Besides, her vials and potions fascinated me. She might not think them magickal, but I mightily disagreed. I knew that Mr. Amwell had not merely died; something in him had transformed, just like the butterflies in their cocoons. He had taken new form, and I felt sure Nella’s elixirs were the only way to reverse it, the only way to stop the bleeding from my belly.

But I could not share this with Nella, not yet, for she’d denied magick during my first visit. I did not want her to think me tiresome—or downright mad—so I’d come prepared with another tactic.

Nella crossed her arms, looking me up and down. Her knuckles, just inches in front of my face, appeared swollen, round and red as cherries. “I’m very glad the egg worked,” she said, “but given that you accomplished your task, I am curious what brought you back here. Without warning, I should add.” Her tone was not a punishing one, but I sensed she was not pleased with me. “I presume you did not return to issue the same fate to your mistress?”

“Of course not,” I said, shaking my head. “She has been lovely to me, always.” A sudden draft swirled through the air, and I caught a strong whiff of the damp, earthy odor. “What is that smell?”

“Come here,” Nella said, waving me to an earthenware pot on the floor, near the hearth. The pot stood as high as my waist and was filled with loose black dirt. I followed eagerly, but she held out her hand. “No closer,” she said. Then she took a pair of crude leather mitts and, with a small, spade-like instrument, she parted some of the dirt toward the edge of the pot to reveal, hiding within, a hard, whitish object. “Wolfsbane root,” she said.

“Wolfs...bane,” I repeated slowly. The object looked like a rock, but, craning my neck, I could just barely make out a few little knots protruding from it, similar to a potato or carrot. “For killing wolves?”

“At one time, yes. The Greeks used to extract the poison and place it on their arrows while hunting wild dogs. But nothing of that sort will be done here.”

“Because it will kill men, not wolves,” I said, eager to show my understanding.

Nella raised her eyebrows at me. “You are unlike any twelve-year-old I have met,” she said. She turned back to the pot and gently brushed the dirt back over the root. “In a month’s time, I will shred this root into a thousand pieces. A pinch of it, mixed well into an otherwise bitter horseradish sauce, will stop the heart within an hour.” She tilted her head at me. “You still haven’t answered my question. Is there something else you’re needing from me?” She took off her mitts and intertwined her fingers in her lap.