The Devil Has Feelings Too
My hands shook as I ripped away at the soil, pulling out roots and leaves like a madwoman.
I knew what I needed.
The antidote may not be in any of the drugs the doctor had prescribed. But it might be here.
I had studied these herbs long enough, and I had grown them quietly, even though Adriano hated that I’d changed his “perfect” garden. He always said it looked like a witch’s playground now. I used to laugh.
Now I was praying he’d live long enough to complain about it again.
My eyes scanned the small plot, marigold, valerian, milk thistle, yarrow, and feverfew. I needed them all. I yanked them out, rushed them back to the kitchen, and started grinding them down with a stone pestle.
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