“I’m sorry. But fuck!”
She laughed, then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry too.”
He sighed. “Go ahead and laugh. This is crazy.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“I didn’t think I was.” The edge to his tone said he might wish otherwise. “So an old iron horseshoe through the eye finished it off when a knife and gun wouldn’t?”
She nodded. “More might follow. I suggest we go back to the house.”
“And find more iron.”
She nodded again.
With Wolly at heel, they returned to the porch. Josh paused to stare back at the night. “What about my stock?”
“The imp only went after Wolly to...”
“To get to you.”
She bit her lip. She knew she should be afraid of Raze’s impatience, if the Queen’s vizier had already sent another spy. She should probably be even more afraid that the Hunter would be warned by the appearance of an imp and be coming to kill her next.
But most of all, she was afraid of the look in Josh’s eyes. Cold and hard as iron, resistant to any illusion. A musetta’s seductive allure wasn’t going to distract him this time.
In the house, she had a brief reprieve as Josh wiped the mud off Wolly’s coat, murmuring good dog while dispensing small crunchy bone-shaped cookies. Wolly lay down with a soft whine.
The sound ripped at her. “Let me see.”
Josh stared at her, narrow eyed, then he angled over to let her crouch beside him. “What can you do?”
She didn’t answer. Musetta didn’t do anything. Or so she’d always believed. But just as she inspired tunes and odes, could she encourage the knitting of muscle and bone? She would never have tried such a thing in the phaedrealii, but here...
For a moment, she hesitated, nonplused at her own nerve. Why did she think this would even work?