“I wondered why it had to be so poisonous. Oleanders could live through anything, they could stand heat, drought, neglect, and put out thousands of waxy blooms. So what did they need poison for? Couldn't they just be bitter? They weren't like rattlesnakes, they didn't even eat what they killed. The way she boiled it down, distilled it, like her hatred. Maybe it was a poison in the soil, something about L.A., the hatred, the callousness, something we didn't want to think about, that the plant concentrated in its tissues. Maybe it wasn't a source of poison, but just another victim.”

“I just wanted them to die," said Poison. "They didn't have to make such a drama about it.”

“So why did I think about her every second? Why was I so much happier the minute I saw her? I felt like maybe I knew the answer, but how could I be sure? I didn't know, and I didn't have any way to find out.Guys don't talk about stuff like that. We just lie under the pile of bricks.”

“Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.”

“Maybe I was being too picky. Maybe I didn't want to be close to anyone. Maybe I'd just be the type who couldn't feel love all the way or something. I couldn't tell what was wrong, but what was wrong was that it just wasn't right.”

“She unscrews the cap, sniffs it, and then shrugs, dumping the entire contents into the bubbling brew. “It could be marjoram, but it might be mushrooms. I had a bottle of poisonous, green ones I dried out last winter on the solstice. Oh well.”Leaning out over the cauldron, she stirs thrice counterclockwise, using the wooden spoon with a handle about as tall as she is. Then she scoops a bit and brings it to her mouth for a taste.“No!” Jason and I scream at the same time.She blinks at us. “What?”“You just put something that may be poisonous in there,” I say.”