That's a Good Question

30: can I print coupons for the apothecary?

When we get back to Midge's, it becomes apparent she's not an only child anymore. Not even the favorite.

There's laughter the second we're through the doors, echoing from somewhere down the hallway, audible above the low warble of Mrs. Osborne's favorite news station. This is weird, considering I've never heard the woman laugh before (she's much too scary). It gets weirder when Midge and I come into the living room and see her perched on the couch, trying to wrestle a chew toy from Jamie's mouth—well, more like jaws.

As a wolf, he takes up about half the room, just a giant mound of white fur I can barely see over. I open my mouth, shut it, open it again. I'm about to yell at him, but Mrs. Osborne seems to be having fun, so I just stand there like an idiot until Midge outbursts, "Mom? What the hell! You know he can kill you like this, right? His fighter name was literally Bullet."

"Nonsense!" exclaims Mrs. Osborne, getting to her feet. She lets go of the toy, and Jamie lays down on the floor, letting out a pleasurable grunt as he gnaws away. No, really, Midge is kinda right. I'm slightly scared of him when he's in his wolf form; I've seen him mess a lot of stuff up, and with those teeth, that chew toy's not going to be around for much longer. "He's harmless. Like a little puppy."

"L-Little?"

Mrs. Osborne looks from her daughter, then to Jamie, whose massive form literally blocks the entrance into the kitchen.

She shrugs. "Alright, so he's not little."

I sigh, leaning into Midge's shoulder. "Just go make the list; I'll take care of this," I tell her, then snap my fingers at Jamie. His head snaps up, his mouth opening to let out a small, sorrowful howl. "Oh, none of that. You know the drill, Jamie. Now."

He bays, once, then shifts forms, his fur shrinking back into his skin as his bones narrow back into their human frame. He remains there on the floor, folding his legs and looking bored. "I was being good," he pleads. "I promise, I was."

"I'm sure you were," I say, sliding my leather dress shoes off. I reach for my chucks instead, parked right beside what looks a mini Japanese maple. I bend over to lace them up, watching my fingers rather than Jamie. "Look. We've got work to do. I've got to go buy some things for Midge, and you're coming with me, alright?"

"Oh, okay," replies Jamie. He pauses, then asks, "How was dinner?"
"Oh, just fantastic."

"And your mom?"

"Fantastic-ish?"

I straighten up again, and Jamie's looking off into space, his fingernail between his teeth. He drops his hand and looks at me. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," I say, because I really don't. "Goddamn. You ask a lot of questions."

The kid's eyes drift towards the floor. "I guess I do," he says in a tone that's a bit more dismal than I think I've ever heard it. Jamie has two moods: sunshine and butterflies, and murder/kill/slaughter. I've never seen this mood before. "My mom said that, too. But that was a long time ago."

I raise my eyebrow at him, but don't get a chance to really question it before Midge bursts back in from the kitchen, waving a paper in her hand. She crumples it into my palm, and I glance down at the scribbled words, not recognizing a single one of the herbs she's listed. "Dean's on Spring Street. Be back in an hour; I'll have Safiya and River here by then."

I take the paper, but hesitate.

"What?" Midge says.

"River?" I repeat. "He's coming?"

"Oh, stop being racist and go get what I asked you to!" she snaps, then flips me around, delivering a heavy-handed slap to my back. I groan, but do as she says, calling for Jamie to follow me as I make my way outside again.

Apothecaries are louder than perfumeries, and by loud I don't mean noisy. I just mean that I can smell every damn thing in here, from the ginger root to all the different peppers they sell in this place. That's a lot of pepper. I didn't even know there were that many different kinds of pepper.

It's a quaint little shop built from crumbling brick, sandwiched in between two warring pizza places—a great place to be, really. The register's set up in the center, and all around the four miniature walls are test tubes and mason jars and mini bags all hand labeled with herbs. I make sure Jamie's close to me, and proceed with a certain air of caution. After all, I am not a witch, and the only herb I know won't do anything funky to me is cilantro.

"Alright, Jamie," I say, directing his attention towards the list in my hand, which has grown more crumpled between when I shoved it in my pocket back at Midge's and now. "Just four things, can you do that?"

He nods.

I point to each in turn. "Cowslip, blackberry leaves, echinacea, and...beech bark?"

"How's any of that supposed to help us find Rocco?"

I shrug, handing the list to him and beginning to waltz around the store, trying not to crinkle my nose too much, despite all the scents that are currently ambushing me. The little lady at the register, probably the clerk or what not, has been staring at me ever since Jamie and I came in, and I don't want to give her a reason to approach me. "I haven't the slightest idea," I say, "but I'm hoping Midge does."

I spend the next few minutes browsing the shelves, avoiding anything that has an exclamation mark on its label, reading each and every label carefully so that I don't make a mistake. Midge was quite adamant about making sure I didn't screw this up. She'd said it could ruin everything, and the whole magic thing is finicky enough that I'm sure it could.

I stray quite far from the salt shelf (there's apparently a lot of different kinds of salt, too), and I've gotten just about everything when I hear a scream, then the shattering of glass. It's a very high-pitched, likely female scream, but when I turn, the clerk seems totally fine and I realize it's come from Jamie.

"Jamie?" I yelp, running over to him. I'm not sure how he ended up so far away from me, but he's an elusive little bastard, so somehow I'm not even surprised. When I reach him, his hands are sizzling and he's shaking them over and over again, his young face twisted in pain. Well, crap. Midge sent me out to get stuff to find people, not to kill people.

"What's wrong, buddy? What the hell did you touch?"

He points a trembling hand at the pile of pale, yellow dust at his feet. I bend down, picking up a shard of glass that once was the dust's container. From what's left of the label, I read: wolfsbane. "Oh, come on, Jamie. Even you ought to know—"

"Why does it hurt so much? It burns!"

"It's wolfsbane," I murmur, shouldering my shopping bag. "Jesus, Jamie, it's pretty much poison for you guys. You didn't know that?"

He looks up at me with wide eyes, his face deep in a frown. With an odd sense of shame, he shakes his head. "I guess I don't know much of anything."

I think he's kidding, but he's got this dejected look on his face that convinces me he's not. I'm beyond confused; I'm so used to him being cheery that I don't know where this sudden sorrow is coming from. I ruffle his hair, trying to be comforting. "That's not true, Jamie. You're always a big help—"

"You have everything, don't you?" he asks, gesturing towards the bag.

I nod. "I—"

"Good. We should get back to Midge, then."

He turns and heads for the register, but I catch at his arm, raising an eyebrow at him. "Kid," I say, and hesitate a moment, because for a second I'm not sure I should say anything. "It's where you came from, isn't it? You don't wanna tell me."

He pauses, then bites his lip.

"It's not that I don't wanna tell you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "It's that I just wanna forget."