Brakar paused in the doorway, letting himself appreciate how the freshly-cleaned windows transformed the space. Yesterday’s marathon cleaning session had stretched well past sunset, until every surface gleamed and even the most stubborn cobwebs had admitted defeat. The wooden counter, freed from decades of grime, revealed surprisingly elegant grain patterns. Even the old floorboards had cleaned up nicely, though they still creaked in protest whenever anyone walked near the center of the room.

Their celebration had been modest—the cheapest stew The Six Spoons offered, without even their usual ale to wash it down. They’d spent hours at their usual corner table, tossing around business ideas that felt increasingly desperate. A weapon shop? Too much competition. Armor repair? Neither of them knew the first thing about metalworking. Magical supplies? The licensing alone would eat through their meager savings. Each suggestion had felt more forced than the last, until they were just stating random objects and adding “...shop?” after them.

But Thadan had remained maddeningly optimistic. “Stop trying so hard,” he’d said, gesturing with his water cup as if it contained something far more expensive. “When it hits us, we’ll know. It’ll be like that time you figured out how to calm that mimic in the cistern—sometimes you just have to let the right answer find you.” Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like empty reassurance. From Thadan, it somehow felt like a prophecy.

This morning’s errand—returning an overdue stack of healing texts to the library—had given Brakar too much time to think. Each step had reminded him of their dwindling savings, of all the ways this venture could go wrong, of how completely unprepared they were for legitimate business ownership. But now, standing in their impeccably clean front room (salesroom, his mind supplied helpfully, trying to learn the proper terminology), he felt an unexpected surge of pride. They might not know what they were doing, but at least they were doing it thoroughly.

Today they would tackle the back room, and then their establishment would be ready to sell... whatever it was they eventually decided to sell. He snorted at the thought. At least their nonexistent inventory wouldn’t require much storage space.

The backroom’s door creaked in protest as Brakar pushed it open, unleashing a wave of musty air that made him want to sneeze. Decades of neglect had transformed what should have been simple storage space into an archaeological dig site. Boxes and crates formed precarious towers that seemed to defy gravity. Cobwebs stretched between them like ancient tapestries, their creators long since retired or deceased. The air carried the stillness of abandonment, while faint movements in the corner sent eerie shadows dancing across the debris-strewn floor.

“Well,” Thadan said cheerfully, peering over Brakar’s shoulder, “at least we know where all the dust from the front room went to hide.”

Brakar snorted. “Probably plotting its revenge.” He took a tentative step inside, testing the floorboards. They creaked but held firm. “At least the floor seems solid. Unlike your plan for what we’re actually going to sell in this place.”

“Details, details.” Thadan squeezed past him, already reaching for the nearest pile of boxes. “First we clean, then we organize, then inspiration strikes! That’s how these things work.”

“That’s not how anything works.”

But Thadan was already in full exploration mode, attacking the nearest stack of boxes with the enthusiasm of a child unwrapping festival gifts. The first box disintegrated as soon as he touched it, spraying ancient packing material across the floor. The second held what might have once been fabric samples, now serving as a rather posh retirement home for several generations of moths.

“Look at this!” Thadan held up something that looked like a ledger before time and moisture had their way with it. “Records from... I think that says ‘Import/Export.’ Or possibly ‘Important Eggs.’ The ink’s a bit smudged.”

Brakar carefully picked his way through the debris, keeping one eye on the ceiling. Years of adventuring had taught him that anywhere this dusty usually contained at least one nest of something unpleasant. “Just be careful what you touch. Some of these boxes look ready to collapse if you breathe on them wrong.”

“You worry too much.” Thadan dug elbow-deep into another crate. “Besides, we need to know what we’re dealing with. Could be valuable antiques in here! Historical artifacts! Ancient treasures!”

“Rat droppings, mostly.” Brakar picked up a broken chair leg, examining the teeth marks. “Very large rat droppings.”

The room seemed to stretch back farther than it should have, given the building’s exterior dimensions. Shadows pooled in the corners despite the light, and something about the way the boxes were stacked suggested a pattern—as if someone had deliberately created this maze of debris. Or something had.

Thadan, oblivious to such concerns, continued his archaeological expedition with undiminished enthusiasm. “Hey, some of these shipping labels are still readable! Looks like this place used to import... spices? No, wait, that’s not right. Unless ‘dangerous reagents’ is some kind of fancy cooking term.”

“Wonderful.” Brakar examined a suspicious stain on one wall. “So we’re cleaning up after failed alchemists. That explains the smell.”

“Adventure opportunity!” Thadan declared, wasting no time as he strode toward another pile. “Maybe they left behind some valuable formulas! Or rare ingredients! Or—”

“Or highly unstable experiments that have been fermenting for decades?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Brakar was about to point out exactly how many ways that could be a bad thing when something caught his attention. A slight movement in the corner of his eye, gone almost before he could register it. He turned slowly, scanning the room’s deeper shadows.

“Thadan.”

“Mm?” His friend was now attempting to extract what appeared to be a mummified plant from another box.

“When you signed the lease, did anyone mention anything about... previous tenants?”

“Just that the last owner left suddenly.” Thadan gave the plant one final tug, succeeding only in creating another cloud of dust. “Something about ‘pursuing other opportunities.’ Why?”

“Because I don’t think all of these boxes were arranged by people.”

That got Thadan’s attention. He straightened up, years of adventuring instincts finally kicking in. “What kind of not-people are we talking about?”

“The kind that likes dark corners and abandoned storage rooms.” Brakar took a careful step backward. “The kind that sometimes pretends to be something they’re not.”

“Ah.” Thadan’s hand instinctively reached for his sword’s usual spot, only to grasp the same mop he had used earlier. “That kind.”

They both stood very still, suddenly aware of how the room’s shadows seemed to shift and writhe when viewed directly. The piles of boxes no longer looked quite so random—in fact, they formed something almost like a funnel, leading deeper into the room’s recesses.

“Right,” Thadan said after a moment. “New plan. We clean this place with fire.”

“That’s your solution to everything.”

“Name one time it hasn’t worked.”

“The griffon nest?”

“Okay, two times.”

“The haunted library?”

“That barely counts! The books were already on fire when we got there.”

Their banter, automatic after years of partnership, helped steady Brakar’s nerves. He scanned the room again, this time with professional attention to detail. The dust patterns on the floor showed clear signs of recent movement—too regular to be rats, too deliberate to be natural settling. And some of the boxes...

“They’re herding us,” he realized aloud.

Thadan, who had been edging toward the door, paused. “What?”

“The box arrangements. Look at the pattern—they’re creating paths, funneling anyone who comes in toward specific points.” Brakar gestured at the seemingly random piles. “Classic mimic hunting behavior. They work together to guide prey into traps.”

“Mimics don’t hunt in packs,” Thadan protested. “Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone’s wrong.” Brakar took another careful step back. “They’re actually quite social. They just don’t usually get the chance to establish proper colonies because people keep killing them on sight.”

“And you know this because...?”

“I read.”

“Of course you do.” Thadan was now holding the feather duster like a weapon, which would have been comical under other circumstances. “So what’s the plan? Besides fire, I mean.”

Before Brakar could say anything, a sound cut through the musty air—wood scraping against wood, but with an organic quality that made his skin crawl. Something was moving in the deeper shadows, something large enough to stir the stale air and scatter the cobwebs in the wan sunlight.

“Hold very still,” Brakar whispered.

“Wasn’t planning on moving.” Thadan’s voice had taken on the tight quality it got when he was trying not to panic. “But maybe we should—”

The rest of his sentence was lost as several things happened at once. A stack of boxes near the back of the room collapsed, revealing a massive wooden chest that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. The chest’s surface gleamed with an unnatural sheen, its brass fittings catching the light despite decades of supposed neglect. And most tellingly, it sat perfectly centered in the clearing created by the fallen boxes, its lid slightly ajar in what Brakar could only describe as an inviting manner.

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“Oh,” Thadan breathed, his eyes lighting up with the exact wrong kind of interest. “Now that’s interesting.”

“Thadan, no.”

“But look at it! Those brass fittings alone must be worth—”

“It’s a mimic.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I very much do know that.”

But Thadan was already moving forward, drawn by the chest’s siren song of possible treasure. All thoughts of danger had evaporated in the face of potential profit, which Brakar might have found admirable if it wasn’t so consistently lethal.

“Think about it,” Thadan said, edging closer to the chest. “If this place was really infested with mimics, why would the landlord have rented it to us? They’d have mentioned something like that in the lease!”

“Did you actually read the lease?”

“I skimmed it!” Thadan was now close enough to touch the chest. “The important parts, anyway. Like the part about how much it cost. And the part where I sign.”

“So not the part about pre-existing occupants?”

“Details!” Thadan reached for the chest’s lid. “Besides, look how normal it is! Just a regular, ordinary treasure chest that someone obviously abandoned in their haste to leave. Their loss, our gain!”

Brakar watched with a mixture of resignation and morbid fascination as his friend grabbed the chest’s lid. Years of adventuring together had taught him that some lessons could only be learned the hard way. Besides, he had a feeling about how this particular lesson was going to play out.

The lid opened smoothly, without even a creak—which should have been the final warning sign. Thadan peered inside, his face lit with anticipation.

“I don’t see anything...” he muttered, leaning further in. “Maybe there’s a false bottom? Or a hidden compartment? Or—”

The chest’s transformation from inanimate object to very animate predator was almost too fast to follow. One moment Thadan was peering into its depths, the next he was yanked forward as the “lid” revealed itself to be an impressive set of teeth. A long, surprisingly dexterous tongue wrapped around his torso, and the whole thing snapped shut with a wet sound that would have been comical if it wasn’t so alarming.

“Mmmph!” Thadan’s muffled voice emerged from within the mimic’s maw. “Mmph mmph mmph!”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Brakar crossed his arms, making no move to help. “I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of being exactly right about this being a mimic.”

More muffled protests emerged, accompanied by what sounded like creative cursing. The mimic made a sound that was likely a chuckle.

“You know,” Brakar continued conversationally, “for someone who’s been adventuring for years, you’d think you’d have learned to recognize the signs by now. The too-perfect placement? The suspicious shine on the brass? The complete lack of dust despite being in a room that hasn’t seen a broom in decades?”

“Mmph mph!”

“Not to mention the fact that treasure chests don’t typically just appear in abandoned storerooms. I mean, really. What did you think was going to happen?”

The mimic seemed to tremble. Brakar could swear it was laughing. He sighed, finally taking pity on his friend’s situation.

“Alright, alright. Hold still—both of you.”

He raised his hands, beginning the familiar gestures of a basic communication spell. But as always, something in his magical essence caused the words to come out slightly wrong, the arcane syllables twisting into shapes that would have made his old teachers wince. Instead of the clear, precise tones most mages used, his spell emerged with what could only be described as an accent—as if the magic itself was speaking in dialect.

To his relief (but not surprise), the mimic appeared to acknowledge him, its grip on Thadan easing just a little.

“There we go,” Brakar said soothingly, maintaining the spell’s awkward cadence. “No need for eating. Friend here. Just exploring. Very chewy anyway.”

The mimic emitted a low, rumbling vibration that suggested consideration, then slowly opened its maw. Thadan tumbled out, covered in what appeared to be magical saliva, but otherwise unharmed.

“That,” he declared, wiping slime from his face, “was unnecessary.”

“Was it though?” Brakar continued the odd magical conversation with their new acquaintance. “Good mimic. Nice mimic. Want to be furniture instead? Much more comfortable.”

The creature’s surface rippled one final time, and then it began to change. The chest’s form melted and flowed like wax, reshaping itself into something new. Within moments, a perfectly ordinary-looking chair stood where the chest had been—though Brakar noticed it had maintained the same rich wood tones and brass accents, just in more appropriate places.

“Show-off,” Thadan muttered, still trying to wring slime out of his shirt.

Brakar settled into the chair-that-wasn’t-really-a-chair, sighing with theatrical exhaustion. “You know, this is actually quite comfortable. Much better than being eaten, wouldn’t you say?”

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t.” Brakar patted the mimic’s arm rest appreciatively. “And now that we’ve sorted out the whole eating-versus-not-eating situation, we should probably get back to cleaning. This place isn’t going to organize itself.”

“You’re sitting on a monster that just tried to eat me, and you want to discuss cleaning schedules?”

“Would you prefer to discuss how you didn’t read the lease properly? Or how about your amazing treasure-hunting instincts?”

Thadan threw up his hands, splattering more magical slime across the floor. “Fine! Fine. We’ll clean. But I’m not turning my back on that thing.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Brakar agreed. “Though I should point out that there are at least three more mimics in here watching us right now.”

“What?!”

“Oh yes. See that bookshelf in the corner? And that cabinet? And I’m pretty sure that mirror isn’t really attached to anything.”

Thadan’s head whipped around, taking in the furniture pieces Brakar had indicated. Now that it had been pointed out, their too-perfect positioning was obvious. Each piece sat just so, creating clear sightlines to the room’s entrance while maintaining easy access to shadow.

“So we’ve been in a room full of mimics this entire time?”

“Technically, we’re in their room.” Brakar gave his chair-mimic another pat. “They were here first, after all.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

“I did mention it. Several times. You were too busy looking for treasure.”

Thadan slumped against a nearby wall, then thought better of it and stood up straight again. “So what do we do now? We can’t exactly run a shop with a backroom full of carnivorous furniture.”

“Why not?” Brakar shifted slightly, and the mimic adjusted its shape to provide better lumbar support. “They’re clearly intelligent, they understand basic communication, and they haven’t actually hurt anyone. Well, aside from trying to eat you, but you did basically invite that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious.” Brakar stood up, and the mimic smoothly reverted to its chair form. “Besides, think about it—what better security system could we ask for? No one’s going to rob a shop where the furniture bites back.”

Thadan looked ready to argue, but hesitated. Brakar could practically see the gears turning in his head as he considered the possibilities.

“They would be cheaper than hiring guards,” he said slowly.

“And more reliable.”

“And they don’t need salaries.”

“Just the occasional snack, I imagine.” Brakar glanced at the other mimics, which had dropped all pretense of being inanimate and were now openly watching the conversation. “Though we should probably establish some ground rules about not eating customers.”

“Or business partners,” Thadan added pointedly.

“I’m sure we can work something out.” Brakar turned to address the room at large, letting his magical accent color his words. “What do you say? Want to be part of a legitimate business venture? Much more interesting than lurking in storage rooms.”

The shimmering skin of each mimic pulsed in unison—a gesture their prey often mistook for acceptance. Fatal mistake.

“Right then!” Thadan’s natural enthusiasm was already reasserting itself. “New plan: we clean this place up, establish clear boundaries with our furniture-shaped friends, and figure out what kind of business can benefit from having a backroom full of shape-shifting predators!”

“That’s... actually not a terrible idea,” Brakar admitted.

“Of course it’s not! I’m full of not-terrible ideas!” Thadan paused. “Though maybe we don’t mention this particular feature in our marketing materials.”

“Wise.”

They spent the next few minutes in companionable silence, surveying their new domain. With the mimics now openly acknowledging their presence, the space felt less threatening and more... cozy. In an extremely dangerous sort of way.

“We should probably start with the actual cleaning,” Brakar said finally. “Assuming our new friends don’t mind us disturbing their habitat?”

The bookshelf-mimic shifted slightly, adjusting its shelves in what was likely permission. The others followed suit, each moving to create clear paths through the debris.

“Well then.” Thadan retrieved their cleaning supplies from where they’d dropped them earlier. “Let’s make this place presentable! Though I have to ask...” He glanced at Brakar’s chair-mimic. “Are you planning to supervise while sitting on a predator the whole time?”

“I might.” Brakar settled back into the surprisingly comfortable chair. “Someone has to make sure you don’t try to open any more suspicious containers.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“By the way, before you get too enthusiastic about our cleaning operation, there’s something you need to know.” Brakar shifted in his living chair, which adjusted obligingly to his posture. “The mimics have been... communicating with me. About the cellar.”

“Oh?” Thadan’s hand froze halfway to a fallen brush. “Let me guess—more furniture-shaped friends down there?”

“One. But not the friendly sort.” Brakar’s expression grew serious. “They’re quite insistent about it, actually. Whatever’s down there—it’s powerful. Dangerous. The kind of mimic that makes other mimics nervous.”

The bookshelf-mimic’s exterior seemed to ripple in confirmation.

“How powerful are we talking about?” Thadan was already moving toward the cellar door, because of course he was.

“Powerful enough that you absolutely should not open that door to check.” Brakar sighed as his friend reached for the handle anyway. “Which is exactly what you’re about to do.”

The door creaked open just enough for Thadan to peer into the darkness below. The stale air that wafted up carried a scent that was distinctly wrong—not just the usual cellar mustiness, but something older, hungrier.

Thadan closed the door with deliberate care. “Right. So. That’s not something we can handle on our own.”

“Finally, a sensible reaction to danger.”

“We need Mira and Pockets.”

“And there it goes.”

“No, think about it!” Thadan’s eyes had that dangerous gleam that usually preceded either brilliance or disaster. “Mira’s archery skills, Pockets’ devices—they’d be perfect for this! And they’d want to know about the mimics anyway.”

Brakar considered it. “You may have a point. For once.”

“Could you use your mimic-speaking thing on it? Talk it into being less murderous?”

“Not directly. Something that powerful—it would take time. Preparation.” Brakar glanced at their furniture allies. “I’d need help keeping it distracted while I work the magic. The type of help that might come from, say, an expert archer and an enthusiastic artificer.”

“So we’re agreed?” Thadan was practically bouncing now. “We get the team back together? One last adventure?”

“One very carefully planned, thoroughly prepared adventure,” Brakar corrected. “With proper equipment this time.”

“Of course, of course.” Thadan nodded solemnly, though his grin suggested he’d stopped listening after ‘adventure.’ “I’ll send messages right away! They’re going to love this!”

The chair-mimic vibrated slightly under Brakar, as if it was making fun of their situation. He couldn’t really blame it. Here they were, supposedly retired from adventuring, planning to recruit their former party members to deal with a super-powered mimic in their shop’s cellar.