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The small bell above the door chimes as a customer enters.
Jasper isn’t far away; she’s only about five feet from the entrance, arms filled by a box she casually pulls product from to place inside one of the glass-covered cabinets lining the apothecary’s far wall. She grunts in lieu of a greeting, not bothering to pay much attention to the customer as they enter. Anyone who shopped here already knew what they wanted and where to find it, and those who didn’t weren’t shy about speaking up.
She doesn’t hear a question directed her way, so Jasper assumes this person is the former and continues with her monotonous stocking. Glass bottles of various tinctures, powdered herbs and seeds, medicinal salves — all various products placed onto shelves for sale and closed behind a frosted glass cover.
By the time Jasper empties the box she assumes whoever walked in had either left without purchase or left their payment on the counter for whatever they’d wanted. It wasn’t unusual for some of her customers to simply fill out a receipt of their purchase and leave the change on the counter if she was preoccupied or they were in a hurry, but what Jasper finds instead is someone waiting expectantly.
The person is of a modest build, lithe and much taller than Jasper by the look of it, though they’re a bit slumped as they rest the small of their back against the cashier’s counter. Their face is adorned with a handful of piercings, bright purple eyes which bore holes into Jasper’s very being, and a light colored gash scar running vertically down their left cheek, marring their otherwise smooth brown skin.
Jasper’s eyes flick over the person’s figure, taking in the crispness of their button up, parted just enough at the collar to show a wolf’s head pendant around their neck and the barest hint of another scar beneath the chain it hangs on. Their dark hair is cropped short and pushed back, save for a left part arcing up and falling gently against their forehead. But what catches her attention most is the slim form of a dagger as it twirls in the stranger’s hand, tip pressed up against the pad of their other hand’s index finger.
“Lovely to know you like to keep a girl waiting,” They titter, mouth easily curling upwards into a vulpine grin. “I’m looking for someone named ‘Jasper Daemon.’”
Immediately, Jasper’s eyes narrow in suspicion, once again looking over the figure. She doesn’t recognize them. Not from the Choir, at least.
“Could’a piped up instead of waitin’ around,” She replies cautiously, clearing her throat as she places both hands on her hips. “That’d be me. What can I do y’ for?”
The person releases an airy chuckle. There’s almost a sparkle to their eyes as they turn their head, looking coyly at Jasper from the side. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Jasper watches as they continue to twirl the dagger in their grasp. Their finger presses more firmly against the tip of the blade, breaking the skin enough to coax a bead of crimson blood from beneath as it lazily spins. It rotates easily, the edge of the blade becoming the flat, carrying the bead around in a semicircle until it’s hidden from view. When it comes back around, the blood is gone, and the surface of their skin is unblemished, as if it had never been wounded to begin with.
The redhead raises a brow, a small huffed laugh passing her lips. “Here for some fun, are you?”
The stranger lifts the dagger up into a beam of light shining through a window, watching as it reflects off the surface. “A bit of fun, a bit of business. I’m sure you know the song and dance well enough, yeah?”
“Ain’t much for dancin’,” Jasper retorts, lifting one hand to slot a thumb beneath the leather of her holster, tugging a bit for emphasis. “But I know the song pretty well. Maybe we start with an introduction on your end, seein’ as you know my name already.”
Their shoulders fall slightly as they pout. Their hands rest against the countertop, relinquishing the dagger without a thought. “Well, don’t you just take the fun out of everything?”
“More of a business person,” Jasper’s voice hardens as she begins to feel her patience being tested. She reaches into her breast pocket, retrieves a small cigarette container and pulls a single cigarette from inside before returning it, then slots the cigarette between her lips. A lighter comes out next, cupped by her other hand as she lights a flame. White smoke drifts from the tip of the cigarette and Jasper’s mouth. “Now why don’t you clue me in on your business with me ‘fore I come up with some ideas you might not like?”
“At least buy me dinner first.” They push off from the counter, rising to their full height to look down on Jasper. The stranger saunters forward with the confidence and swagger of someone who believed they had the upper hand, hooking fingers easily through the D-ring of Jasper’s collar. “You could call me Fyn, but I’d much rather you call me something sweet.”
Jasper doesn’t resist the gentle tug, instead leaning into it as she takes a deep drag from the cigarette. She plucks it from her smirking lips with two fingers before casually blowing the smoke into Fyn’s face.
“Mm. An’ what can li’l ol’ Jasper do for you, Sweetheart?”
Fyn chuckles low in his throat. “I hear you’re the one to talk to about all things dark, a little macabre, maybe?”
“How d’you mean?” Jasper raises a brow, puts the cigarette back in her mouth.
“Well,” Fyn starts, stifling another chuckle as his tongue emerges to roll over the ball of a snakebite piercing. “I guess you could call it a little morbid curiosity. I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable on things like death, where a soul happens to go when it departs and the like?”
“Honey, I’m more of a Medicine Man, in case you didn’t notice.” The redhead nods towards the shelves lining the wall behind them. “All that stuff’s more philosophy an’ opinion. Could read all about it down at the Athenaeum.”
Fyn hums. “Oh, absolutely, I could. But, you see — fun as she is, that anomalous little coyote doesn’t know much about anything that hasn’t already been regurgitated into her eager ears. So, I thought I’d try going right to the source.”
“An’ you think I’m the source because — ?”
“Did you know people say the most interesting things about you?” Fyn’s fingers retreat from the collar in favor of joining the rest of her hand as it lays flat against Jasper’s neck, slowly venturing upwards to tangle into the back of their hair. Her grin grows larger as she watches Jasper begin to lean into the touch. “Such an obedient little puppy. So vicious when you need to be. Disappearing into the desert at odd times of night, people vanishing into thin air after being seen with you. It’s not exactly difficult to connect the dots when you think about it.”
A plume of smoke billows out of Jasper’s mouth as she grins back. “You take this hearsay as truth or did you happen t’ see it yourself?”
“You’d be surprised how much alcohol works like a truth serum,” Fyn replies easily, his head tilting gently to the side. “Loose tongues don’t tend to fib.”
Jasper’s eyes flutter shut briefly, and Fyn thinks this is the perfect moment to make her move, but Jasper beats her to the punch.
“So,” She drawls, turning her head slightly in Fyn’s hand. “How long’d you plan this li’l charade goin’ on?”
“What —” Fyn’s words falter. Her eyes widen as she lifts a brow in question. “What d’you mean?”
“I told you I’d been through this song an’ dance before,” Jasper replies easily with a shrug. “You think sweet talkin’ ain’t a part of that?”
Fyn blinks, looking owlishly down at Jasper as they smirk. She hadn’t yet reached a point where someone caught on to her attempts to charm.
Jasper chuckles lightly as they reach up to untangle Fyn’s fingers from their hair. “An’ by the way. ‘Puppy’ is already reserved.”
“Oh.” Fyn replies simply, much less charismatic after being thrown off their rhythm. They take two steps backwards before coughing dryly into a loosely curled fist. Then, in a mirthful tone, “Hah — Honest mistake! Apologies for getting so handsy. Why don’t we just keep this a fun secret between us?”
It becomes clear to Jasper where the mask falls and where the facade begins. Fyn’s voice retains its almost musical flow very well, with little hesitation as he settles back into the role of a charming fellow, but his face doesn’t hold the same ease as before. His eyes are much sharper, darting left and right more often rather than holding Jasper’s intense gaze. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, showing her just how forced that smile of his is.
Jasper blows an amused puff of air out through her nostrils, her arms crossing and settling comfortably against her chest. Now she has more ground to stand on.
“Mm, not so confident when I’m not wrapped around your finger,” She murmurs, stepping backwards until her back rests against the frosted glass of a shelf door. “Where’s all that confidence ‘bout me bein’ your so-called source from before?”
A subtle quiver travels the length of Fyn’s smile as he forces it to remain. “Who’s to say I’m not still as eager to know? I’ll just have to better tailor my approach.”
“I think you’ll have t’ cut the bullshit instead,'' Jasper follows up quickly, her expression hardening. “What kinda job are you workin’ that involves me bein’ a source on death an’ souls?”
“No job but my own curiosity.” Fyn casually passes a hand through his hair. Not completely a lie, though certainly not the entire truth. At least it was easier to omit details and not get caught. “As I said before — a morbid curiosity is all.”
Jasper cocks her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she searches Fyn’s expression for more tells. Nothing flickers or falters this time around, and mussing up his hair could be nothing more than a casual habit. At the very least, she can tell his guard is up and bolstered by the misstep.
The redhead allows the uncomfortable silence between them to hang in the air as she pushes off her resting perch and back onto the apothecary’s main floor, boots thudding slowly, rhythmically, against the hardwood as she crosses the space between herself and Fyn. Jasper passes by them, rounds the corner of the cashier’s counter and reaches beneath it to procure a palm-sized bundle wrapped in a piece of burlap and twine.
“Here.” Jasper gently tosses the bundle onto the counter. It thuds softly against the space between the two of them. “Y’ wanna know where souls go? This’ll have you meetin’ your great grandfolks easy.”
Fyn spins gently on the heel of their foot and leans against the counter. They curiously poke the top of the little bundle. “What’s this?”
“Weed, sage, damiana, an’ a li’l bit of rose petals.” Jasper takes a deep drag from their cigarette, then blows an obnoxious plume of smoke into Fyn’s face. “Told you I was a Medicine Man, didn’t I?”
Fyn raises a brow in question. A blend that makes people see those that have long since passed?
They can’t say that isn’t a tempting offer.
Perhaps this really was all people had been talking about when referring to Jasper. There was still some strange air to her being that made Jasper seem almost … otherworldly, however this wouldn’t be the first time they’d followed a ridiculous rumor to find it was nothing more than some small-town gossip about the mundane.
Fyn takes the bundle in their palm, tests its weight with a gentle toss before their eyes flicker back to Jasper.
“What’ll this run?”
Jasper waves a hand dismissively. “On the house. Consider it us settlin’ up over that fun secret of ours.” She finishes with a wink.
Far be it from Fyn to refuse a gift of this kind. A more genuine smile stretches across their face as they make a “cheers” motion with the bag.
“Thank you very much. Hopefully we can do this all again with a bit more understanding next time.”
The apothecary tips her head in farewell as Fyn leisurely departs. Her eyes intently follow their path to the door, until she hears the chime ring and the lock clicks shut behind them.
And then her eyes travel to the counter below her elbows, to the subtle gleam of the dagger left behind. A smirk curls at the corner of Jasper’s lips.
Just the little edge she needs.
Her fingertips graze gently over the cool surface of the metal, allowing her mind to sink into the liminal space between this world and the boundary between another, between the past and the present. A haze falls over her vision, blurring her perception into grayscale and static until she finds the right place, much like adjusting the frequency of an old radio.
Jasper begins to see the ghostly form of a past experience, a person outlined in wobbling neon blue. A figure heavily burdened by grief. An overwhelming depression makes their shoulders sag, almost causing them to stumble as they blindly search with their hands for something …
The dagger comes into view, more in focus than the person’s form, clutched in their hand like a lifeline. The static hums, a low sound gradually building and building and building until nothing in the world exists but the static and the dagger, and the sudden flash of blinding red that replaces the blue in an instant.
Rage. Burning, indescribable rage, taking the form of an arm winding back to launch the dagger forward with incredible force. It flies out of Jasper’s line of sight, abruptly ending her glimpse into the object’s past.
Jasper’s body jolts slightly as her vision cuts back to the present, the static gradually receding until it’s a subtle sound in the back of her mind. Her eyes glance over the surface of the knife, then back to the door where Fyn had just exited.
She shakes her head gently with a chuckle, slotting the cigarette between two fingers as she says, “Morbid curiosity my ass.”