“Hold still,” I said, pulling away when he fidgeted. “Darn it, Jenks. Hold still. It’s not going to hurt that bad. It’s just a scrape. The way you’re acting, you’d think it was a knife wound that was going to need stitches.”

His jerked his gaze from the bloodstained bandage to mine. The light coming in from the courtyard made his eyes very green. “It’s not that,” he said, reminding me that we were being watched. “No one but Matalina has ever tended me before. Except my mother.”

I set my hands on my lap, remembering hearing somewhere that pixies bonded for life. A trickle of blood headed for his eyes, and I reached for it. “You miss Matalina?” I said softly.

Jenks nodded, his gaze going to the rag as I dabbed at his forehead, gently brushing aside his yellow curls. His hair was dry, like straw. “I’ve never been away from her this long before,” he said. “Ten years, and we’ve never been apart for more than a day.”

I couldn’t help my twinge of envy. Here I was, tending an eighteen-year-old ready to die and missing his wife. “You’re lucky, Jenks,” I said softly. “I’d be ecstatic if I could manage a year with the same guy.”

“It’s hormonal,” he said, and I drew away, affronted.

“I think I saw some alcohol in here,” I muttered, flipping the tackle box back open.

“I meant between Matalina and me,” he said, the rims of his ears reddening. “I feel bad for you, stumbling about searching for love. With Matalina, I just knew.”

Making a sour face, I teased out another antiseptic wipe and carefully dabbed his scrape to pick out a leaf chip. “Yeah? Well witches aren’t that lucky.”

I threw the bloodied pad on the table, and Jenks slumped, going soft and misty-eyed. “I remember the first time I saw her,” he said, and I made a mmmm of encouragement, seeing that he’d finally quit fidgeting. “I had just left home. I was a country boy. Did you know that?”

“Really?” The bandage I had pulled out was too big, and I rummaged for something smaller. Spotting a Handi Wipe, I gave it to him to clean his fingers with.

“Too much rain and not enough sun,” he said as he set his rag aside and opened the package as if it held gossamer. Carefully, he unfolded the cloth. “The garden was bad. I could either fend for myself or take the food out of my sibling’s mouth. So I left. Hitched a ride on a produce truck and ended in Cincinnati’s farmers’ market. I got beat up the first time I trespassed in the streets. I didn’t know crap.”

“Sorry,” I said, deciding that Jenks might take offense at the Barbie Band-Aid and shuffled through until I found a He-Man one. Just who were they giving first aid to? Kindergarteners?