Handful of Trouble
And she thought a handful of baneberry would keep me at bay. Another one rolled from beneath the pile of cushions where she hid. White ones no less. I reached down and smashed one between thumb and forefinger where she could see it.
A fresh round of muffled sniveling.
“Do you really believe the old-wives’ tales?” Surely not. Not in this day and age. “Come on.”
Not that I expected her to be obedient, but this was getting old. Aconite last time, baneberry this one.
What next? Maybe a neck-bag of garlic. At least I could do something with that.
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