The Hollow Root - Chapter 1

She washed her hands, taking in a breath and letting herself drift into the calm waters that rushed over her cracked and dry palms. Time had not been kind to her skin and in many ways reflected the desert of her youth back to her. She was not one to care about the trappings of beauty or the trappings of societal norms. She had lived far too long for those to have any sort of impact on her psyche.

As she stood above the outdoor basin scrubbing away the morning's chores, the air took on a strange scent. It was inviting yet menacing. She quickly moved to dry her hands on her apron and lifted her nose into the air to gather more of the smell. It was leather, cedar, and a touch of tobacco leaves. The smell was not entirely unfamiliar, and as inviting as it may seem, it carried with it just the slightest hint of mischief. The smell's familiarity hinted that she would soon have company. So she floated back inside her small cottage to hang up her apron and ensure she was fit to receive a guest, whoever that guest may be. Just as she was giving a final inspection in the mirror, she noticed the air shift weight and the presence of another. Knock Knock A firm knock at the door sent her in an excited whirl to go. It had been ages since a visitor had come her way, and she was thrilled to entertain. Ripping the door open, she found herself staring at a tall figure whose skin suggested he hadn't seen much in the way of labor and whose well-oiled mustache suggested he hoped to play the part of a villain in an old-timey play. He had a knit toque, flannel shirt, and a pair of jeans with one leg rolled up to avoid the chain on his bike.

"Are you Mrs. Fasaani?" the figure said with either a lack of confidence or maybe it was simply a lack of interest.

"Why yes I am. May I ask who you are?" Fasaani said with a voice she realized hadn't been used in several weeks.

"Perfect. Uh… let me just…" Before he could finish the sentence, Fasaani had begun speaking again.

"Oh, my, where are my manners. Please come in and have a seat. It has been ages since I have had a visitor, and I am sure whatever you are here for would be better discussed with some tea."

"Oh, uh, no thanks, ma'am, I just need to hand you…" He rummaged through his satchel and quickly produced a manila envelope. "Mrs. Fasaani, you have been served." He shoved the document into her outstretched and confused hand, then tipped his head down and walked away to his bike.

Confused and bewildered by this new event, Fasaani ripped open the envelope to find several sheets of legal paper. The standard order of things: a cover sheet, summons, and finally the complaint. Throughout her life, she had always pushed up against the societal norms, rules, and laws of the land, seeking only to be left mostly to her own devices and only on the rarest of occasions taking any interest in the lives of others. She had been accused of witchcraft on several occasions; heresy was a common noun thrown her way. Fasaani had never really found any of them to be much of a bother.

Inside this particular envelope was a cold and clinical message: she was being formally accused of manufacturing and distributing unregulated dietary supplements in violation of federal Good Manufacturing Practices. The letter cited "adulterated and misbranded products," demanded an immediate halt to all production, and warned of potential fines and legal action if she failed to comply. It went on detailing how she would need to formally respond to the complaint within the allotted time period or be subject to penalties or further action.

Fasaani sat with the letter and began to think. What supplements had she even sold recently? She only dallied in such things at times when a currency would change, or she needed funds to buy some new and exciting gadget people would invent.

She bustled over to her ledger that she kept in a cupboard next to the stove. It detailed years of sales, recipes, and just about anything Fasaani might be legally implicated for. Sliding her finger down the row looking for the most recent date…

"Oh fuck," she exclaimed as she was reminded of a sale she made a month ago to a man who was looking for a supplement that would "improve his masculine energy." He kept going on and on about his online presence and a variety of theories about how he was fighting against some hidden evil. Fasaani had profited off of his type before, each year a new evil and a new need. She typically just boiled some leaves and roots for a bit and made a thick, awful-tasting syrup. The plan typically worked because she would always tell these men to make sure and give her credit for these ancient secrets… they of course would plaster their own face and name all over the bottle and resell it at an exorbitant rate. This way it never got back to Fasaani. This man seemed to follow her instructions. "Fucking do-gooding asshole," Fasaani exclaimed in a tone that oddly would feel comforting if anyone were around to hear it.

She quickly pulled back to the corresponding recipe detailed in her ledger.

Item #94-7651-AM-9045 Caci Sul. Ingredients:

Pulverized Bitter Melon Husk

Spirulina Dust (harvested under a waning moon)

Aged Apple Cider Vinegar Crystals

Black Radish Powder (fermented in burlap)

Fenugreek Resin

Whisper of Wormwood

Trace Licorice Bark (for balance, not pleasure)

Suggested Use: Take one teaspoon dissolved in lukewarm rainwater. Do not chase with anything pleasant. Effects may include a sudden awareness of your own breath and a vague sense of ancestral memory.

Flavor Profile: Imagine licking the underside of a mossy stone while chewing on regret. Bitter, briny, and inexplicably smoky.

Nothing of note in the recipe. She went back to the serving paper and skimmed through the lines, finding that she had been cited for unsanitary conditions. She laughed audibly to the room. How could they even know? No one ever visited her humble cottage to know that it wasn't sanitary. Never mind—this wasn't a job for her; it was a job for her lawyer, whom she detested. While Fasaani had all of the time anyone could want, she was not one to waste any. She quickly walked to the door and grabbed her keys off of the hook and a pocket knife out of the bowl on the counter. She never went to her lawyer's office without a knife. Lawyers were useful but not to be trusted. She climbed into the 2001 Plymouth Prowler she had purchased new with the windfall of sales she had during the Y2K scare. The car had seen better days, and while it was dusty, the car was in great condition and had barely tipped the 10k mile spot on the odometer. She pulled away and drove down the long gravel road towards the nearby town.

Fasaani's current lawyer was a woman named Kira Ranta. She had obtained her law degree from Michigan University 10 or so years ago and had built a practice in the town after years of trying to become a part of a larger law firm in the nearest big city. Kira found that the town allowed her to have a simpler life with very similar pay. She had married once but eventually realized that she had little to no tolerance for a roommate regardless of the benefits they may provide. Contrary to Fasaani's opinion of her, she quite liked Fasaani. Her legal issues always required a bit of research, and Fasaani was always willing to take a fight to any ridiculous length possible. Fasaani had singlehandedly supported the building of a new deck and updating her car. This was the reason that when Fasaani walked into the room, a smile pulled across one side of Kira's cheek. Fasaani walked past the secretary who made no effort to stop her. He had seen her before, and this job did not pay enough for him to get in the way again. Fasaani dropped the papers onto Kira's desk and sat down in the chair. Her left hand held onto the knife, providing her a sense of power and comfort in the room.

"Fasaani, how are you? I take it you have been served? I really do not mind if you just drop by for tea sometime," Kira said with a drip of sarcasm.

"Kira, darling, while I love to entertain, I always prefer you to be far away from me. Now could you do your job and tell me how to respond to that?" Fasaani said in a manner that blended grandmotherly sweetness and sass perfectly together.

"I really do wish we could be friends. Okay, what do you have here?" She pulled the paper up and began sorting through the information. "Looks like someone sold your stuff with your name on it for once. Well, luckily this list of ingredients doesn't look harmful or illegal, so better than usual. Want me to craft a response to appease the court and then I can follow up if they don't like it?" Kira said.

"Oh dear, with a friend like you, I would worry who I might take as an enemy. I want to know who the accuser is, dear. Could you find out?" Fasaani said, her eyes flashing with a strange brightness, her voice taking on the sweet, concerned tone of everyone's favorite grandmother.

"Fasaani, come on. The accuser isn't listed in this document as they wanted their identity protected and... according to the paperwork here, provided evidence that their identity be kept secret in fear of retaliation... which, given your question, might be a good choice on their behalf," Kira said with a smirk as she sat back in her chair.

"Oh my, Kira, you know I would never hurt—" Fasaani was interrupted by Kira's laughter.

"Please, save this act. I don't know what you are, but I do know that people who get in your way or bother you frequently find themselves... well, let's just say they don't end up in a better way than how they started. Now, as your lawyer, I'm not insinuating that you have anything to do with that... but I could probably draw some dotted lines that might suggest correlation could, in this instance, be causation," Kira said plainly.

"Oh Kira, you think so little of me. I've never harmed a hair on anyone's head. I just want to pay them a visit and ask why they felt the need to trouble me. Maybe some cookies would convince them to drop such harsh accusations," Fasaani said with a sugary smile, her eyes flashing red and seeming to hide an otherworldly violence within them.

"Look, Fasaani. I'll be honest—you scare me, but you always pay your bills on time. So with that in mind, give me a couple minutes here." Kira said and then grabbed a phone from her desk drawer.

Fasaani took note that this was not her normal phone. It was an old variety that was only really useful for calls. She sat back in her chair and took in the elements around her. The air was stale and circulated. The fluorescent light made the ornate oak desk and assorted furniture feel out of place in a room that felt more fitting for a cell phone repair shop. Fasaani looked over at the secretary and flashed him a quick smile, the kind a grandmother might give before offering hard candies from her purse. He tried to avoid noticing and quickly went to pretending to type into his computer screen. Fasaani felt a thrill knowing how much she worried him. She could feel a need growing in her to get revenge on the individual who had caused her to have to speak with Kira again. From Fasaani's perspective, she didn't trust Kira because Kira was one of the few people who could see her for something else. It made Kira dangerous.

"Yeah... yeah I just... John, do me a solid here. Just give me a name, and I didn't hear it from you," Kira's voice briefly became louder and more animated.

Fasaani took her attention back. She felt her mask was slipping, and she needed to remember that this was winter, and she had several years before she would be reborn. Kira put the phone down and scratched details onto a scrap of paper quickly. She passed it towards Fasaani.

"So I got the name. I wrote it down, but I don't think you will like it."

Fasaani pulled the paper close and looked down to see the words "Gerald Kavin" scratched on the top. Her eyes burnt bright, and her hand again went to the knife in her pocket, gripping it fiercely. Fasaani rose from her seat and moved towards the exit. "Thank you, Kira, you are a doll," she said through gritted teeth, the grandmotherly facade momentarily slipping to reveal something ancient and furious underneath.

Fasaani had thought she had left Kavin years ago. Then again, she knew she could never really rid herself of him. He was like her, not a normal human who could easily be dispatched, manipulated, or simply fucked with. Kavin was, much to her dismay, an equal in all senses of the word. This was his way of saying hello and requesting they meet. Fasaani and Kavin had had hundreds of interactions over the years, each finding time and desire to torment and toy with the other. She knew she would have to find and meet him, but that was tomorrow's problem. She drove slowly back to her cottage and crawled into a bottle of very old sherry she had been keeping for a special occasion. Tomorrow she would go see what Kavin would want.