Handicapped II

Atticus let out a bark of laughter. "Excellent suggestion, wife. Is your brother left-handed or right-handed?"

"I'm not sure," Daphne pursed her lips. 

"Alright then. Sirona, which hand did he lay on you?" Atticus asked, loving the way Alistair's pupils darted around in fear.

"The right one," Sirona replied. "But I'm not picky."

"One right hand, coming right up," Atticus said cavalierly, rolling up his sleeves. 

"No! Please! You can't!" Drusilla cried out. 

"...I can't?" Atticus repeated, with a raised eyebrow at her audacity to order him around. "Mull over your words carefully. Would you like to face punishment in his place?"

Drusilla finally remained silent. She pursed her lips and recoiled back, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"No… no…" Alistair finally gasped out in fear, trying to twist his way out of the magical hold. But it was as futile as a worm trying to escape a fisherman's hook.