Good morning, Ma.

"Morning, Tansy. How did you sleep, sweetheart?"

Eh, not great. I had some bad dreams, but I forget. I think you were there.

"Did you drink your tea?"

No, I forgot. I feel… fuzzy.

Tansy scratched at the LegaC sensor, careful not to peel it off. She didn't have many left. It was so itchy, though.

Ma? I'm really ready for July to be over. So many bad memories. I get exhausted just trying not to remember them.

"I know. It's almost over."

Yeah. I can just curl up here and wait it out, right?

"Take the day," Ma suggested. "Call in sick."

"I'm out of sick days." Tansy scratched her forearm. She glanced down, realizing she had been mindlessly tearing at her skin for who knew how long. Her fingernails had left angry red welts, and small flecks of fresh and dried blood dotted the raw, peeling skin. "Damn it," she muttered.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Poison ivy, maybe? It must be back, somewhere. I can't imagine where, but it sure looks like it. Blistering a little. Fierce itchy. I'm going to go wash up and take care of this. Love you."

"I love you, Tansy. Have a good day."

"Bye Ma."

Tansy went to the medicine cabinet, a nondescript metal box filled with neatly arranged glass jars of liniments, ointments and creams, Boston rounds of medicinal oils, and a waxed paper package of sealed bandages. She selected an ointment and gingerly applied it to her arm, taking deep breaths as the cool cream soothed the burning itch. She briefly considered breaking out some gauze, then thought better of it. She would just wash her hands and be careful not to spread it. As the pain subsided, Tansy got dressed, enjoyed an omelet and tea, checked on the garden, and settled in with her earpiece.

By 1 pm, the rash had spread like a malevolent creeper, red tendrils stretching across Tansy's arms and torso. By 4 pm, she was a walking itch, her skin a swollen patchwork of fiery blisters. She scratched at the welts while attempting to continue taking calls, her voice wavering as she tried to concentrate.

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?" she asked, focusing on the distant mountain ridgeline to keep from screaming. After what must have been the hundredth call of the day, Tansy tossed her earpiece toward her desk and signed off.

She rummaged through her herb cabinet, dried leaves rustling as she searched for something to soothe her tormented skin. Bags of various sizes contained an assortment of dried leaves, petals, roots, and flowers, some dried and brittle while others remained supple and intact. Their colors varied from deep earthy tones to bright pops of pink, purple, and yellow. The air was thick with the fragrance of herbs, which over the years had permeated the cabinet's wood.

She had neatly labeled each container and organized the collection into rows and boxes, making it quick and easy to find what she was looking for: a pouch containing a blended selection of herbs known for their soothing, anti-inflammatory properties, including calendula and lavender, slippery elm, cleavers, and marshmallow root.

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Herbs in hand, Tansy stood on the tile floor staring at her steam distiller, which held a fresh batch of peppermint essential oil waiting to be bottled. The distiller—her most prized possession outside of Ma's LegaC—sat on the kitchen countertop, gleaming and metallic in the summer light. The valves and spigot were sturdy and well-crafted. She had splurged on the best model, all glass, stainless steel, and precious copper. The air around the distiller smelled sweet and herbaceous, like freshly cut grass and wildflowers. She ran through a mental list of her oils in case there was something she might want to add to her bath, but stuck with the herbal tea for the time being.

Tansy set an old enamel pot on the stove and filled it with water. With a trembling hand, she dropped the pouch into the steaming liquid, watching as swirls of tannin browns and deep purple rose to the surface.

"This will soothe me," she said, more a wish than an actual incantation.

While the tea steeped, Tansy ground some oats to a fine powder. She ran a tepid bath which was just the temperature of her well water. When the herbal mixture was ready, she strained it and poured the liquid into the bathtub along with the oat powder, watching as the water took on a rich, golden hue.

"Here goes nothing," she sighed, stepping gingerly into the tub and letting the cool water envelop her inflamed skin. The medicine water lapped gently around Tansy's body, casting a calming spell that pulled her into a deep slumber. There, she floated in peace, oblivious to the world outside her porcelain sanctuary.

Awakening with a start, Tansy found the sun dipping low in the sky. She quickly rose from the tub, her skin prickling at the sudden exposure to air.

"Damn," she muttered, gently patting herself off and wrapping the terrycloth towel around her torso. "I must have slept for hours."

As she padded towards the kitchen, beads of sweat broke out across her hot forehead. Glancing in a mirror, she saw her eyes were bloodshot and framed by dark circles above rosy red cheeks.

She downed a glass of water, but it tasted off. Metallic and earthy. She scrunched her nose and put a kettle on for tea instead.

With a steaming cup in hand, Tansy stepped outside into the fading daylight. Her garden, usually a source of solace, now seemed an insurmountable task. She sank into a chair at her garden table, mentally cataloging all the work that would have to wait for another day.

"Hey, Tansy," called a familiar voice, breaking her reverie. Jack leaned over the fence with a concerned expression. "Missed you at the gathering last night."

"Uh, yeah," Tansy replied, taking a sip of her tea to avoid eye contact. "Just not feeling great."

Jack studied her face for a moment before he spoke again. "You look exhausted. Can I do anything for you?"

"Thanks, I'll be fine," she insisted with a hint of annoyance.

"You sure?" he insisted. "I know how to weed a garden bed. Pick tomatoes?"

She shook her head and waved him off with a forced smile.

"Alright," he conceded. "At least let me check on you in the morning?"

She nodded.

"Take care of yourself."

"I always do," she said before retreating into her house. She sank onto the edge of the bed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I always do," she repeated to no one.

She was burning up. And gods, the awful itch! Would it never let up? She clawed at her thighs until her nail beds ached. Only then did she glance down to see a dark red stain spreading across the bottom edge of the towel.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, lifting the towel to inspect the damage. In the mess of raw skin and blood, something caught her eye. A glint of light reflected off something shiny and pointed that appeared to be wedged into her thigh.

"What the hell?"

She squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It almost looked like a thick fingernail. She gently picked at it, then tugged. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it also didn't budge. The sliver shone a brilliant light green, almost like a mirror reflecting the day's last rays of sunlight. It looked familiar, but jarringly out of place.

Was that… a scale?

"Hey Ma," she whispered, her voice trembling in the empty room. She cleared her throat, which tightened in response to her rising panic. "I don't think it's ivy, Ma. I don't think it's poison ivy at all."