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tryin’ his hand at spy work. Dropped a cursed little bundle through your letter slot. That’s all.”
    “How reassuring,” said Mina. “Does ‘spy work’ generally blow up like that?”
    “No,” said MacAlasdair. “That was me. I saw no other way to rid us of the thing.”
    He glanced toward the fireplace. Following his look, Mina saw that the flames had turned a dancing blue-silver. It was really quite pretty, though she wouldn’t have said so in front of the two men.
    Professor Carter had no such reservations. “For a curse, Stephen, that’s a remarkably pleasant little aftereffect.”
    “It wasn’t evil magic in itself,” said MacAlasdair, “only used for evil. And rather showy in its destruction.”
    “Yes,” said Professor Carter, and clicked his tongue as he looked at Stephen. “Should we call a doctor? I don’t know of any really discreet ones, but I’m sure we could think of a story—”
    “No. It’ll heal quickly enough, once it’s clean. If I may beg your pardon,” he said to Mina, and then began to remove the remains of his shirt.
    Mina decided to examine the desk. One never knew, after all, what might have broken in an explosion, or where the bits of whatever had exploded had gotten to. She tried to focus on finding them and not on seeing how graceful MacAlasdair was despite his size, or the slow exposure of his body. If her heart was going faster than it should and her cheeks felt warm—well, that was only natural in the wake of spies and mysterious explosions.
    She dipped a napkin in water, went over to where MacAlasdair was sitting, and then could no longer avoid looking at him. His arms were muscular; his pale chest was broad and solid, lightly covered with red-black hair that narrowed to a thin line trailing down his flat stomach. So near at hand, Mina seemed to feel an unusual warmth rising off his skin—or perhaps that was just her.
    The cut was thin and shallow, not bad at all. She concentrated on that, which only helped a very little bit. “I do hope this won’t be a daily occurrence,” she said, keeping her voice steady and not at all breathless. “I’m not any sort of trained nurse, you know.”
    “For your sake, Miss Seymour”—MacAlasdair’s voice was very close to her ear, a deep rumble that went through her body and almost made her drop the cloth she was using—“I’ll do my utmost to avoid it.”
    “How generous of you,” said Mina, and looked up into a pair of gold-brown eyes fixed intently on hers.
    She stepped back quickly. “I think that’s as much as I can do,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I can’t sew it up and I can’t get you any other clothes. And what—what about you?”
    As she spoke, she turned back to Professor Carter. That was a relief on one level—although also a disappointment in a way Mina resolved not to think about—but the thought of leaving the professor alone was more alarming, and in a wholly unmixed way. “If people are trying to kill you or spy on you,” Mina said, “shouldn’t you come back with us? Or leave London for a bit?”
    “No, I think not,” said Professor Carter. “If Ward had wanted me dead, he would have made some overt move in that direction. I think I’m more valuable to him as a living source of information—and this bracelet should prevent him trying to get anything out of me the way he did Moore, poor fellow.” He raised his arm again to show the silver bracelet and looked toward MacAlasdair for confirmation.
    MacAlasdair nodded, but reluctantly. “As far as I know,” he said. “Even so—”
    “Even so, we’ve had this discussion,” said the professor. “I’ve no reason to believe Ward’s reach is limited to London, and your house is far from impregnable. In fact, if he makes another try at it, I might be in more danger there than here. And I would far prefer to remain where I am for the present time. I’ll discuss it with you again if anything changes materially,