Page 75 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

He poked the thread through the end of the spindle, where he’d punched the tiniest hole, barely perceptible.

“It turns out your spindles are incredibly useful. It’s hard for us to find materials in Fairwitch Isle. We trade to the best of our ability, but a lot of times, we’re low in essential supplies.” He held up the black spindle. “These are perfect for sewing and stitching. I had the idea after I treated Mr. Porter.”

I gazed at the little spindle in disbelief. “You mean this is useful for something?” I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

Nevan nodded, his eyes softening. “Very useful, it turns out.”

Ms. Carragh sniffed. “Are you two going to keep making those eyes at each other or are you going to stitch me up already?”

The tips of Nevan’s ears turned red, which was adorable.

“Can I come closer?” I asked, and Nevan nodded.

I wanted to see this up close. I got off the chair and knelt in front of Ms. Carragh. She looked away from the wound.

“Don’t like needles,” she said. “My Elowyn says it’s ironic, given my propensity for knives and threatening to stab my enemies with them.”

Nevan’s eyes bugged, but I found myself liking this woman even more. “Do you often threaten to stab people?”

“Oh, all the time.” She winked at me. “I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years.”

That made two of us.

Without thinking, I took her uninjured hand in mine, then stared down at the thin wrinkled skin in contrast to my own green skin.

I’d seen other humans do this, and I’d picked up on the fact that it was a comfort to them. I thought about the way Nevan had taken my hand so many times since we’d started courting and how surprised I’d been that the simplest touch could make me feel so safe.

Ms. Carragh’s thin eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t protest or try to pull away.

I watched in fascination as Nevan pushed the little spindle into her skin. “This is going to hurt a bit,” he said.

She grimaced, squeezing my hand tighter.

“You’re strong for someone so . . .” I realized it might be offensive to call her old, even though, in reality, I was far older than her.

“Go on and say it,” she said.

“Well, so old.”

She barked out a laugh. “I could probably take you in a fight.”

“Probably,” I agreed, knowing this conversation was distracting her.

Nevan pulled the thread through her wound, cinching it tight.

“You’d think with all the medical remedies we have, there could be something to dull this pain. A salve or tincture you could put on someone before sticking them with something sharp.”

Nevan pushed the needle through her wound again. “I am working on it. I’ve come close to creating a useful numbing potion a few times, but I can’t quite get it right. And I don’t exactly have the time to experiment.”

Numbing. I stared at the little spindle that was helping heal this woman’s wound, and an idea struck me.

“Nevan,” I said. “If I had a flower that made someone lose all feeling in their body, could that be used for a numbing potion?”

He glanced up at me, gaze sharp. “Possibly. I’d need to examine the plant, how it makes someone lose feeling, and of course, I’d have to test it, but . . . maybe.”

It could help. Another one of my plants could be useful.

“Who knew?” Ms. Carragh said. “Your bog might actually be good for something other than terrifying everyone.” She laughed and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but my favorite pastime is watching from my window and seeing that vine of yours scaring the ever-loving shit out of the townspeople. I swear, some days it’s the only reason I still wake up.”