Lolli held up a wand that had feathers at the end for Moose to bat at. “Or you could let me make you some of my poppy tea. That’s all natural, and it’ll cure what ails you.” “Lolli,” Trace growled as he strode into the living room. “It’s an opiate.” She just smirked at her grandson. “Not selling it, Mr. Po-Po. You can’t lock me up.”
