The air is warm and carries upon it the scent of roasting meats and baking pies, the pungent scent of boiled vegetables, and the oceanic scent of lobster. I lick my lips, shake my head, the better to taste the scent in the air. From a safe distance, I watch this gathering of disparate humans—a few children in constant motion, some men, mainly women. From these last will I choose the next woman to serve. I will choose from those who sit on the outside of the circle. I know already that someone needs me. For her, I will walk out of the shadows. I am a watcher. I am a guardian.