Page 18

I selected a basket of both types of berries, then found myself drawn to a table laden with unusual fruits.

Among them, plump purple figs caught my eye, their shape somehow familiar.

My mother had grown them in her garden, though I'd never paid much attention to them beyond their appearance in her ritual preserves.

"Interested in figs?" The vendor, a weathered man with kind eyes, noticed my gaze. "Just got them in yesterday. Perfect ripeness."

I picked one up, feeling its soft weight in my palm. "They're beautiful. I've never actually prepared them myself."

"Most folks haven't," he said with a nod. "Interesting little things. Not truly fruits, you know."

"They aren't?" I turned the fig over, studying it more thoroughly.

"Nope. Technically, they're flowers. Inverted flowers." He took one and gently sliced it open to reveal the pink flesh inside, studded with tiny seeds. "See all that? That's the inside of a flower. The fig tree's flowers bloom inward instead of outward."

"I had no idea," I admitted, fascinated by this new perspective.

"Gets even more interesting," he continued. "In nature, they need a specific kind of wasp to pollinate them–the fig wasp crawls inside, pollinates the flowers, then gets digested by the fig."

I raised my eyebrows, suddenly less enthusiastic about eating one.

He laughed at my expression. "Don't worry! Commercial figs like these are self-pollinating varieties, or they're hand-pollinated. No wasps involved. Around here, we don't have the right climate for the wasps anyway."

"Hand-pollinated?" I echoed.

"Yep. Farmers use little brushes to transfer pollen between the figs. Labor of love, really." He offered me a slice. "Try one. Nothing sweeter."

I popped the piece into my mouth, and the complex sweetness exploded across my tongue–honey and berries with an earthy undertone. It was unlike anything I'd tasted before, rich and somehow decadent.

"I'll take a dozen," I decided. The idea of working with these strange not-fruits appealed to me – something transformed from within, hiding complexity behind a simple exterior. I could relate.

"Planning something special?" he asked as he wrapped my purchase.

"I'm thinking maybe a fig and goat cheese flatbread," I said, inspiration striking. "With honey and some herbs from my garden."

"Sounds delicious. Add some crispy bacon if you eat meat–the saltiness pairs beautifully with the sweetness."

With his recommendation in mind, I made my way toward the dairy stall, my steps light as I planned my menu. The goat cheese vendor was explaining the difference between her aged and fresh varieties when a familiar scent hit me–expensive cologne mixed with something darker, more predatory.

My blood turned to ice.

"Well, well. Juniper Grey."

I turned slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. Xavier stood there looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine, all casual elegance and predatory charm. The same face that had been inches from mine as his hands closed around my throat.

So much for Lust and them ‘monitoring’ him.

"You’re the crazy man from the party." I kept my voice steady, even managed a small smile. "What a surprise. What was your name again?”

"I was hoping I'd run into you." He moved closer, and I fought every instinct not to step back. "I owe you an apology for the other night. I came on way too strong."

"You certainly made an impression," I said, turning back to the cheese vendor. "I'll take some of the fresh goat cheese, please."

His eyes tracked the bag I was carrying, landing on the wrapped figs visible at the top. "Figs, huh? Interesting choice. I have a friend–well, had a friend–who absolutely hated them. Hazel. Could barely stand the smell."

My pulse quickened, but I just shrugged. "More proof of your mistaken identity, I’m afraid. And more for me. I've been obsessed with them lately."

I moved to the bacon vendor, Xavier following like a shadow.

"Hazel's been missing for weeks now," he said, voice carefully casual. "Her mother's been searching everywhere for her."

I selected bacon, taking my time. My mother wasn't going crazy with worry; she was going crazy because she needed me alive to complete that damned contract.

"That's awful,” I managed. “I hope she turns up."

"You remind me of her," Xavier said, leaning against the stall. "A lot, actually."

"Yeah?" I laughed, moving toward the honey vendor. "Well, I get that sometimes. Generic face, I guess."

"Nothing generic about you." His voice dropped, intimate in a way that made my skin crawl. "There's something about you that's just so...familiar."

I met his eyes directly, channeling every ounce of Juniper Grey's confidence. "Maybe you just have a type."

For a split second, something flickered across his face–surprise, maybe even admiration. Then that predatory smile was back.

"Maybe I do." He stepped back, hands sliding into his pockets. "Well, enjoy your cooking project. Those figs are lucky."

I watched him disappear into the crowd, my legs suddenly shaking. The honey vendor was saying something about wildflower varieties, but the words sounded like they were coming from underwater. I gripped the edge of her table, forcing myself to breathe normally.

He suspected. Of course he did. But I'd held my ground, played Juniper Grey to perfection. The figs had been perfect proof. Hazel would have recoiled, but Juniper craved them.

"You alright, dear?" the honey vendor asked, concern creasing her weathered face.

"Fine," I managed, selecting a jar with trembling hands. "Just...low blood sugar."

As I wandered between stalls, trying to regain my composure, a flash of color caught my eye –not physical color, but the now-familiar shimmer of an aura.

I turned to see a young girl, maybe six or seven, laughing as her father lifted her to smell flowers at a nearby stand.

Around her, a brilliant yellow radiated outward, pure and vibrant with uncomplicated joy.

I stood transfixed, watching the golden light pulse and dance. My fingers tingled with an urge to reach out, to somehow capture that beautiful energy. The girl's laughter rang out again, and the aura flared brighter, like sunshine breaking through clouds.

Lost in the sight, I nearly bumped into a small cart displaying antique glassware. I steadied myself, then gasped softly as my eyes fell on a collection of old apothecary bottles–amber, cobalt, and clear glass vessels of various sizes, their surfaces etched with faded labels and mysterious symbols.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" A woman with silver-streaked hair and multiple shawls draped around her shoulders appeared beside the cart. "Each one has its own history."

I picked up a small cobalt bottle, admiring the way light passed through the glass. "They're lovely. Were they used for medicines?"

"Among other things." She smiled enigmatically. "Just local folklore." She waved dismissively. "Though they do say certain energies can be preserved in the right vessels. Something about the glass composition."

My gaze drifted back to the laughing child, her golden aura still radiating outward.

"I'll take them," I said suddenly. "All of them." There were seventeen bottles in total, each uniquely shaped and colored.

The woman's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she named a reasonable price and carefully wrapped each bottle in tissue paper before placing them in a box.

As she handed me the package, her fingers brushed mine. "Use them well, dear."

Before I could ask what she meant, she had turned to another customer, leaving me with my mysterious purchase and a head full of questions.

I found myself drifting back toward the flower stand where the little girl and her father were still browsing. On impulse, I uncorked the small cobalt bottle and held it loosely at my side, focusing on the golden aura surrounding the child. Could I really...?

I concentrated, imagining drawing a thin stream of that joyous energy toward the bottle.

To my astonishment, a wisp of golden light separated from the child's aura, so faint I might have imagined it.

It curled through the air like honey dripping from a spoon, and when it touched the mouth of the bottle, it flowed inside as if drawn by gravity.

The bottle grew warm in my hand, and inside, a faint golden glow pulsed gently.

I corked it quickly, heart racing. I glanced at the girl, worried I might have somehow diminished her happiness, but she continued laughing, her aura as bright as before.

I'd taken only the smallest fragment, like skimming cream from the top of milk.

Emotional alchemy. The phrase popped into my mind fully formed, fitting perfectly around this strange new ability. Not just seeing emotions, but harvesting them, perhaps even transforming them. The possibilities made me dizzy.

I tucked the glowing bottle gently into the box alongside the others. What could I do with captured joy? How might it interact with food, with plants, with other emotions?

I was so absorbed in these thoughts that I didn't notice how my grocery bags had multiplied until I was struggling to arrange them all for the walk home. The apothecary bottles, though small, added awkward weight and required careful handling.

“You handled that well.”

I nearly dropped everything as I spun around to find Envy watching me with undisguised amusement.

He looked different in daylight—more approachable somehow, though no less dangerous.

His dark jeans and leather jacket gave him a casual air, but the way he carried himself–alert, fluid, predatory–reminded me of what he truly was. Had he been around this whole time?

“Yes, I was watching. It’s easier to let him think he’s rattling you, and let him get his guard down. I was with you the entire time,” he assured me.

I blinked. That was so...kind.

"Need a hand with those?" he asked, gesturing to my bags.