headache at a nine.”
Keefe would’ve put them both at a ten.
Maybe an eleven.
But if he admitted that, he’d never get out of the Healing Center.
“Even if you’re right,” he argued, “and I’m not saying you are—you’re missing my point, which was that Bullhorn’s not even a tiny bit worried about me. And overreacting is pretty much what banshees live for. So whatever you think you’re seeing is just… a misunderstanding.”
That’s all it was, he told himself.
It had to be.
But to be safe, he was never going to impersonate anyone ever again.
He also wished he could block the stinging waves of worry that were now slamming into him from both Elwin and Fitz.
And there was a new emotion scraping the edge of his senses, coming from someone who must’ve been somewhere behind him. He realized it was impatience right as a much-too-familiar voice called out, “Our pretty little Blondie needs to get back here. She’s the only one who can make Lord Funkyhair cooperate.”
Keefe had been hoping to avoid that voice for at least a couple more hours.
Or days.
Maybe a year or two.
But sadly, he turned, and there was Ro, leaning against the doorway to the Healing Center.
She gave a mocking wave before reaching up to adjust one of her choppy pigtails, which she must’ve dyed again, because her hair was now the same vivid red that she’d painted her claws.
It looked like fresh-spilled blood. And her pointy-toothed smile promised lots of gleeful revenge. But Keefe could feel all of Ro’s emotions whirling toward him like spinning daggers.
Anger.
Annoyance.
A tiny wisp of relief—which freaked him out more than the others.
Any goodwill Ro might be feeling toward him had to be buried deep.
“All right, you can drop the tough-guy act,” Ro told him, stalking closer. “You’re way too sweaty and shaky right now to pull it off. Plus, you’ve got this frantic look in your eyes, like a trapped baby bunny. So it’s time to come clean to the nice elf-y doctor and let him give you a bunch of his weirdo medicines, okay? He’s also more than welcome to subject you to any and all treatments that involve melting off your skin.”
“Counteroffer,” Keefe said, throwing back his covers. “I go home and—”
“Nope!” Ro shoved him back onto the cot and reached into her breastplate, pulling out a tiny glass vial that looked like it was filled with curdled snot. “If you insist on being difficult, we can try this another way: I was planning to use this for your first punishment—and you should note my use of the word ‘first’ there, Funkyhair, because believe me, I have big plans for you. But I’ll happily change things up and force a few of these amoebas down your throat right now if—”
“No amoebas!” Elwin interrupted, snatching the vial out of Ro’s hand with some fairly impressive reflexes.
“You’re cute if you think I’m not going to steal that back in about three seconds,” Ro warned. “And I’m sure I’ll break a loooooooot of things in the process.”
“And you’re cute if you think I don’t have an elixir that’ll knock you out with a tiny whiff,” Elwin countered, patting the satchel slung across his shoulder.
Ro cocked her head to study him. “Not sure I believe you.”
“You should, since it’ll also make you lose control of your bladder,” he warned.
“Yeah, I’m going to need a vial of whatever that is,” Keefe chimed in when Ro backed away from Elwin.
“Not going to happen.” Elwin stuffed the vial he’d confiscated from Ro into his satchel and latched it closed. “I’ll give this back to you later—well, depending on what it is. But in the meantime, I need you to promise me that you’ll lay off the microbial punishments. I can’t have you giving Keefe anything that could mess with my readings until he’s back to normal.”
Keefe knew that was his cue to insist that he already was back to normal. But…
A few weeks free from Ro’s nasty microbes was kinda worth staying silent.
Ro heaved a giant sigh. “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. I suppose I can see the logic behind that. How about a good old-fashioned death threat, then?”
Elwin blocked her from unsheathing one of the knives strapped to her waist. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Keefe’s ready to start cooperating now, isn’t he?”
Keefe tapped his chin. “That doesn’t sound like me.…”
“It doesn’t,” Ro agreed, wrenching out of Elwin’s grip—but Elwin caught her wrist and twisted her arm away from her weapons with a move that made Keefe wonder if Foxfire’s physician