‘Oh, dear. This one’s in a state. Can’t work out if it’s night or day anymore.’
Miranda stood in the courtyard of No. 8, watering the plants in the old claw-footed bathtub.
‘This one’s the best remedy for skin conditions: boils, sties, pimples, and the like,’ said Miranda, moving the watering can over the middle of the bathtub. The plant’s tiny flowers had opened to drink in the sun, but the afternoon rays were long gone. She picked off a couple of dead leaves. ‘Every family in Esperance has one, or at least, those with teenagers. But the poor thing’s been making things worse lately. It’s having a rough time, like most things magically-inclined around here.’
Another plant, with black roots and stems, stood in its own pot to the side.
‘A rue plant. For regrets.’ She gave it a sprinkle.
