Page 17 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
Aspic had to let his eyes adjust to the dark as they entered the cave, then again to the light as they entered the laboratory at the back. When he blinked them clear, Geoffrey stood by his desk with a stick of chalk in hand. Staring at Aspic.
"Oh. It's you again."
"Didn't you tell him who it was?" Aspic whispered to his shadow-imp passenger.
Cecil shrugged. "I told him someone brought pastries from Aunt Frida's."
Great.Best smile. Definitely don't show irritation. "Yes. Hi. Just me." Aspic held out the basket. "I had actually hoped that you'd gone home for the night instead of working nonstop. But I did bring some things from your aunt's in case you were still here."
"Why?"
"Oh. Um." Aspic was fairly certain thatI can't stop thinking about you and I was worriedwould sound creepy just blurted out. His voice cracked as he settled on, "I thought it would be a nice thing to do?"
"Fine. Thank you. Goodbye."
A shocked gasp came from Cecil, who jumped up on the basket rim, hands on his hips. "Geoffrey Wurstuffen!"
Wurstuffen?
Geoffrey turned his glare on Cecil. "What? I said thank you."
"That's so rude." Cecil waved his arms. "Aspic came all this way to bring you food, which you need toeatby the way. You're barely standing. You don't thank him by tossing him out!"
"I don't—"
"Idon't want to be banished to the nether realms when you screw up a reanimation spell because you're hungry!"
Geoffrey's shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh. "I don't have dishes or chairs to be hospital."
Nervous. He struggles with words when he's nervous. Aspic softened his smile. "I don't mind the floor."
He suited actions to words, settled on the floor by the desk, and placed the basket in front of him. After one last hard glare at Cecil, Geoffrey joined him, settling his black robes carefully around him. The scowl wasn't terribly convincing, since his eyes shone as he uncovered the basket and carefully selected an iced bun. He tore a gold-piece-sized bit off, stuffed it in his mouth, and closed his eyes on a hum of pastry satisfaction.
The blissful expression was nearly Aspic's undoing, as that pleased sound pierced his middle and traveled farther south. He shifted to sit on his hip and tuck his kilt strategically so his erection wouldn't be so noticeable.
Geoffrey waited until Aspic had picked out a kringle and Cecil a piece of chocolate crescent before he asked, "Why are you here?"
"I thought we covered that?" Aspic lowered the pastry he'd been about to devour.
"Nothere, here. But here." Geoffrey pointed to the cave, then waved to indicate the outside, his word frustration all too obvious.
"Here in this town?" Aspic tried.
The relief on Geoffrey's face was nothing short of endearing. He nodded and took another bite of his bun. Cecil nodded more slowly. "Yeah, can't say I haven't been curious, too. Merseton gets half-demons coming through, sure. Traders. Rovers. A bard now and then. But none of them stay."
"I understand." Aspic folded the cloth to put his kringle on it. "It's not usual for me, either. Staying in one place so openly."
"So why here?" Geoffrey persisted.
Pushy. But Aspic reasoned that was part of being a theoretical anything—the curiosity that burned in Geoffrey's eyes.
"I was…" Aspic had to close his eyes and take a breath. "I was born in Kartleton. Not in the worst part of the city, but one that'd seen better days. My mother was the ghour-demon familiar of a Baphomet cultist mage. The mage might have been my father."
"Might've been?" Cecil asked around a mouthful of crescent.
"He never said. I didn't have the courage to ask. Whatever he thought he'd be getting from whoever the father was, I didn't live up to his expectations. Mother kept me out of his sight when I was tiny, and when I was big enough to run, he shaved my head, made me wear a hat to cover my budding horns, and sent me on errands for him. And beat me if I failed."
"You were achild," Geoffrey sputtered in indignation.
