She needed a tightly knit unit of trained, disciplined fighters; what she had were infants, gentle giants, aspiring florists. She would very begrudgingly admit that most of them could fight well enough, but at what cost? For example: instead of hopping to it and taking charge of the wagon so that they could depart, Kit was now showing Morgan the flowers and repeating excitedly, “St. John’s wort.” Morgan said, “St. John’s what?” And Kit said, “Exactly!” This was the sort of thing that, quite frankly, made Mariel want to kill them all.
