The Furies by Mark Alpert

going on? I gave her a sedative!”
    â€œI’m a light sleeper.” She stared at the junkie, her brow creased. “And you were very loud.”
    Gabe took another step backward. His hands were shaking. He was clearly afraid of her.
    After a couple of seconds she turned to John. Her face softened and the creases vanished. “Thank you. For believing me. I see we’re not in a hospital.”
    He smiled. “You’re better off here. The health care system sucks.”
    She smiled too, then tried to sit up. Scowling in pain, she propped herself on her elbows. Then she turned back to Gabriel and pointed at her legs. “They’re both broken?”
    Gabriel nodded but kept his distance. “Yeah, compound fractures.”
    â€œCould you get me a piece of paper, please? And a pen?”
    It was an odd request. Confused, Gabriel glanced at John, who gave him a “Why not?” look. So the junkie went in search of some writing materials.
    He came back half a minute later and handed Ariel a Post-it note and a pencil. She held the notebook in her other hand and flipped through its pages till she found the one she wanted. After scrutinizing the strange symbols on the page, she wrote a couple of words on the Post-it note. Then she studied the page again and wrote a few more words. John watched her, fascinated. She was translating the symbols.
    When she was done, she gave him the Post-it note. Written on it were five items:
    Periwinkle, 10 grams
    Cat’s Claw (Uña de Gato), 5 grams
    Horsetail, 10 grams
    Milk Thistle, 15 grams
    Purple Coneflower, 10 grams
    â€œWhat’s this?” John asked her.
    â€œIt’s your shopping list. Some of the herbs may be hard to find. Where are we exactly?”
    â€œIn Philly. Kensington.”
    â€œThat’s good. There should be health-food stores in the city. If you can’t find the herbs there, go to the botánicas in the Latino neighborhoods.”
    Gabe let out a snort. “Herbal medicine? That’s what you’re looking for?” He shook his head. “It’s good for treating a cold. Not so good for bullet wounds.”
    Ariel ignored him. She kept her eyes on John. “Will you do this for me?”
    She needed his help. Again. And he had every right to say no. But as he gazed into those green eyes, he knew he couldn’t refuse her. He was hooked. Bad.
    John folded the note and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
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    The shopping took longer than he expected. It was still early in the morning, and most of the health-food stores weren’t open yet. He had better luck at the botánicas , most of which were run by elderly Mexican women. The shops were tiny and dimly lit, but on their dusty shelves were dozens of sacks containing crushed leaves and roots and powders. By 10:00 A.M. he had collected all the items on Ariel’s list and headed back to Kensington.
    John planned to stop at his apartment on Somerset Street to pick up some cash for Gabriel, but when he was two blocks away he saw a crowd outside his row house. Wary, he pulled over to the curb. There were lots of gangbangers in the crowd, from the crews that ran the corners on Somerset Street and Fairhill Square and Lehigh Avenue. That was a bit strange—the drug crews were usually fast asleep at this time of day. Then John saw something even stranger: a pile of familiar-looking furniture on the sidewalk. His furniture. The gangbangers had broken into his apartment, removed his couch and chairs and television and bookcase, and tossed them all outside.
    His first instinct was to rush over there and kick some ass. Why were they messing with his stuff? What the hell were they thinking? But instead he stayed in his Kia, furious and fearful, and tried to figure out what was going on. Although the antigang project no longer existed—St. Anne’s Church had cut its funding after Father Murphy