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His outstretched fingers twitched. “The medic told me to apply a new one.”
“On top of the old one.” I shook my head. “You haven’t stopped bleeding yet.”
He lowered his head and made a noise like a growl. “I’ll fix it.”
“No.” I grabbed the first aid kit from the counter. “I’m taking over.”
“I said, I’ll?—”
“Shut up and let me do this before you pass out.”
“I’m not going to?—”
I dabbed at the wound with a damp towel. He sucked in his breath with a hiss.
“I doubt you have any more blood to spare,” I said. “I’m impressed you lasted this long without keeling over.”
His face hardened. “You underestimate me.”
I refused to be intimidated by him. “Hold still.”
“I am.” He glared at me. “It’s this train swaying back and forth.”
I finished cleaning the blood, then washed my hands. Pink water swirled down the drain. I wrapped another bandage around his arm. He clenched his hands, grimacing, but he let me continue.
“Are you always this sadistic?” he asked.
“Are you always this delicate?”
He scowled. “I’m so glad you aren’t a nurse.”
“Me, too.”
His scowl deepened. “How was dinner with the archmage?”
“Do you know him?”
He snorted. “I think not.”
“Then how could you tell?—?”
“Anyone who stinks of so much foul magic must be at least an archmage.”
“A necromancer, complaining of foul magic?”
Disdain cooled his eyes. “The archmages toy around with spells and tricks memorized from books. Necromancy is a natural magic.”
“There’s nothing natural about raising the dead.”
“Natural meaning inborn. Inherited.” He let out a long, slow breath. “Though I know you think necromancers are monsters.”
My stomach twisted. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.
“Believe me,” he continued, “the Archmages of Vienna hate necromancy more.”
“What will they do with you?”
“I don’t know.”
