Jaskier's right. The demons did come in a pair, and they find the succubus in the alley behind the bar, making out with a punk girl with green hair and more piercings than Geralt's ever seen on a person.
It's a quick fight – Yenn winds her magic and convinces the girl to go back inside and forget the entire thing, and Geralt beheads the succubus before she can run away. She dissolves into the same black smoke as her partner and Geralt's medallion immediately stops thrumming.
"Impressive." Jaskier, who is leaning against the wall a short distance away, grins at Geralt. "Those muscles aren't just for looks, then?"
"Shut up," Geralt growls. "Now we need to deal with you." His sword is still in his hand and he levels it at Jaskier, stepping forward until the tip rests right in the hollow of Jaskier's throat.
Jaskier doesn't blink.
"You're not going to kill me," he says, and the glibness in his voice makes Geralt want to kick him in the teeth.
"And what makes you so convinced of that?"
"You need me."
Geralt looks back at Yenn with his eyebrows raised. "Did I miss something? Is this some sort of…" He turns back to Jaskier and narrows his eyes. "Who the fuck are you and how the hell do you know who—what—I am?"
"It's a long story," Jaskier says, and the expression on his face is almost bored. "I'd love to tell you all about it, but perhaps we can go somewhere less…" He gestures vaguely around the alley. "And you don't need this." He has the audacity to reach up and tap Geralt's blade at his throat. "I'm not your enemy, and I'm not going to run."
Yenn's hand lands on Geralt's shoulder and squeezes gently. "He's telling the truth," she says. "At least about the running bit."
Geralt keeps his blade level as he studies Jaskier's face. He doesn't look like much of a threat, but Geralt did just see him stab someone – the fact that it was a demon is irrelevant. But now, in the dim orange light of the alley, with his floppy hair and ridiculous leather jacket and bare chest…
Geralt sighs, dropping the incantation and watching the blade dissipate. The he looks back at Yenn, who shrugs and gestures toward the back lot where Geralt's car is parked.
"I don't trust you," Geralt mutters, stalking forward and grabbing Jaskier's arm. Up close he smells strange – like the beach at night, like ocean salt and a cool breeze. "You're coming with us until I can figure out what the fuck you are and where the hell you came from."
"Well, I've never complained about being manhandled by a man in leather before," Jaskier says, winking at Geralt. "And I'm not about to start now."
Jaskier is obnoxious. For one thing, he doesn't shut up for the entire drive back to the library. Yennefer sits in the back with him to keep him from doing anything suspicious, and Geralt can see in the rearview mirror that she's ready to strangle him a minute into the drive. Unfortunately, her silencing spells don't seem to work on him, so the two of them are forced to suffer through his monologues until they arrive.
The second obnoxious thing about Jaskier is that's he's really fucking attractive. Even in the stupid outfit and ridiculous pants, he's still hot as hell and Geralt hates him for it. It's been a while since he's been with anyone, and the horny part of his brain wants to push Jaskier up against the nearest wall and shut him up with a hot kiss and a hand down his pants. The other part of him insists that he does not fuck monsters, even pretty ones with eyes the color of the ocean.
When they finally get to the library, Geralt's relieved to see that the lights are on. Vesemir doesn't technically live here, but he might as well – Geralt's not sure he's ever seen the man leave.
"A library?" Jaskier asks as Geralt grabs his arm and drags him out of the car. "Quaint. I was expecting something more…" He drags his gaze up Geralt's chest and Geralt growls at him, shoving him forward and ignoring the way his hair curls around the back of his neck.
Vesemir barely looks up from his book when they enter the library. "Why are you bringing monsters back here?" he asks mildly.
"Because he appears to be on our side," Yennefer says, hopping up on the desk and crossing her arms. "He killed an incubus."
Vesemir raises an eyebrow and finally looks at Jaskier, who stumbles forward as Geralt lets go of his arm and shoves him toward Vesemir. "Ow," Jaskier grumbles, rubbing at his bicep. "I don't mind being roughed up, but I'd rather not have an audience."
"Shut up," Yenn and Geralt groan at the same time.
Vesemir stands from the desk and moves toward Jaskier, who stands his ground despite Vesemir being one of the most intimidating people Geralt's ever met. They stare each other down for a minute, and eventually Vesemir grabs Jaskier's wrists and turns his hands palm-up.
"Hm."
"Oh, excellent," Jaskier says, not pulling away. "You're just as eloquent as your protégé."
"You talk enough for both of them," Yennefer says, tossing a balled-up piece of paper at Jaskier's head. "Their silence is blessed."
Jaskier looks like he's about to retaliate when Vesemir nods and lets go of his hands, then says, "Sing."
Geralt frowns at the odd request, but Jaskier doesn't look surprised. "I do take requests," he says, grinning. Geralt thinks for a second that he sees a flash of sharp teeth. "Anything in particular?"
Vesemir gives him an unimpressed look and Jaskier sighs. "No appreciation for talent," he mutters, then winks at Geralt and starts to sing.
I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
we can do the tango just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heartstrings
be your Valentino just for you
There's that pull again – the hypnotic warmth that tangles with Jaskier's voice and slips beneath Geralt's skin, making both his medallion and his blood thrum. The rest of the room starts to slowly fade away, blurring at the edges until all Geralt can see is Jaskier and the blue of his eyes.
"Enough," Vesemir interrupts, and a part of Geralt protests when the veil of enchantment dissolves and he's left staring at a very ordinary, albeit incredibly attractive man.
"You're a siren," Yennefer says. Geralt glances over at her and is comforted to see that she's shaking off the effects of the magic as well.
"Part siren," Jaskier corrects. "If I was a full-blooded siren, you'd be doing whatever I wanted right about now."
"Aren't all sirens women?" Geralt asks.
"First of all," Jaskier says, crossing his arms and leaning back against a table, "that's racist." Geralt glares at him and Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Second of all, yes, most sirens are female, but I wasn't always this handsome."
It clearly takes Geralt too long to piece together what Jaskier's saying because Yennefer smacks the back of his head and says, "He's trans, you idiot."
Geralt frowns, tipping his head to the side as he takes in the scars on Jaskier's chest and the pin on his lapel again. Jaskier laughs and there's a tiny pull behind the sound, a soft whisper of the sea.
"It's okay," he says, mostly to Yennefer. "He's the brawn and you're the brains, am I right?"
Geralt's about to show Jaskier exactly what kind of brawn he is when Vesemir holds up his hands for silence. "How do you know about Witchers?" he asks Jaskier.
"My Gran," Jaskier says. He hops up on the table and crosses his arms over his chest, shivering. "Any chance I can get something more practical to wear? Your handsome friend here manhandled me away from my regular wardrobe before I could change."
Geralt sighs, tugging off the sweater he's wearing and tossing it at Jaskier's head. It leaves him in only a thin t-shirt, but the cold doesn't bother him. Jaskier shrugs off the leather jacket and pulls Geralt's sweater on, and Geralt tries hard not to let the sight of Jaskier in his clothes bother him.
Jaskier makes himself comfortable, crossing his legs and tucking his hands into the sleeves of the sweater before continuing. "So. My Gran was a full-blood siren, mum was half, which makes me a quarter, I guess. Just enough to enthrall a room with my lovely voice. Or occasionally get someone weak-willed to do what I want. Like the Force, I guess."
When everyone stares at him, he sighs, then waves his hand in the air. "These aren't the droids you're looking for, that sort of thing. Ugh, you're a dull crowd."
"You manipulate people," Geralt says, ignoring Jaskier's comments.
"Not people, no," Jaskier says, shaking his head. "Monster, mostly – werewolves, vampires, things like that. I'm sure you're familiar."
"Obviously," Yennefer says, rolling her eyes.
Jaskier studies her for a moment, head tilted to the side in a strangely endearing manner. "You're a witch," he says eventually. "An actual one, too. That spell you used – it was real."
"Of course it was real," Yennefer says, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "And it should have worked on you."
"Most magic doesn't," Jaskier says, shrugging. "Gran said it's because of the siren blood – magic against magic, all that."
"We don't have any records of Sirens for hundreds of years," Vesemir says, tapping a thick tome on the table. "But you're barely—"
"One hundred and thirty-seven," Jaskier says lightly. "I know, I don't look a day over ninety. It's the skincare routine."
"You're immortal?" Geralt asks, frowning.
"Not immortal, no," Jaskier admits. He looks back over at Geralt, eyes bright and gaze intense. "Just long-lived. My mum was nearly three hundred when she passed a couple years ago. Most of us live elsewhere, anyways – warmer climes, more sailors to lure to their deaths."
"You said you didn't—"
"I'm not lying," Jaskier insists. "I've never lured anyone to their death, I swear on my grandmother." He pauses. "I suppose she lured a few people to their deaths. Not my grandfather, though, and I'm honestly not certain how that happened, she'd never tell me about it."
Geralt rubs the bridge of his nose – this whole thing is starting to give him a headache. Monsters are for killing, not for… whatever it is they're doing with Jaskier right now.
"So," Yennefer says, leaning forward and giving Jaskier a calculating look. "You're part siren and you use your powers to pretend that you're Freddie Mercury."
"Maybe I am Freddie Mercury," Jaskier replies, grinning. "But yes. I love to sing and it's not hurting anyone. And every once in a while, I dispatch a monster back to the netherworld, thus fulfilling my part in the prophecy."
Everyone is silent for a moment, and then Vesemir asks the question that everyone in the room is thinking.
"What prophecy?"