Fiona groanedas she furiously scratched her head. “I should have known I had these. I woke up this morning with an itchy head. Even after a good scrubbing.”
“I had them once, before we came to live with you,” I said to her. “Grandmother had to get them out with her old comb. No vinegar or oil, but she managed somehow.”
Fiona moved to sit in the hardback chair. “Get it over with as quickly as possible, please.”
As best I could, I soaked her hair with my potion, then began the tedious process of combing through strands a dozen at a time.
“This is disgusting,” Fiona said. “But a small price to pay to take the boys home.”
“I agree.” I poured more olive oil into the small bowl where I would dump the bodies.
“You would, you’re not the one itching like mad.”
I ran the comb through another clump, successfully scraping away one of the bugs and loosening eggs close to her scalp.
“Are they still alive?” Fiona asked, peering into the bowl. “Oh, goodness, is that one moving?”
I squished him or her with the end of my comb. “Not anymore.”
“I’m quite undone.” Fiona giggled, high-pitched. “Thank you for helping me, even if I am angered by your obvious enjoyment of my predicament.”
“I’m not enjoying it,” I said.
“You are, you beast.” She glared at me, but her eyes twinkled now.
My stomach fluttered. I was not accustomed to being physically close to her. The curve of her slender neck beckoned to me. Not that I’d ever done such a thing, but I longed to brush my lips against the skin under her ear, regardless of critters. How was a woman this beautiful with her hair slathered in oil and vinegar?
“I feel like a salad’s on top of my head,” Fiona said, and giggled again. “Why is this so amusing to you?”
I continued to comb through another strand but met her gaze in the mirror. “It’s not. I simply love having you at my mercy.”
“I never thought you had it in you to be so terrible,” Fiona said, laughing. “I shall remember this.”