The beginning is a bit hazy, to say the least. I remember growing up in the city. My mother was an accountant’s assistant, and my father ran a bank on the Upper East Side. We were well to do and very fortunate. I went to the best schools, graduating early due to intelligence, and earned my doctorate in Archaeology from a prestigious university. I never once questioned my age or my heritage. I lived my life just like everyone else did in our city. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until I was twenty-five and strange things began to occur. Suddenly, if I touched a relic of any sort, I could hear the thoughts and see the lives of the ones that owned it. I was in some kind of supersonic link with the dead. It got so bad that I took to wearing thick gloves during digs just so that I could avoid the visions.
It took a lot of courage to tell my father of the occurrences. He looked at me with a little smile and puffed on his pipe. It felt like he was mocking me in some way or maybe it was disbelief, either way, it was not reassuring. He called my mother into the room, and they had a sit-down chat with me. According to them, I was a late bloomer. Most of my “kind”, as they called me, received their first gifts during their teenage years.
According to them, my mother was a telepath. Relatively human in nature, just advanced skills of the mind. I had always thought as a child that my mother had an uncanny gift of reading my thoughts. She always knew what would make me feel better, and when to punish me for lying. My father doted on her for some time. Apparently, she had helped in many cases during the Civil War (of all things). She had been alive far longer than the 50 years I knew. I thought she was just aging exceptionally well.
My father was something more of a mystery, a rare species to say the least. He was able to jump through time. He was also skilled at dragging both my mother and me through the rips as well. So, while I appeared to be a healthy twenty-five-year-old man living in 1960 America, I was really well over that in years. Anytime that someone became suspicious of my family, my father would just jump us to another time, and my mother would erase my memories and replace them with more time appropriate ones.
I was, what my father called, a telepathic jumper. While I was not able to move my body through time and space the way that he could, I was able to move the mind by thoughts and memories of those that are dead and gone (or even just missing). He explained that was the reason I could hear and see things when I touched the artifacts from a dig. He swore my purpose was to find and destroy any magical artifact that I came across. There were far too many objects hunted by witches and demons because of their power. My father felt that I was the most suited to find and destroy these items before they fell into the wrong hands.
Shortly after the brief explanation of my gifts, my parents disappeared into the past. I admit this was probably the hardest thing to grasp onto. They had left me with no ability to physically jump. I was stuck in modern-day America to do the job that my father had so eloquently told me about. For several years I continued to work as I had before until I started to find clues. I figured that it was all coincidence until letters and parcels began to arrive, each addressed from my father and mother. The letters were dated with different years and usually had a map or directions listed. They were zapping in and out of time looking for the relics they needed me to destroy. So that is what I did for several decades.
During the Hybrid War, my parents returned to assist in understanding the Queen’s demands. My father died first from a magic missile (for lack of better words) to the head while he was in mid-jump. My mother died six months later during a telepathic link where the target learned her location and decapitated her upon entry into the home. Just like that everything changed. I never had the training that my father kept promising, and now I had to become a scholar and a thief to complete the mission they had so kindly put me on many years before.
Right after the war ended, I was on sabbatical, trying to figure out what my purpose was now that my parents were no longer with me. That was when I found Priscilla. She was no more than five with golden locks of hair and huge blue eyes. Her clothes were dirty and ragged, her face covered in dirt, her little hands dry and bleeding. Much of the world around her had been destroyed, and yet this little girl somehow made it out alive. I was fascinated with her. She instantly became my heart and soul. Together we worked in mystery her tiny little face keeping me attached to the modern world.
Several years later during a routine mind jump Priscilla, who happens to be human by the way, managed to make contact with the visions. Together we had many adventures in the minds of the dead. We dug for artifacts and did research to find out what they were needed for. We began a registry and even did some additional work for the military and police. Her gift brought a whole new level of happiness. Some might think it simple, but without her, the world would never know what it should fear the most.
Finally, ten years following the end of the war I had a vision. That vision is what put me on my current quest. I had to find the Mimic, save the Reapress, and hunt the Spark. Together Priscilla and I discovered our task was daunting but possible. I was the last to make an appearance.
We made it to the City of the Sun byways of Gretel, the Mimic I just mentioned. She was the wife of a powerful Warlock, who just happened to be the son of the manic spirit wanting to take over the world. She is gifted, frightening, and the mother of the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. I start my story with her. The mother of shifters and skinwalkers alike. With her, we are to find her two remaining children to unlock the next step in this dangerous journey.