“There now,” Asherton murmured to Anton. “Now you know me.”
Magdala wrinkled her nose.
“What do you like to eat, beautiful?” he asked Anton.
“Hands,” Magdala interjected dryly.
Asherton snorted. “I can’t spare any more, unfortunately."
She caught him gazing thoughtfully at her hands, and she thrust them into her pockets. “I’m not donating any fingers to your wretched man-eating daisy!” she cried.
“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” he said, but he sounded unconvincing.
“Can I speed this process along?” Magdala asked. “Pour water on you or …” She noticed a tray of mushrooms flickering with blue squiggles of electricity. “Or shock you with a fizzlecap … actually, that’s a good idea.”
Asherton’s eyes widened. “What is?”
“Don’t go anywhere.”
“Must I?” he asked, droll. “I was hoping, in my present state, to go for a swim.”
On riot duty, Magdala often used a stick with a fizzle-cap mushroom stuffed in the end to subdue the crowd. A pair of rubber gloves lay nearby, and Magdala slid them on her hand, then plucked one of the mushrooms. It crackled.
“No,” Asherton ordered, his eyes widening. “Don’t even think about …”
Magdala touched the mushroom to his arm and his body seized.
“MISS DEVNEY, WHAT THE HELL!” he shrieked.
Remembering the river closing over her head, Magdala sat back on her heels, turning the mushroom between her thumb and forefinger. When he’d stopped twitching, she tapped it against his arm a second time, and he yelled, but this time he rolled away from her.
Glowering, Asherton sat up. “You’re a sadist.”
She smiled. “But it worked.”
He rubbed his arm. “I would have come around on my own in an hour or two.”
“Yes, but, as your bodyguard, I couldn’t let you remain in such a vulnerable state. It’s not safe.”
Asherton stumbled to his feet and scooped Anton into a discarded teapot. Blood oozed down his hand from a pattern of small punctures.
“You’re bleeding,” Magdala observed.
“And you’re unhinged.”
Magdala chuffed. Being called unhinged by the strangest man she’d ever met—well, that was a fine accomplishment.
Chapter 12
Button-sized yellow tansy flowers snagging on her trousers, Magdala followed Asherton through the garden to the still-open kitchen door. He cradled Anton in the crook of his arm and seemed to have forgotten about the bleeding bite on his hand. Magdala caught up to him, holding out a handkerchief.
“How do I know that’s not poisoned?” he asked without turning.
“I thought you said you trusted me.”
“I said I trusted youmorethan anyone else on the guard, but zero multiplied by zero is still zero.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. And you’re bleeding all over the grass.”
