Butler gets sick. Wee shows up to take care care of him for ✨ Hot drink cure ✨
What’s a Trope Bingo?
Bonus (Not part of the Evil Association Arc)
Butler had pulled the duvet up to his chin and turned the heating to the max. Regardless, he was shivering. The Blue Diamond didn’t get sick. So it had come as a surprise when he collapsed, trying to get up that morning.
Juliet had taken one look at him and made him swallow all kinds of pills. He had been too weak to protest or check what she was giving him.
He woke up several hours later... Or days, he couldn't tell. Taking a deep breath, a violent cough shook him.
"That sounds pretty bad. Have you tried tea with a lot of honey?"
"Yes," Butler rasped before opening his eyes wide at the familiar voice. He focussed on the annoying journalist with the sparkling stud in her nose, sitting not five feet away from his bed. Groaning, Butler closed his eyes again.
"What are you doing here?"
"Juliet let me in," the woman said, shifting in her seat and crossing her legs.
"Did you kill my sister?" he asked flatly.
"Don't be daft."
The journalist chuckled. "She has actually subscribed to my blog. Said she enjoyed my investigative piece on you in New York two months ago. I called it 'Solomon's Gift'. Clever, isn't it?"
"No comment," Butler growled, pulling the duvet over his head.
The woman tsked. "Please, Butler. We both want the same thing. You want to get better. I can make you better."
For a moment, Butler was quiet. Then he peeked at her from under his blanket.
"You?"
"Of course. My family is world renowned for the best home remedies for colds, sickness, the plague, oh, and the evil eye. My great-great-great-grandfather travelled the world to free folks from evil ghosts."
Butler wasn't convinced.
"Like an exorcist."
The journalist shook her head, her nose stud blinding him when it caught the light.
"It's just a fantastic chicken broth, but that doesn't sell as well as 'magical healing water'. He was a zagovor and also the best cook from Wrocław to Leningrad."
Butler's head was ringing. It felt as if invisible weights had been attached to his eyelids. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't want that woman, Wee, to sit in his room, possibly taking pictures of him while he was unconscious. He needed to have a word with Juliet about letting strangers and journalists into the house.
"What do you want in return?"
"Me? Can't a friend help a friend?"
"We aren't friends."
Wee wiped away an imaginary tear. "If you're too proud or secretive to share a few stories from your bodyguard training times...."
"I want you to get out of my bedroom, no offence," he said through gritted teeth.
"None taken. You aren't the first one to tell me that."
Butler furrowed his brows, unsure if she was joking. She grinned and held out a steaming mug he hadn't noticed before.
He accepted the beverage, smelling it.
"It's not poisoned," she said. "Remember, zagovor family. Drink up."
Butler took a sip, making a face. "There's garlic in there."
Wee beamed. "Oh, so you can taste it. Splendid. Then, it's not Covid."
"It's garlic," he said once more, almost whining. Except that Butler didn't whine.
"Indeed," Wee said, "an excellent cure for... anything. Vampires, rabies, colds. Do you want me to say a few magical spells? It really makes a difference. Presentation-wise."
Butler shot her a dark look before downing the brew in one go. He handed the mug back.
"Ask your question."
The journalist's smile became foxish. "Give me Sofia's phone number."
Butler almost choked. "Out of the question."
"You gave me your word, dear old Butler."
The bodyguard ground his teeth. "That's when I thought you'd ask me about my training."
"Yes, I made you believe that, didn't I?" she said with a satisfied smile.
"You're the devil."
"And you know that how?" she asked, pulling out her notebook.
Butler groaned once more. He would need to give Sofia a heads-up.
"You cannot call her for the next 24 hours."
"That can be arranged," Wee said and nodded, her pen flying over the page as Butler recited the well-known number.
"You must be tired. I'll let you get some sleep."
"Thank you," Butler murmured, sinking back into his pillows.
He had almost nodded off when he heard the distinctive sound of a camera shutter. Butler considered shooting at her, but a second later he was fast asleep, dreaming about sunny Italian vineyards.
