12
“I’m tired of being the weak link,” I mumbled, unwilling to open my eyes again. “Give me a heart.”
Arms too limp to bend, I wiggled my fingers, waiting for warm meat to hit my palm.
“You’re not the weak link.” Asa’s familiar hands stroked my face. “And I would carve out my own first.”
“Don’t say things like that.” I cracked one eyelid. “It makes me feel unaccountably violent.”
“I like when you’re unaccountably violent on my behalf.”
“I know.” A smile tickled my lips. “You shouldn’t encourage me.”
“Colby is fine.” He gave me what I wanted before I could articulate the question. “She’s bored, but fine.”
“How long was I out this time?”
“Three hours.” He planted a hand on my shoulder to pin me to the couch. “Go easy.”
During the brief time Colby had been my familiar, I had already gotten used to the boost she gave me. A typical white witch didn’t pack much of a punch. Given I had been trained in black magic, which required a heck of a lot more power to fuel spells, I had been downright puny during the Silver Stag copycat case.
This was a good reminder that, without Colby to draw on, I was still punching far above my weight class.
After clasping forearms with him, I gave a tug. “Help me up?”
Slowly, he lifted me into a seated position. I managed that without dizziness, so he eased me to my feet. The room attempted to spin at its corners, but I trusted Asa to keep me from eating hardwood.
With him by my side, I walked into the kitchen to check on Colby, still safe within the salt rings.
“Rue.” Her wings jerked once. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a balloon that got popped,” I confessed. “How about you?”
“Like I had the best sleep of my life.” She bounced her shoulders. “I could fly for days.”
“That’s great.” I couldn’t fight my smile. “But your wings are clipped for the next few hours.”
“Why?” Her antennae stiffened. “I’m not tired anymore.”
“See, here’s the thing.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “You weren’t sick. You were a snack.”
An inferno burst to life at my elbow, and the daemon bellowed in fury.
“Who hurt Colby?” He swung his head in search of the culprit. “I make them a snack.”
Lip curled, fangs on display, he punched his open palm with his massive fist.
“You don’t make them a snack.” Colby palmed her forehead. “You feed them a knuckle sandwich.”
“I not feed them.” The daemon frowned. “I kill them.” He tightened his hand. “With my knuckles.”
A laugh slipped out of her before she could catch it, but she blamed the herbs for making her sneeze.
“Hold on, big guy.” I rubbed his shoulder. “There’s no one in need of a beatdown.” I paused. “Yet.”
“Rue sure?” He punched his palm again. “I ready.”
“There’s a saying about people who have been preyed on by boo hags,” I explained, drawing from what I had read of Asa’s file on them. “It’s kind of odd. They say you were ridden by one.”