In theory, drakroot wasn't that complicated.
In theory.
Boil, peel, de-spike, neutralize the worst of the toxins with a stabilizing broth, then infuse it with enough flavor that it didn't taste like regret and soil. Simple. Straightforward. Absolutely not worth the number of horror stories surrounding it.
In practice, it was like handling a vegetable possessed by three different demons and at least one disgruntled kitchen spirit.
Around me, the classroom was already sliding slowly into hell.
Someone to my left screamed, "Why is it vibrating?" followed by the unmistakable sound of a knife clattering to the floor.
"Because you heated it too fast," Maeve said coolly from the front, not even looking. "If it starts humming, you're halfway to hallucinating your own funeral. Congratulations."
The humming definitely got louder.
I swallowed hard and turned back to my own station. One drakroot. Knobbly, spiked, faintly pulsing like it had opinions.
