Brakar’s fingers traced the spines of three identical leather-bound tomes, trying to spot any difference between them. Each bore the gilded title “Furnishings of the Eastern Kingdoms” and had precisely the same weight and dimensions. He glanced at the mimic-bookcase behind his desk, which showcased rows of books in neat order.

  “Can you maaake… all threeee… loooook… slightlyyy diiifferennnt?”

  The bookcase trembled. One book’s spine darkened to a deeper brown, another developed a slight gold trim, and the third grew thinner.

  “Perfect.”

  He’d spent the afternoon organizing their new showroom display. The mimic transformations had become almost routine now—his magical “accent” still made the process exhausting, but he’d developed efficient shortcuts. The bookcase had proven cooperative, seeming to enjoy the intellectual challenge of presenting itself as a varied collection.

  The bell above the door jangled as the evening’s first shadows crept across the floor.

  “Brak! You still here?” Thadan’s voice boomed through the shop.

  Brakar sighed, setting down his inventory ledger. “Where else would I be?”

  Footsteps approached—more than one set. Brakar stiffened. Thadan bringing unexpected visitors usually meant trouble.

  “Got someone for you to meet,” Thadan announced, rounding the corner with a lanky figure trailing behind him.

  The man who followed Thadan appeared as if he’d been assembled from spare parts in a university laboratory. Tall and painfully thin with gray hair that stuck out at odd angles, he had the harried look of someone interrupted mid-thought. His clothes might have formerly appeared fine—the collar of his shirt suggested quality fabric—but burn marks mottled the sleeves, and various stains formed an abstract map across his vest. Wire-rimmed spectacles sat askew on his nose, and his hazel eyes darted around the room, cataloging everything with intense focus.

  Naia emerged from the back room, her antennae twitching with interest at the newcomer.

  “This is Miles Hartwick,” Thadan said, clapping the thin man on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble forward. “Academic genius, alchemical wizard, and our newest volunteer.”

  “Volunteer?” Brakar echoed.

  “I prefer the term ‘independent researcher with mutually beneficial arrangement,’” Miles corrected, his voice deeper and steadier than one might expect for someone who looked like a strong breeze might carry him away. “And I’m very interested in your feeding formula.”

  Brakar and Naia exchanged glances.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Naia said, extending her hand. “Naia Elshara, showroom manager.”

  Miles stared at her hand for a beat too long before shaking it with a strong grip. “Fascinating pigmentation in your wing scales. Completely natural?”

  “Yes...” Naia withdrew her hand.

  “Miles is going to help us improve our mimic formula,” Thadan explained, rocking back on his heels with unmistakable pride. “Make it more efficient, longer-lasting, maybe even add some special features.”

  “Special features?” Brakar frowned. “They’re already furniture that tries to eat people now and then. What more could they need?”

  Miles’s eyes lit up. “Oh, the possibilities are endless! Color-changing properties, temperature regulation, texture variations—”

  “And it won’t cost us a copper,” Thadan added, grinning.

  Brakar narrowed his eyes. “Why would you volunteer to help us for free?”

  Miles turned his intense gaze back to Brakar. “Access to multiple viable mimics in a controlled environment. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Most research facilities have one, maybe two specimens, damaged from capture. You have multiple transformed specimens in this room alone, all stable. The academic papers I could produce will secure my position at the university for years.”

  “Papers?” Brakar’s stomach tightened. “You plan to publish information about our business?”

  “With appropriate anonymization, of course,” Miles assured him, though his tone suggested this was an inconvenient detail. “The commercial applications would remain proprietary.”

  Naia stepped forward, her wings folded against her back in what Brakar had learned was her negotiation posture. “Perhaps we should discuss the specific parameters of this arrangement before proceeding.”

  “Absolutely,” he agreed. “Though I should mention that my current research is at a critical juncture. The sooner I can begin observations, the better.”

  Thadan clapped his hands together. “Why don’t we give Miles the tour first? Show him what he’ll be working with.”

  Brakar caught Thadan’s arm as he moved to lead Miles deeper into the shop. “Where exactly did you two meet?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Tell you later,” Thadan whispered, patting Brakar’s shoulder. Then, louder: “Miles, let me show you our pride and joy—the mimic-sofa. It’s a real beauty, used to be a weapon rack that almost killed us.”

  As Thadan led Miles away, Naia sidled up to Brakar. “Do we trust him?” she murmured.

  Brakar watched as Miles crouched to examine the sofa, pulling a small notebook from his pocket and scribbling notes. “I don’t know yet. But Thadan’s schemes often work out... in the end.”

  “Are you sure he’s not just crazy?”

  They followed the pair through the showroom, which had transformed in the past weeks. What had once been an empty, dusty space now displayed an impressive array of mimic-furniture: chairs in various styles, side tables, ottomans, a writing desk, bookshelves, and even a few decorative items like vases and wall sconces. Each piece maintained perfect form, though Brakar sometimes caught subtle movements—a chair adjusting its height as someone approached, a table smoothing its surface, a vase shifting its color to better complement nearby pieces.

  “Remarkable consistency in the transformations,” Miles observed, pausing to inspect a dining chair. “How often do you feed them?”

  “Once a month,” Brakar answered.

  “And you’re using a standard suppression formula?”

  “It’s Thadan’s own recipe,” Brakar replied, unable to keep a note of pride from his voice. Their business might have started as a desperate gamble, but Thadan’s feeding formula had been a true innovation.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Thadan puffed up his chest. “Modified from standard healing potions. The trick is diluting it just right and adding a bit of ground quartz.”

  Miles looked skeptical. “Quartz? That’s... unorthodox.”

  “Works, though,” Thadan insisted.

  “And where are you sourcing your mimics?” Miles asked, adjusting his glasses. “I assume you’re not hunting them yourselves anymore.”

  Brakar tensed. The question probed too close to their arrangement with Rytha, which remained delicate. “We have an arrangement with an adventurer,” he said carefully.

  “One I still owe a night of passionate scholarly discussion,” Thadan added with a wink.

  Brakar shot him a look. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

  Thadan grinned unrepentantly. “When you’ve got my level of charisma, Brak, everything becomes scholarly.”

  They continued to the back room, where several unmolded mimics waited in reinforced cages—a recent addition after one bold specimen had attempted to squeeze through the bars. These raw mimics resembled amorphous masses of gelatinous flesh, pulsing in slow waves and sometimes extending pseudopods to test their confines.

  Miles approached the cages with undisguised fascination, pulling a magnifying glass from his pocket to examine one in detail. “Extraordinary,” he breathed. “This one appears to be developing rudimentary ocular structures. How long have you had it?”

  “Three days,” Brakar answered, surprised by the observation. He hadn’t noticed the small, eye-like formations developing along the mimic’s surface. “Is that normal?”

  “Not at all,” Miles replied, excitement evident in his voice. “Mimics often develop specialized sensory organs after bonding to a specific form. This suggests an accelerated adaptation process.” He straightened up, tucking the magnifying glass away. “I’d very much like to take some samples, if you don’t mind.”

  “Samples?” Brakar scowled.

  “Just small tissue collections,” Miles assured him. “Nothing that would harm the specimens or affect their transformation capabilities.”

  Thadan smacked his hands together. “Let’s show him the formula first! Save the slicing and dicing for later.”

  He led them to a small workbench in the corner where several bottles of murky liquid sat in neat rows. Picking one up, he handed it to Miles.

  Miles uncorked the bottle and sniffed with caution, his nose wrinkling. “Interesting. You’re using a healing potion base?”

  “Minor regeneration,” Thadan confirmed. “Watered down to about a third strength, mixed with ground quartz, like I said. And a tiny bit of dried nightshade.”

  “Nightshade?” Miles looked alarmed. “That stuff is toxic.”

  “Just a pinch,” Thadan said, raising his hands. “Mimics love the stuff. Keeps them happy.”

  Miles recorked the bottle with a thoughtful expression. “It’s indeed... creative. But I suspect I could develop something better, with fewer potential side effects.”

  “Side effects?” Brakar asked, concern creeping into his voice.

  “Nothing urgent, but nightshade can build up in organic systems over time. In the long run, it might affect the mimics’ transformation stability.”

  Thadan’s face fell. “So my formula’s no good?”

  “It’s quite effective for someone without formal alchemical training,” Miles said, in what was meant to be a compliment but came across as condescending. “But it’s the equivalent of feeding your mimics cheap tavern scraps instead of a proper meal. Functional, but not optimal.”

  “And you could improve it?” Naia asked…

  Miles straightened his glasses. “With proper equipment and ingredients, I could develop a formula that would extend transformation periods, improve stability, and possibly even enhance certain desired characteristics. The applications are limited only by our understanding of mimic physiology—which I intend to expand in depth.”

  Brakar had to admit, the possibilities were intriguing. Their business had grown at a fast pace, but they faced increasing competition from conventional furniture makers who’d begun to notice their success. Enhanced features could give them a significant advantage.

  “We could set you up in the cellar,” Brakar suggested, surprising himself with the offer.

  “Perfect! I can begin immediately.” He patted a leather satchel slung across his shoulder. “I brought some basic equipment.”

  As Miles disappeared down the trapdoor, Brakar pulled Thadan aside. “Alright, out with it. Where did you find him, and what’s the catch?”

  Thadan’s face split into a grin. He glanced around to ensure Miles was out of earshot, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know how we’ve been talking about improving the formula, but neither of us knows enough about alchemy?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I asked around. Asked Ms. Thornberry if she knew any experts in meta... meta-chronal...”

  “Metachronal transmutation alchemy?” Brakar supplied, impressed that Thadan had even attempted the term.

  “That’s it!” Thadan snapped his fingers. “Turns out, Thornberry knows everyone. Her sister-in-law’s cousin owns a tavern near the university where Professor Willowick’s chambermaid attends a knitting circle.”

  Brakar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course she does.”

  “And this chambermaid cleans the lab where Miles works,” Thadan continued, evidently pleased with himself. “So Thornberry gave me instructions about bribing the chambermaid’s daughter—who delivers Miles’s meals—to ‘accidentally’ leave his door unlocked during a delivery.”

  “You bribed someone to help you break into a professor’s laboratory?” Brakar hissed.

  “Not break in,” Thadan corrected, looking offended. “I knocked, in the end. After I was already inside.”

  “Thadan...”

  “The point is,” Thadan pressed on, “I got to explain our situation to him. And he got super excited! Started talking about research opportunities and academic prestige. It seems having access to multiple mimics is a big deal in academic circles.”

  “And he agreed to help us for free?” Brakar remained skeptical.

  Thadan shrugged. “Not free. He gets to write papers about it. But we get improved formulas and don’t have to pay him a salary. Win-win.”

  “Unless his research reveals something about mimics that hurts our business,” Brakar pointed out.

  “Always seeing the dark lining in the silver cloud, aren’t you, Brak?” Thadan sighed. “Look, the guy’s a genius. His laboratory had all these bubbling things and glowing potions. And he’s published in the Arcane Quarterly. That’s the fancy journal with the gold lettering.”

  “I know what the Arcane Quarterly is,” Brakar muttered. He’d spent enough time in libraries to recognize the most prestigious magical journal in the region, though its subscription costs had always been well beyond his means.

  Naia joined them, her expression thoughtful. “He seems quite enthusiastic about the research opportunity. And his credentials appear legitimate, from what I can tell.”

  “See?” Thadan gestured with a triumphant wave. “Naia agrees with me.”

  “I said his enthusiasm seems genuine,” Naia clarified. “I still think we should establish clear boundaries about what he can and cannot publish.”

  A loud clatter from the cellar interrupted their discussion. Miles had begun setting up an impressive array of equipment from his bottomless satchel. Glass vials, small brass instruments, and a collapsible stand with an adjustable arm now occupied the central space. He was trying to hang a small copper kettle from the stand, which appeared to be the source of the noise.

  “Sorry about that,” he called up, noticing them peering down. “Just getting the basic distillation apparatus set up. This space is perfect—the stone walls will help maintain consistent temperatures.”

  “Need any help?” Thadan offered.

  “No, no, I’ve got it,” Miles assured them, as he secured the kettle in place. “I’ll have an initial formula ready for testing within a week, I should think. Sooner if these specimens are as responsive as they appear.”

  Brakar watched as Miles continued unpacking his equipment. Despite his skepticism, he found himself impressed by the man’s obvious expertise. Perhaps Thadan’s impulsive recruitment would prove beneficial after all.

  “We should let him work,” Naia suggested. “It’s getting late, and we have customers coming to view the new dining set tomorrow morning.”

  Thadan nodded. “Right. Miles, we’re heading out. Lock up when you’re done?”

  Miles looked up, blinking as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Hmm? Oh, yes. Don’t worry, I’ll secure everything. I just want to take a few baseline measurements before I leave.”

  As they climbed the stairs from the shop into the cooling evening air, Brakar found himself wondering about their newest associate. Miles Hartwick knew his craft, but something about his intensity made Brakar uneasy. Or perhaps it was that Thadan’s schemes never proceeded without complications.

  “You think this is a good idea?” he asked Thadan as they locked the shop door.

  Thadan slung an arm around Brakar’s shoulders. “Look, worst case, he makes some useless potions and writes a boring paper. Best case, he revolutionizes our mimic feed and we sell furniture that glows in the dark or keeps your tea warm. Where’s the downside?”

  “The downside is often where we least expect it,” Brakar grumbled.

  “Such a pessimist,” Thadan chuckled. “Come on, let’s get dinner at Six Spoons. I’m starving, and Kip mentioned they’re serving that spiced lamb stew you like tonight.”