival.
"You're late," he heard a voice sing-songed from just the other side of the room.
Mohinder turned and pinned the young woman with a bitter scowl as he shrugged off his coat (it's only purpose to hide the clothes underneath) and marched off to grab his apron from a peg on the wall. "Cute Monica," he griped, pulling the white cloth over the mustard yellow uniform that he had come to loathe with such fury.
He had no malice towards Monica -- she was the only employee at the restaurant that he could stand -- but it was hard to view any single aspect of his job without the tiniest shred of malice. Snapping at her was just a knee jerk reaction at being reminded of the depths he would forever have to stoop to just to get by in this country.
Hours crawled by and his shift carried on without much occurrence. Of course, when eleven o'clock rolled around, he prepared a pot of coffee and a small tray of beignets for their morning regulars. He glanced over at the clock mounted just above the wall, watching with mild amusement as the second hand ticked by.
Three... two ... one...
"Mohinder!" Claire's overly excited voice practically screeched, overpowering the chime of the bell. "Mohinder! Mohinder! Huge news!"
The Indian turned towards her, caught off guard by the girl's enthusiasm. Claire had always been a lively, exuberant creature, but the blonde girl wasn't usually this excitable, especially just to come visit him at work. Mohinder glanced over at Monica, who looked just as startled and taken aback as he did, before turning his eyes back to Claire, who was practically bouncing on her heels, clutching a newspaper in her hands.
He flashed a weary smile her way just as her father, HRG, strolled in, looking completely worn out and ready to collapse. Apparently, whatever had Claire so worked up had been all the teenager was able to talk about with her father on the drive over.
"Hello Claire," he said, trying to maintain an ounce of professionalism as he placed the tray of beignets on HRG's usual table by the widow. "Mr. Bennet," he greeted, pouring the man a mug of coffee. HRG gave him a tight nod before sighing and resting his head in his hands. "What seems to be the matter?"
"Matter? Matter!" Claire laughed, strolling up next to him and flashing the front page directly in his face.
Right in the center of the newspaper was a black and white picture of a handsome, yet someone what frightening, young man. He had a very serious look on his face, his thick brows furrowed in what looked like contempt as he stared darkly at the camera. Even with the lack of color, Mohinder could tell that he was pale. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and a very prominent, distinguished nose. Yet what really caught the Indian's eye was the crown resting on top of his dark hair. Suddenly the strikingly bold headline caught his eyes: Prince Arrives Today!
"Prince Gabriel Gray of Maldonia is here! In New Orleans!" Claire gushed, ripping the paper away from him and staring at the picture, her eyes sparkling with fascination. "A prince! A real live prince! Just like in those books you used to read me! Can you just imagine? Isn't that the bee's knees?"
"Well that certainly is..." He trailed off, his eyes going towards HRG, who looked just as dull and uninterested in this conversation as he felt. "... something."
"It's more than 'something'," Claire huffed, playfully offended as she pulled up a chair across from her father. "Dad, tell Mohinder the rest of the news."
HRG cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter as if he had suddenly remembered that he was expected to give off a certain appearance. "Well, I extended an invitation to Prince Gabriel to attend our annual masquerade ball."
"Can you believe it, Mohinder?" Claire exclaimed, just as HRG had finished speaking. She was practically bouncing in her seat, the excitement too much for her to contain. "Oh, Jackie Wilcox is going to be absolutely green with envy when she finds out that a prince is coming to our party! Can you imagine all the things he's seen and done and ... Oh! And tell him what else, Dad! Tell him the rest."
The man chuckled at his daughter's excitement, taking off his glasses and casually wiping the lenses with the tip of his handkerchief. "Well, I also invited the prince to stay as my guest at our estate."
Mohinder hummed, nodding his head thoughtfully. So a royal from a distant country had come to Louisiana and was staying in the house of one of the richest men in town. It was certainly one of the most interesting things that had happened in quite some time, but it didn't really matter to him. The prince wasn't going to pay his bills, or fund his schooling, or even get his father's book published. Claire seemed excited, and that made him happy, but it still didn't seem like that big of a deal.
"Well, that's really big news," Monica said, flashing a bright, sincere smile at Claire, but Mohinder could tell that she was just as aloof and indifferent to the news as he was. After all, neither one of them were going to even catch a glimpse at the visiting royal. "I'm happy for ya, Claire. I hope y'all have a great time at your party tanight."
"And you two are coming, right?" the heiress asked, nothing but sincerity and concern flashing in her light green eyes. "You'll come to the party, right? I want you both to be there."
"To wait tables?" Mohinder teased, yet his eyes flashed over towards HRG, daring the man to actually request him to perform such a demeaning task. "No thank you."
Claire laughed, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Mohinder, I'm not going to invite you to a party just so you can work! I want you to have some fun! You never do anything even remotely fun."
"You are a bit of a stiff," Monica joked, poking his arm playfully.
Mohinder scowled at both of them, disappointed at the two young women -- especially Monica -- for their careless comments. He couldn't afford to have fun and they both knew that. He had to fill all of his free time with work; it was the only way for someone like him to get by in this world. Life wasn't going to give him a break and he wasn't going to take one.
"I don't think so," he sighed, looking around the restaurant to see if any of his customers needed him, yet he was out of luck. It was still fairly early, the lunch rush would start in about an hour, but even then this restaurant never got very busy. There was no escaping this suddenly awkward conversation.
"But what about the book," Monica reminded him. "Didn't ya tell me just the other day that you finally got enough money ta get your daddy's book published? We should celebrate."
Claire's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect "o" as she gaped at him. "What? You're getting your father's book published? I thought you were gonna wait until after you got your degree!"
Mohinder blushed, squirming uncomfortably and wondering why he had said anything to Monica. "Well, it doesn't seem as if I'm going to be graduating this semester like I had anticipated, and... well, I have the money to publish it independently, and that's what really matters," he explained, although that wasn't the whole truth. He didn't want to explain to Claire that having the title of "Doctor" wouldn't matter so long as it was attached to his name.
"That's very true," HRG said, nodding thoughtfully, although Mohinder had to fight against the urge to roll his eyes at the man. HRG had offered many times to publish the book for him, but Mohinder had always refused. This book was his father's legacy and it was Mohinder's responsibility as a son to see it succeed without the help of others. That was certainly how his father would have wanted things. "I think that the girls are right. In honor of this achievement, you should definitely attend our party to celebrate all you've accomplished."
"I don't have a costume," Mohinder sighed, still struggling to get out of this mess.
"Neither do I," Monica shot back.
"Well you two can just throw on anything," Claire said dismissively. Monica and Mohinder had to roll their eyes, because when an heiress said "throw on anything" it had a profoundly different meaning. "It's a costume party after all!"
Monica sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, it's almost Mardi Gras. I'm sure there are plenty of costumes we can pick up for cheap."
"Fine, I'll go," Mohinder conceded. "But I assure you I won't have fun."
Claire squealed with delight, jumping out of her seat and wrapping her arms around his waist. Some of the customers turned and gave them confused looks, and Mohinder knew right away that they were not regulars. After all, seeing a young white girl hugging a man of his color in broad day light -- in front of her father, no less -- was a strange sight to behold, but a common one for anyone who frequented this restaurant.
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The streets were vibrant and alive, music filled the air, and the people were so boisterous and enthusiastic as they preformed for the passing crowds. He had heard of Jazz music back home, but listening to it live, here in the country that had created it was a whole new experience. It was like listening to music for the first time. He smiled, tapping his feet and nodding along in time with the beat. America certainly was a fascinating country and New Orleans was an exciting city.
The sound of someone calling his name could be heard in the distance and the young man felt himself visibly cringe. He pulled the brim of his flat cap down, hunching his shoulders and slinking further into the crowd. Yet the call continued, getting closer and closer and all the more frantic. He grunted, slipping away and hurrying down the street, but he wasn't quick enough. He felt a hand on his arm, begging for his attention -- or for him to at least stop his retreat -- but he didn't bother to slow down. If the little runt wanted his attention, then he'd just have to work for it.
"Prince Gabriel, please wait," his valet pleaded. "Wait a minute. We have to go to the Bennet estate! They were expecting us over an hour ago."
Gabriel grunted, kicking at nothing as he trudged along in the opposite direction. He wasn't exactly excited to get to the Bennet estate. After all, once he got there, he was expected to play the part of the charming, cultured, amorous prince. He would have to woo the pretty young heiress and sweep her off her feet. He was sick to his teeth of playing a part to please his parents, his people, and everyone else. They all expected so much from him.
His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a handsome young man walking along the other side of the road. Gabriel's eyes instantly traveled to the dark skinned man's tight rear, watching the way it moved as he hurried away. His head tilted thoughtfully, a gesture that his lackey instantly recognized.
"Your Majesty," the young man groaned wearily. "You can't keep doing this. Remember what your mother said? She wanted you to come here and fix your... 'little problem.'"
Gabriel's thoughtful expression quickly morphed into a distasteful scowl. His young valet was really starting to work his last nerve. "I'm well aware of why I'm here, Luke," he grumbled bitterly. "Just give me a few more hours to myself."
Luke said nothing, but the sigh he heaved was one that spoke volumes and it annoyed Gabriel to no end. He didn't understand what the little brat had to be so sour about. After all, Luke had a good life. He got to spend all his free time hanging around with a prince, seeing the finest places and people in the world. Sure he had to carry around all of Gabriel's things and do his chores, but that was a fair trade.
He glanced over his shoulder at the younger man -- just a boy really. His arms were loaded with suitcases of various shapes and sizes; nothing but straps and handles crossing his limbs and torso. His face was bright red and dripping with sweat, this unusually warm weather making his task that much harder. Gabriel smirked. It was an amusing sight.
"Maybe we should get something to eat before we head to the estate," he mused. His stomach was talking to him and Gabriel desperately wanted to waste as much time as possible.
His valet let out a pathetic whine at the prince's suggestion. "With what money, sir?" he whimpered. "Remember, your mother cut you off until you fix your problem. We have to get to the estate so you can win over Miss Bennet, regain your mother's approval, and-"
"I know, I know!" Gabriel groused, waving the younger man silent. Honestly, he could not be sicker of the subject. As much as he enjoyed hearing about himself, he loathed focusing on all the things he could not do. "Let's just... keep walking."
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Their door didn't open easily anymore. Years of fair and foul weather and over use had caused the hinges and knob to rust almost beyond repair. So whenever anyone entered the small house, they would first have to twist the knob back and forth and then ram their shoulder into the hard wooden surface. Mohinder sighed, rubbing his sore shoulder with his tired hands. One of these days he was really going to have to take the time to fix that door.
'Mother, I'm home,' Mohinder announced wearily, shrugging off his coat and setting his satchel down next to the door.
'I'm upstairs,' the woman called back, the creaks and moans of the ceiling alerting him to her approach.
Mohinder glanced around the kitchen, seeking the pile of letters that was usually waiting for him after coming off his second shift. He sighed, spotting the mail resting on the dinner table. He thumbed through each envelope, only to discover nothing of great importance.
'Is this all the mail?' he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see that his mother was standing behind him with an apologetic smile.
'Yes,' she said, 'and before you ask, there weren't any phone calls for you, either.'
Mohinder sighed, running a tired hand through his thick black curls. He was probably over reacting, because he had submitted the text for publication a little over a week ago. There was still plenty of time for Primatech Publishing to get back to him.
'You'll hear from them soon, Mohinder,' his mother assured him, wrapping her tired arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. 'Trust me darling, you're almost there.'
The Indian smiled, slinging his arm over his mother's shoulder and returning the hug. 'Almost there,' he repeated wistful. 'Yeah. I'm almost there.'
In spite of his weak, weary tone, the young man couldn't help feeling his stomach twisting with excitement at the prospect of sharing his father's ideas with everyone. People across the country, maybe even around the world will soon be able to read and appreciate all his father's hard work.
'Don't dwell on it,' his mother instructed, patting him on the hand encouragingly. 'All this sitting around and waiting will only make you upset. You should do something to take your mind off of it. Go out tonight.'
He chuckled, rolling his eyes and stepping away from his mother's warm, reassuring arms. It was more than a bit ironic that she would be saying this after everything that had happened at work today. 'Well, the Bennets did invite me to their masquerade ball, but...' Mohinder sighed, shrugging his shoulders. 'I'm not sure I want to go.'
'Why not?' the woman practically pouted, swatting his arm playfully.
'Because I have to open at the restaurant tomorrow,' he told her. 'Besides, I was already late today. I cannot afford to be late tomorrow as well!'
His mother frowned, placing her hands on her hips the way she always did whenever an excuse did not work on her -- and that was quite often. It was strange, almost shameful, to admit that the chiding look she often gave him still worked to send shivers down the young man's spine. 'Mohinder, you work too hard for someone your age!'
'I have to work hard! Father's not around anymore and someone has to take care of you.'
Her frown slowly melted into a sad smile as the woman reached out and cupped his face in her hands. 'You are a good son Mohinder,' she whispered. 'But I told you a long time ago that I do not want you to be like your father. How are you ever going to meet someone if you work all the time? Go to the party. Have fun. Dance.'
'I don't have time for dancing,' he laughed softly, stepping away from his mother's grasp and shaking his head slowly. 'It's not exactly my style... but if it'll make you happy, I suppose I could give it a shot.'
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He saw him from the corner of his eye, but he didn't pay the man much attention. Yet when a long staff being held by spidery fingers with blackened nails blocked his path, stopping him mid stride, the prince couldn't help but take notice of the stranger.
Gabriel scowled. He could hear Luke shrink back in fright at the sight of the man in front of them. He wasn't tall, but his form was long and lean. He had black paint or mascara smudged under his eyes, silver rings encasing his fingers, and wild brown hair sticking out in odd tuffs. The man flashed them a smile -- charming, soothing, disarming -- and it made Gabriel's senses go on high alert.
"Gentlemen," the stranger greeted, an Irish accent clear on his tongue. He bowed down to them; a sweeping gesture that caused the tail ends of his long coat to sway along with his movements. "I extend my warmest welcome to the both o' you."
"And... you would be?" Gabriel asked, his jaw squared and his arms folding over his broad chest.
"Samuel Sullivan," the man introduced, stepping beside him and draping a too familiar, too casual arm over his shoulder. "A well respected citizen of this fair city and one who may be o' some services to ya both."
A card seemed to materialize out of thin air and into the man's hand, but Gabriel wasn't impressed. It must have been some sort of trick, a slight of hand or something of the sort. Yet he took the card, deciding to play along. He needed to kill some time anyway.
"'Samuel Sullivan,'" he read aloud, "'Fortunes, Potions, and Charms...' Voodoo? Are you telling me you're a witchdoctor?"
Samuel chuckled softly as if Gabriel had somehow managed to embarrass him simply by stating the facts. "Such an ugly term," he chuckled, "yet accurate I'm afraid. An' my powers o' perception seem ta be tellin' me that I'm in the presence o' visitin' royalty."
"He's a psychic, sir," Luke whispered to him, fear and awe mingling in his words. "He read your fortune."
"Or this morning's newspaper," he shot back tersely, his hardened eyes never leaving Samuel's face. "There's no doubt that my face was all over every paper in town. Everyone in New Orleans knows who I am."
"But would jus' anyone be knowin' why yer here?" Samuel pressed, a cunning smirk gracing his features. "'Bout yer... 'lil problem'?"
The prince stiffened, fighting back the urge to blush uncontrollably or break out in a panicked sweat. Yet that announcement didn't really prove anything except that this Samuel Sullivan was a dangerous man to have around. "And what problem do you think I have?"
Samuel stepped aside, waving his cane in the air before striking the cobbled street noisily. "Only that you seem ta... how should I put this? Aren't much o' a skirt man? Aye, ya seem ta prefer the trousers."
Gabriel growled, reaching out and grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"
"Nothin' o' the sort," he assured. "In fact, I may have somethin' that could help ya with yer lil problem."
Despite the little voice nagging at the back of his head to be weary, Gabriel couldn't help the way his ears instinctively perked up at the man's words. "And how will you be able to accomplish that?" he asked, releasing the Irish witchdoctor from his clutches.
Samuel chuckled, straightening out the front of his shirt. "Jus' step this way," he said, waving towards a dark, narrow alley. "Step inta my parlor an' I'll see what I can do for you two fine gentlemen."
Without another word the voodoo man walked off, expecting to be followed. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at Luke, who looked nervous and confused, before turning back towards Samuel's quickly retreating figure. He sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and following along. He didn't really believe in magic or voodoo -- he was Catholic after all, born and raised -- yet if this witchdoctor had some way of making his problems go away, or at least make the idea of courting a young girl a bit more tolerable, then he should at least hear him out.
They wandered through a few back alley ways before coming across a small shop in a modest sized building. The location wasn't terrible, but it wasn't exactly what Gabriel had been expecting. A decorative wooden sign hung just above the door, the curtains in the windows were thick and well maintained, and there were a few strange, mystical looking symbols carved into the walls. It looked for all intents and purposes like a regular store, not at all what he would have expected a voodoo man's shop to look like, and for that the prince was a bit disappointed.
Samuel opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the prince and his valet to enter. Once inside, Gabriel quickly realized that he had spoken too soon. The voodoo man's parlor was dark and ominous. There were several crooked shelves mounted on the walls -- seemingly stacked right on top of each other -- containing jars and boxes of all shapes and sizes. There were trunks full of exotic goods, skulls and bones and cobwebs everywhere, thick dusty curtains draped against everything, and somewhere in the distance the young man heard the very distinct hiss of a snake. This was what he had expected from a voodoo man.
"Feel free ta make yerselves comfortable, gentlemen," Samuel said, patting Luke on the back affectionately (yet hard enough to make the boy lean forward from the force). "Put your minds at ease. If you'll relax it'll help me... concentrate."
Luke set the bags down in a corner by the door. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, sending his young valet a warning glance, reminding him not to mistreat his luggage.
The room brightened ever so slightly, the candles scattered around the cramped space lit seemingly on their own, bathing the parlor in an eerie glow. Gabriel turned and watched as Samuel approached a small table at the center of the room and gestured towards the two empty seats.
"Have a seat, my good sirs," the Irish man said, pulling out a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffling them.
"Tarot cards?" Gabriel scoffed skeptically even as he sat down at the witchdoctor's table.
"Somethin' like that," Samuel smiled as if deeply amused by something the young man had said. "The cards will help me tell the past, the present, an' the future as well. Jus' take three an' we'll take a lil trip inta yer future."
Samuel spread out the deck, fanning the cards in his hand and holding them forward. Luke sat down quietly beside Gabriel just as the prince rolled his eyes and plucked three cards at random. The valet did the same, but from the way he was trembling, Gabriel would have bet money that the boy was convinced something terrible was going to happen.
"Lay 'em flat on the table," Samuel instructed. "Face down."
Gabriel slapped his cards down noisily, crossing his arms over his flat chest and leaning back in his chair while Luke very meekly set his own cards down. Samuel reached for Gabriel's cards first, just as the prince knew he would, but his eyes didn't bother to stray from the witchdoctor's face.
"Now you, my good sir," he began, giving Gabriel his full attention, "come from a land across the sea. Ya hail from two long royal blood lines. Yer life style is very carefree an' excitin', but yer mother caught on ta yer dirty lil secret an' cut ya off, aye? But you, ya jus' wanna be free, hop from place ta place an' do as ya please. Course, ta do that, you'll be needin' ta find yerself a pretty lil miss ta settle down with. But I can fix everythin'. You prefer trousers to skirts, but I can make it so ya won't have that problem anymore."
"And just how do you plan on doing that?" Gabriel challenged.
Samuel's grin turned dark as he leaned forward, looking Gabriel directly in the eye. "I'll let you boys in on a lil secret," he whispered. "I've got connections, very powerful friends, if you will. I can use their influence ta change things 'round for ya."
Gabriel frowned, but said nothing. He looked around the room at the dark artwork and furniture and knew exactly what sort of "friends" Samuel was talking about. Yet he said nothing, because Samuel's attention quickly shifted from him to Luke and Gabriel could not understand why.
"Now you, my boy..." He laughed, waving his hand dismissively at the valet. "I won't waste much time with ya. You've been pushed 'round near all of yer young life. You've been pushed 'round by yer mother an' yer father an', no doubt, if you were married, you'd be pushed 'round by yer wife. But in yer future, I see ya becomin' the man you've always wanted ta be."
He flicked his wrists and flipped over the last card resting in front of Luke. Gabriel didn't look -- because he didn't care -- but he heard the way the boy gasped, straightening in his seat with pure excitement.
"Now boys," Samuel said, drawing both of their attention. "I can help ya. Both o' ya. All ya have ta do is shake my hand an' my friends will do their best ta change yer lives for the better." The man offered the two a long boney hand, his eyes serious and intense as he waited for them to respond. "Do we have a deal? All ya have ta do is shake a poor sinner's hand."
Gabriel heaved a long sigh, reaching out to grasp the Irish man's hand just as Luke very enthusiastically clapped his hand in Samuel's. As soon as their hands touched, the lights flashed, brightened. The room was glowing bright green and Gabriel found that he couldn't move. He looked down at his body and saw that twin serpents had come out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around his middle. He paled, looking back up to see that Samuel was now standing above him, a skull pained over his thin face.
The prince struggled twisting and turning in his chair as the room shifted, changing into a whirl of shapes and colors. The shelves and walls melted away, revealing nothing but ghastly looking wood carvings, giant faces that seemed to stare at them with grim glee.
"Are you ready boy?" Samuel cackled, approaching one of the faces. Its mouth opened wide and a strange charm, a miniature version of the face, came floating out and into Samuel's palm. "I hope you're ready."
Luke gasped, jumping up so quickly that his chair went toppling over and crashing onto the floor. Gabriel grunted, desperately trying to pull his hand away, but Samuel was at his side in an instant, grasping his hand in a vice like hold. Purple smoke spread through the air, winding around them as the little amulet's mouth opened and then bit into his index finger. He winced as the blood slowly came dripping out, making the charm's eyes glow bright red. His vision blurred. The purple smoke askewed everything as the world around him seemed to grow.
"You're changing, alright," he heard Samuel say. "I hope you're satisfied. O' course, if ya ain't, don't blame me, boy. You can blame my friends on the other side."
The witchdoctor's cryptic words were the last thing he heard as the world around him was consumed by smoke and darkness.
Chapter 2 - I Know This Story