J

Juju The bosom of Lady Pash was seemingly the earths primary source of rose-scented oil. It emanated from her every pore. The hibiscus grew with an aggressive commitment directly up and into her front porch. Flowers so obnoxiously large that they defied botany and gravity. The wooden shutters were drawn when a client came from the village or from far to be cleaned, rid of daemon, danger, sadness, malaise or the lingering bad juju of a cheating, no good man. The particular “blessings” she summoned were subjective case to case. It almost always involved sipping from a cup with floating hibiscus petals on top. A necromancer’s cocktail of choice.