"Nightshade," Childermass repeats, tone flat. Of course. That makes sense. His expression twists viciously, but he doesn't do anything to Strange apart from shoving him against the counter as he releases the mage's shirt. Then he's whirling away, stomping off a few steps before turning around again and waving a hand towards the jars of poison.

"Now I see why you've gotten it in your empty head to slowly kill yourself," he snaps. "Nightshade, of all the—" Though he supposes it doesn't matter. They're all terrible. "At best she's telling the other fae she's found an absolutely gullible mage to sucker. You think what I have with their court and their queen is an alliance? I bargained for a hiding place, Strange! For protection! She only keeps me around because it pisses the Count off!"