Her hair was all wrong. Tow-headed, and he couldn't even tell if it came from a bottle or if that was her natural color. Isabelle's hair had been the color of leaves in autumn, a blend of browns and reds. And her mouth was wider than her ancestor – but not in a bad way. No doubt, the young woman who listed off her herbs and their various uses was a lovely thing when she smiled if her professional face was any indication. It was her eyes, dark and solemn as they watched him troll her store in search of nothing that haunted him and kept his eyes glancing up from a book now. His brow furrowed as he looked away again, pretending interest in the volume on medicinal herbs he had plucked free from the shelf. His eyes skimmed, but they failed to see any of the words printed there.<br/><br/>He wanted to listen to her, but his mind was buzzing with noises from a past life, distracting him with distant memories and, of course, the incessant pounding throb that pounded in his temple that matched the tempo in the leg he had indicated.<i>That </i>was the real trouble; some days he could ignore the pulsing throb that followed the beating of his heart through the maze work of arteries to nag him like an irritated wife with every step he took. Other days, he craved the numbness; the lack of any sensation whatsoever.<i>Chronic pain</i>is real, folks. It doesn't always have to be in your head, no matter what the good doc says.<br/><br/>He was sober today, even if his actions suggested otherwise. Three weeks and a flushed system, and already he was back to hitting a bottle hard just to get to sleep at night. His morphine supply had ended when he had made the move to a new city and hadn't bothered to find a contact for the stuff yet. Besides, he'd gotten a fresh<i>infusion </i>of the good stuff that rejuvenated his palpitating heart from its erratic tremors and even erased some of the crow's feet that had started popping up around his eyes. Some things are just better for your skin than injecting plastic in your face to give the illusion of a youthful wax mask.<br/><br/>“It sounds like you should have pursued a medical degree rather than a degree in nothing but nonsense and gibberish,” he quipped after her Ibuprofen suggestion and shut the book with both hands. He shoved it back on the shelf as he turned back to face her and the guy that still loitered around.<br/><br/>“I thought you were advertising yourself as a witch – sorry,<i>Wiccan</i>–“ A sardonic smile twisted his lips up. “And could brew me up something magical to heal all my ailments.”<i>Impossible. </i>If there was anything that easy he could do about his leg, he would have done it a<b>long </b>time ago. Still, the war injury bit was believable. He wore a chain around his neck that disappeared under the collar of his shirt and hidden underneath his shirt. But he wasn't here for that, either.<br/><br/>The smile shifted, becoming amused as he followed the lead of her voice to the shelf where her herbal remedies were. He stopped alongside her, his form half-imposing as he shifted his weight toward her. At six feet and a couple of inches, he still rose above her, and tilted his head down toward her when he spoke again, his voice low. “I'm also here to find the key to immortality.”<br/><br/>Green eyes sparked once as the grin spread across his face, making the next part intentional and only for her to see. A twist of violet bloomed in his irises, overcoming the otherwise muddy hue, and flared like a lamp. There was a name for this transition: Witch-sight, or simply The Sight; the third eye or sight; a soul stare. For a brief moment, he Saw which the mundane world would normally prevent him from seeing. The Veil lifted for the man, and he used the opportunity to take a real look at the young woman. It was his ultimate judgment: to see if she was truly magically inclined, or if this was just another hedge shop selling plants as an alternative to prescriptions. The moment passed quickly, leaving him blinking rapidly and looking away to the shelf she indicated.<br/><br/>“You can help me find your name, too, I suppose. Which shelf would that be on?” He drawled the question and shot her a sidelong look.