By Maryrose Wood
Sixteen-year-old Jessamine Luxton is heartbroken. Her real love, Weed, the unusual yet exciting younger guy who got here into her lifestyles so without warning, has disappeared. How may possibly he have left her without farewell, and no observe since?
Jessamine won't be aware of why Weed vanished, yet she does suspect that her personal father, Thomas, could have had anything to do with it. Thomas, who used to be so keen about Weed’s mystery wisdom of harmful vegetation that he could do something to profit it. This suspicion—and her studies with poisons—has replaced her. She is not any longer blameless, and now she has her personal intimate wisdom of the ability of the plants.
So while Jessamine learns that Weed is alive, she is going to do no matter what it takes to be reunited with him.
She is, finally, her father’s daughter. . . .
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Extra info for Poison Diaries: Nightshade
Example text
You learn quickly, lovely. I am impressed. Take me to Weed. I am ready. Weed is on the move, even now. And so must you be. First you must get away from this place, and let the trail run cold. Unless having dear Crabgrass watch you hang from the gallows is the sort of reunion you envisioned? A shiver of fear and outrage runs through me. Who would blame me for what I have done, if they knew my father’s wickedness? Your father was not the only wicked man in the world. Now run. Run far. I will tell you when to stop.
Sweet and rich and filling, Master Weed. ” I roll to my side on this soggy bed of moss. “Look at you. Your leaves masquerade as parsley. Your stalks as celery. Your roots as parsnip. ” “Not just men. Women. Children. ” The lace-caps of blooms flutter, all innocence. “You seem angry, fleshbody. ” I shift my position, trying to find a dry spot. After a night of wild storms, everything is wet: the ground, the trees, the rocks. Mushrooms sprout in every crevice. Some of them, too, are killers, but they know better than to boast about it.
It feels good to use my muscles and to feel the cool water against my skin, but even that does little to soothe my temper. I have the body of a man now, but of what use is my strength? I have already failed at being human. That I go on, hiding in this deep forest like an outcast, belonging nowhere, banished and alone, is a mystery even to me. After I climb out I sit on the bank and stare at my reflection. It is the only human face I have looked at since fleeing to the forest. My hair is long and tangled, and my cheeks are covered with a rough growth of beard.