Pop goes that weasel

Nightshade. What a fickle little thing. Voodoo hadn’t intended to dabble in poison again, not like how she did when she was younger. Yet there was a strange sly satisfaction for her while she had watched the stoat foam and twitch. Eventually it had died but it didn’t talk to her like he had. Voodoo had wrapped the body in thyme leaves along with lavender to hide the scent of poison. Perhaps she should rethink her skill sets as a fighter. Herbs had always made her more comfortable. Yet this was a chance maybe to bond with her daughter.

Voodoo took the rest of the black nightshade and had set it on a leaf. The dark flowers unmistakeable to her but she didn’t know what sort of knowledge Tomie now possessed. Both she and Jay had seemed to settle and flourish here and she couldn’t ask for more. Now she didn’t know what other purpose she had other than to be the best mother she could try to be.