“So no one kills you,” Zephyr replied blandly. “Unless you can think of another reason to have one.”
“She’s a woman.”
“Is she?” Zephyr sighed. “How interesting. Your mother stationed her here, so we can’t get rid of her.”
“My mother? Oh, excellent.” Asherton turned back to pillaging the cupboard. “So, new bodyguard, must you kill me yourself to get paid, or shall I jump off the roof and save you the trouble?”
“Asherton!” Zephyr cried. “Your mother would never …”
“Now, where is the blasted … ah, there it is.” Asherton hopped down and held up a clouded jar crawling with tiny green beetles. They skittered up the glass, then fell to the bottom with a faint clatter that turned Magdala’s stomach. “It bloomed, Zeph.”
Zephyr whipped off his glasses. “Already? But it’s not a full moon …”
“You can tell it so yourself if you like.” Asherton tucked the jar into his pocket and hurried back out the door, leaving it open to the rain. Magdala held onto the table, afraid that, if she let go, she would race across the kitchen and slam the door, which was not a bodyguard’s job.
“Wear gloves!” Zephyr called after him. He cast Magdala a weary look. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m worn to the bone.” Waving for her to follow him, Zephyr strode outside. “Come, Miss Devney, your duties begin now.”
Chapter 11
By now, Magdala was not surprised to find her father’s treasured garden a brilliant cacophony of flowers and herbs and fat green pumpkins. Briars grew over trellises beside wild grapes, green beans tangled with honeysuckle.
Gathering her courage, Magdala paused on the threshold of the long glass greenhouse.
This place was special. She had hidden under the herb table with a box of biscuits, grinning at her cleverness and unaware that her mouth and fingers were smeared with chocolate. Her tutor had winked at her when she walked past, but her father had dragged her out and forbade her from eating sweets for a week. He relented, though, when she cried on his shoulder.
In her father’s day, it had been as orderly as the rest of the house and grounds, but now, of course, it was cluttered and chaotic. No herbs or dainty roses or sweet lavender grew in this greenhouse. The walls and tables were lined with venomous, poisonous, and carnivorous plants, some as tall as a grown man, others taking root in teacups. A venus fly trap slowly digested a wasp from inside a piece of Magdala’s great-grandmother’s china set.
The prince sat on a stool at a tall table, leaning over a mound of soil. A hairy stalk was unfurling slowly from the dirt, reaching out a green bud the size of a walnut. The bud trembled once, then split down the sides, baring a set of sharp white teeth absurdly large for its little jaws. They jutted over its gums, like a bulldog's.
Asherton’s face lit with wonder, and Magdala forgot all about stolen inheritances and stepped forward eagerly, her curiosity piqued.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Asherton said, darting his fingers forward and dropping a beetle onto the soil. “I dug it out of my mother’s garden bed in Largotia. The gardener was going to spray him down with vinegar. I’m working on a name for him. Alonso? Alistair? Anton? What do you think, Zeph?”
Zephyr leaned against a table behind Asherton, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I think you should wear gloves,” he said flatly.
As if the plant meant to prove Zephyr right, Alonso or Alistair or Anton sprang out and clamped its teeth on Asherton’s hand. Asherton hissed. With a shout of alarm, Zephyr gripped the plant’s mouth and tried to pry it open, but its jaws were locked.
“Miss Devney, please assist,” Zephyr ordered.
Magdala drew her knife, and both Asherton and Zephyr gasped and shouted together, “What are you doing?”
“You said to assist.”
Asherton looked incredulously at Zephyr. “Gracious, where did Mother get her? She’s vicious.”
“Stingdrops, child!” Zephyr said, as if everyone knew what stingdrops were from birth.
“Just get it yourself, Zeph,” Asherton said calmly. “It’s starting to hurt.”
“Good grief, Ash!” Zephyr roared. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”
Asherton sighed. “What was it you said? I was distracted.”
“I SAID TO WEAR GLOVES!” Zephyr stormed out of the greenhouse in a thundercloud of angry muttering, leaving Asherton and Magdala alone.
Asherton tilted his head, his eyes narrowed, watching with interest as the plant growled and worried his fingers. Its teeth were large for its head, but too small to do any serious damage. Still, a thin line of blood trickled over his knuckles.
