Igram, on the other side of the world, was living his best life. He was a sixteen-year-old in filthy rich men's bodies with all the money, women, and all rules he could break. He was busy on yachts, traveling, and exploring the world.
He called it the spring voyage of the world that the Coven hid from him, the world that was so beautiful in his eyes that every place kept mesmerizing him. He could not believe he wasted sixteen years of his life in a forsaken place full of bitter witches that were locked up like mice in cages waiting to be experimented on.
He could not believe his mother subjected him to such a life. He did not understand why she accepted such a life herself. If he could get away using her magic, he was sure she could do a better job than him, yet she chose to live in that filthy place. A place that he could see she neither liked nor welcomed her.
The place that he now hated so much with every fiber of his being. There was nothing compared to what he was experiencing. And taking him back was going to involve them transporting his lifeless corpse.
He stood at the edge of the shining yacht, glancing at the reflection of a hot, handsome real estate investor, Mark Twain.
The new face that he stole two days ago after ditching the philanthropist's face and wiping out all his accounts dry.
His new face was some sort of upgrade; neck-length brown hair with a dashing smile and a gorgeous set of green eyes. A chick magnet with charisma as high as a mountain.
It was never difficult for him to get into the characters of his victims. All he ever needed was one week to watch them and get everything that he wanted. The voice, the walk, the character, mannerism, and every detail of whoever he chose. Other things, like phone pins or bank pins, fell into place. He was always lucky if the person used thumbprints for their gadgets or passwords because his shapeshifting took in every aspect of the person, from the scent to fingerprints, to DNA.
That was the major reason why it was difficult for Ezeldah or his mother to track him. His shapeshifting was like no other. He became the person he shaped shifted into every fiber.
He sipped on his cocktail, smiling. He planned to watch the sunset. There was something about them that fascinated him ever since he was introduced to the human world.
At the coven, they worshiped the moon. Witches were delighted and excited during full moons. There was always a festival planned for the full moon, but none for the sun. It always irritated him, but that was in the past. In his new life, he planned to celebrate the sun. The sunrise, the sunset, anything to do with the sun because it brightened up his day, and not the stupid full moon that signified ugly witches.
He took a seat, taking in all the views that read out freedom. The yacht captain walked to where he was seated and inquired where he wanted to sail to.
He already had an island in mind and already made the needed preparations.
"Take us Hawaii," Igram replied, with a smile on his face.
The captain noted and headed back to sail south. Ingram stretched out on his chair as he enjoyed the ride. He planned to blow up the account with gambling and hot girls. From there he planned to pick up the next victim. Staying too long in one victim's body would draw authorities.
Morning came and as they touched the shoreline, Igram was filled with excitement. Deep within him, there was still that little boy who was always wowed by little things.
He left the captain a huge cheque to enjoy themselves with and called his temporal personal guide whom he had earlier spoken to on the phone to meet him before he docked.
Since he was in the game of traveling and seeing the world, he found it was a bit easier to book a tour guide of the native country, which he termed as a personal guide to help him with navigating the new country, places, and culture.
The job of the personal guide was simple; they were supposed to meet him at the airport or dock with everything prepared from the most expensive hotel suite in that city, coupled with the most expensive ride to take him to that hotel.
No matter how late he was, that personal guide was supposed to buy off reservations from other tourists of rich knobs and replace them with him. So, the personal guide was always someone who was well connected in the entertainment and travel industry in that particular country.
From the hotel, the personal guide was supposed to book expensive girls for the night with a list of all the most beautiful and expensive places for him to choose for the morning of touring, dining, and fun.
Within minutes, the personal guide showed up, having made all the preparations that were acquired for him.
Ingram was led to a black Mercedes-Benz 300SLR, one of the most expensive cars in the world. It was difficult for the personal guide to get the car into the country under short notice, but with a client that had a lot of money to throw around and a system that was willing to look the other way as long as they got a big cut, he managed to.
Igram's eyes glistened at the beautiful machine in front of him. He lifted the man and circled him around in excitement. The car was a marvel, and he would always break the bank just to acquire it.
He kissed the rear of the car and called out, "Kaimana my friend, you are driving," he announced.
The poor personal guide stared at him in confusion. Most rich men would not allow another man near an expensive new model of a car. Such valuables were treated like girls, and it was only honorable for the owner to drive them first.
"Come on, Kaimana, if I knew how to drive or had a license, I wouldn't be asking you to drive," Igram stated and moved to the passenger seat.
Kaimana was surprised as to why a rich man had no license and did not know how to drive. It was weird. He had a lot of questions but chose to keep them to himself.
The offer was accepted, and he quickly got into the car and drove to the hotel.
Unknown to him, the rich man seated next to him was a sixteen-year-old in a thirty-something's body. Even though he could take up the driving learned from the previous host of the body, he was terrified to do so, but he planned to go to driving school to learn the art manually.
Ingram was the type that was fascinated by cars, but there were none in his coven. The witches moved around with the art of teleportation, which he found to be boring. A car was more fun, and he planned to learn to drive after he was done with Hawaii.
They arrived at the hotel and he was given the keys to his suite, but before he could turn to his room, The hotel management was already notified of his presence, and a manager quickly rushed to him.
The manager called out to "Mr. Twain, Mr. Twain."
However, Igram was busy narrating a ghost story of one of the ghosts he used to torment in the graveyards back at the coven to his personal tour. He always enjoyed telling ghost stories to his guide, they were usually not interested but he did not care; he paid them a lot of money, so they were supposed to nod or laugh at the stories.
They could both hear the manager calling him, but Igram had forgotten his new name. He was not yet used to the change of names now and then.
"Sir, you are being called," the personal guide cut in.
"I beg your pardon?" Igram replied.
"Mr. Twain, is your name isn't?"
Igram raised his brows before it clicked that he was the Mr. Twain everything was referring to.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"Yes, Mr. Twain, I am fine, and thank you for the warm welcome," he responded, shaking the man's hand.
The manager and the guide shared glances. They could only conclude that he was on some high-end drugs.
The manager spoke. "Mr. Twain, we just wanted to inform you that the hotel is holding a formidable fundraising dinner this evening and we would love you to join us."
Though he was unfamiliar with the rich world, he was familiar with some terms because of the high school he had enrolled in, which he had found boring but opted for the online distance classes that allowed him to travel while schooling.
"What is the fundraiser about?" he asked.
"It's the Rosalind Cancer Foundation, sir," he replied.
Igram did not look impressed. He had better plans which involved hot women and a lot of alcohol lined up on his schedule.
His guide quickly got in, "Sorry, but Mr. Twain has other plans lined up."
"Oooh, that's a pity, a lot of influential and rich people will be in attendance, so I thought maybe it would be his type of function," the manager replied.
Hearing the word rich, Igram quickly moved forward. That was where he needed to be if he was going to leave the island with a new identity.
"On second thought, I would love to join you this evening," he replied.
"But sir, I booked…"
Igram quickly dismissed his guide, declaring, "Cancer is more important than women with fake boobs," and led the way.