The Fortune-Teller (III)

The sign that had the words 'FORTUNE-TELLER' written on it was just where he left it, still leaning against the wall of a building. Jet picked it up without bothering with the judgmental looks being sent his way from the people passing him by.

It had been an hour since he had met Miranda, and he still hadn't made so much as a dime.

Standing himself on the corner, once more leaning against a streetlamp, Jet held up the sign with both of his hands and tried to look suitably friendly and harmless to those that stopped to stare at him from time to time. Thankfully, it was summer, and the weather was very nice to spend the whole day outside in.

As the minutes ticked by, and then the hours, Jet finally managed to find clients to swindle. An old man that sweated way too much and hadn't showered in days was worried his wife was cheating on him and that he would be fired from work.

Jet very cheerfully lied to him and made up some bullshit story about how his wife loved him and there was fortune waiting for him, if only he took the initiate.

The guy would probably be fired within days, from all of the signs he had seen.

Next was a school-girl that was skipping and wanted to know if her boyfriend and her were meant to be. She seemed like the sort of girl not to like the concept of fate, so he told her that they were supposed to be mortal enemies, just to see what she would do.

She gave him a measly five bucks and ran off to let her beau know the good news. Then there was a young mother that worried about her husband having an affair. Judging from how exhausted she looked, the guy wasn't doing much to help out with the baby, so Jet felt no shame in telling her that he was paying for sex, whether that was true or not.

Eventually, it was finally time for his lunch-break.

Jet sat down the sign on the worn ground and stretched his back, groaning when it popped. He cracked his neck and stared around himself. There weren't, unfortunately, any good restaurants nearby and while Jet was a decently good cook, it wasn't something that he actually liked doing if he didn't have to. After thinking it over, he decided to go back to the café that he had taken Miranda to, liking the atmosphere and craving something sweet.

The same bored young teenager was still standing behind the counter, this time looking like he was about to fall asleep on his feet. Being lunchtime, it was much busier than this morning, so Jet had to actually stand in line this time.

Once it was his time — at last — Jet let his eyes briefly slide over the blackboard up on the wall behind the teenager, high up close to the ceiling, before he said, "A bottle of water and today's special, please."

All he got in response was a slow nod, as the teenager than sluggishly stepped over and gathered his things to put on a tray. Jet actually felt a little bit bad for him, so exhausted did he look. And Jet very nearly never felt bad for people. Then he wouldn't be able to scam them out of their savings, now would he?

After he had eaten his lunch and put away his tray, he decided to be productive. Technically speaking, because he didn't rely on tools, he could perform his craft anywhere. A café was just a good a place as any.

Letting his gaze slide over all of the customers — it was never a good idea to scam the people working in a place he liked — Jet looked for anyone that seemed the sort to believe in magic and fortune-telling. Despite the fact that magic was a known and generally accepted fact of life, it wasn't usually in your face, and ordinary humans — who made up the vast majority of the world's population — had a tendency to forget or deny its existence.

They didn't like to admit that there were forces out there more powerful then them, which were completely out of their control. Thus, they violently rejected any sign to the contrary.

Finding a suitable target that looked like they would buy what he was selling, Jet rose from his seat and wandered over to another corner of the café, where a young somewhere in her twenties woman sat reading a book.

He didn't bother to say anything as he sat down across from her. Unlike Miranda, who had sat in one of the booths, this woman sat at an ordinary table, more in the middle of the room than by the large windows. It took her about ten minutes to notice that he was sitting there, and when she noticed, she didn't jump so much as twitch in her chair, evidently startled by his appearance.

Her eyes were a striking blue, inhuman in their brightness. Cursing in his mind, he realized that she probably wasn't a full human, if she was human at all. Because he had absolutely no magical power, he couldn't tell. Nevertheless, he didn't let his dissatisfaction show on his face.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice harsh and just slightly unpleasant to listen to, as if it scratched the inside of his ear.

Another check in the non-human box, then.

He decided to go straight to the point, because she struck him as the kind of woman to punch him if he talked around the subject. "I'm a fortune-teller."

"So?" she scoffed, barely holding in the derision in her voice.

"I would like to tell your fortune." Jet stated, smiling pleasantly the entire time.

Her eyes narrowed as she hummed in thought, her voice full of contempt as she asked, "A real fortune-teller? You better not be a fake trying to scam to me. I'll find you if you do and make you pay."

Her tone and body-language told him that she was fully serious.

Waving his hand and smiling again, Jet answered, "I wouldn't dare."

"Fine, then." she said and held out her hand, palm up. "Read my fortune."

Smiling at her (Jet smiled a lot, it kept people at ease), he took a hold of her hand and leaned forward to get a good look at it. He stared at her hand, how delicate looking it was, at odds with her habit of punching anybody that annoyed her. For several minutes, he stayed silent as he tried to work out what to say that would be true enough that she wouldn't punch him for trying to trick her and unspecific enough that it wouldn't give him away as a con-artist.

"You have lived a life full of disappointment." he began, and stopped smiling as his voice took on a somber tone. "Your father has never been involved in raising you and your mother spent more time outside with her friends then inside with you. There is a darkness dwelling inside of you, begging you to let it out, and it gets closer to the surface everyday."

"It scares you," he continued and grabbed ahold of her other hand as well when she offered it. "what you can do when you loose control. What you're truly capable of. You are searching for something to help you, something that will give you control, but you can't find it."

Jet stated, "That's because there isn't anything."

At that, she looked angry.

Jet kept ahold of her hands and kept going. "The control you need isn't external. Suppressing the darkness won't help anybody, neither you or your friends. You need to let it out, a little bit at a time. Just enough to get the pressure off. Don't worry, there's no need to start big, and nobody to dictate your pace, but you can't live ignoring it. It doesn't work that way."

When he looked up again and met her inhuman eyes, she looked considering. Like she wasn't about to punch him, which was always a good thing.

Jet smiled at her, letting the somber air dissipate like it was never there. It was something he was good at, and a very useful thing in his line of work. Letting the way he stood, his expressions and body-language, all tell a story that he wanted his targets to buy.

"Are you going to punch me?" he asked, smiling at her.

She tilted her head to the side, and with the light from the ceiling, he could see that her hair was just a bit too golden to be blonde. The short haircut suited her, though.

"No." she finally said. "I don't think I will. You've given me a lot to think about. Thank you."

She stood up from her seat and held out her hand. Amused, Jet shook it.

The smile she gave him was straight-up predatory. "I owe you one."

"What, no money?" Jet asked in a lighthearted tone, as if he wasn't absolutely serious in asking her.

"No." she grinned at him, and he got the feeling that he was standing before a great white shark. A bloodthirsty one. "I'm completely broke."

Jet smirked and drawled, "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

She grinned at him once more, shouldered her bag, and left the café through the backdoor after disposing of her tray. Presumably she knew someone who worked here, if she didn't herself. Then again, he had never seen her here before, and Jet never forgot a face. Another nice perk that helped him do his job.

And also really annoying when he met people whose faces he wanted to forget.

Left alone at the table, Jet sighed. Once more, he hadn't made any money.

Was he actually going to get enough to pay rent this month?

Well, it was only the beginning of the month. He had time to worry about it later. Right now, he needed to find more targets, preferably ones that would actually pay him. You know, just for a nice change.

Hopefully before he got evicted.

Scowling to himself, Jet stood up decisively from his chair and cringed a little at the sound it made when it moved abruptly over the wooden floor. Nobody gave a him a second glance, thankfully, but he saw a few people sitting nearby wincing at the sound. He gripped the back of the chair and carefully put it back into place.

Emerging from the air-conditioned café, he found himself back under the cruel light of the midday sun. Relieved that he was just wearing a tank top and shorts, he wandered slowly back to his corner.

Using his hand to shield his eyes from the harsh rays of the sun, Jet decided to cut through an alleyway when he saw one that was nicely shaded.

With his steps echoing in the narrow space, he moved forward.

Away from the sun's punishing light, he slowed his pace even further to take his time to enjoy the relief. It wasn't that he didn't like summer and he had nothing against the sun, but he spent all of his days outside. Sometimes it just got a bit annoying, particularly when it was especially warm weather.

The sound of a bottle hitting the ground coming from behind him made him turn around on his heels. Frowning, he stared into the shadows, met by the strange sight of a tall man wearing a trench-coat, in this heat.

Despite the fact that the shadows were still relatively well-lit, he couldn't make out the man's face. It was a mess of darkness, no, rather, it was a complete absence of light. Just that alone told him that whoever this was, they weren't human.

What could someone like that want with him? He didn't owe him any money, did he? That never ended well.

Putting on his mask, he smiled his practically patented smile at the mystery man and asked,

"Who are you?"