“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.”

“Green goo bubbles in a cauldron in the center of all this chaos. On a pedestal in front of it, a book is open. The old lady leans over the book so it almost touches her nose and peers at the page. “Marshmallows. No, that can’t be right. Jason,” she shrills. “Read this for me.”“Marjoram,” Jason reads.”

“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.”

“She nodded... and was about to turn away. Then, as if she thought better of it, she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Jack.""Yes?""I. . ." she faltered. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words.It turned out she didn't have to. Jack put a hand to his heart and nodded. "I feel the same way about you.”

“I know we haven’t been formally introduced, Nathan,’ she said, ‘but I feel like I know practically everything about you.’ She picked up my spoon and scooped up a dab of fudge. ‘At least, all that a sickly old aunt is willing to share.’ She slid the spoon into her mouth, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes.”

“She waves her big spoon. “You can get me that orb-weaver spider from the corner over there.”“Yes, ma’am.”“Don’t you kill it! I need it alive.”“Can I have a jar to catch it with?”“No. Use your hands.”“Why?”“The recipe says so.”Jason arches an eyebrow. “Can I see that?”“Who is the witch here? Me.” She swats him on the arm with her wooden spoon.“Okay, okay.” With a sigh, he heads toward a dark corner.She turns on me and raises her spoon.”