The dried sage turned green under Agnes’s knife. Fresh stems sprouted across the scarred cutting board. Her familiar, a smoky-gray feline, yowled as basil bloomed between his paws. Agnes cut her eyes to the open door. “Keep your magic out of my house.”

The drus’s bark scraped the doorframe as he entered the witch’s hut. “Life blooming offends you?”

“I use dried herbs in my spells, Hamad.”

His rough bark creased into a frown. The kitchen rapidly filled with greenery. Hanging henbane and rosemary sprung to life. Purple filled clay jars as vervain and jasmine revived. Root tendrils of deadly nightshade crept, seeking a victim.

Agnes tossed the sage into a bucket. “What do you want?” Alley’s eyes narrowed. His hips wriggled as he prepared to launch himself at the drus. Agnes laid a gnarled finger between his ears. “Be still.”

“The new moon rises. Will you join me at the pool.” The drus bowed, its twigs scraping plastered walls.

“Perhaps.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I am saying it again. Now take your magic out.”

Hamad bent low to prevent scraping the foliage from his scalp on his way out. Alley screeched, nightshade twining around his tail. Agnes rescued him. Alley squirmed free of her hold and flicked its crooked tail indignantly.

“It’s easier than gathering my own in the dead of winter,” she told him. “Next time, I’ll keep him out.”  Alley hissed, spittle flying. “I know, I said that last time, and I’m saying it again.”