Page 5 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
"Aw, c'mon, Geoffy! Why not?"
Geoffrey held up a hand and counted off points on his fingers. "One, I didn't ask for a familiar. Two, you're annoying. And three, you call me Geoffy."
"If we had a bond, I'd call you master. Sometimes. Maybe."
"Cecil…" This had been going on for several weeks. When, precisely, Cecil had shown up in the lab, Geoffrey couldn't recall. Difficult to say with a shadow imp. "Why do you want to be my familiar? I'm not some naphthalic necromancer—"
"Nefarious?" Cecil guessed.
"Yes, that. I'm clearly atopic."
"Atypical?"
"Exactly. So why me?"
Cecil paced over to Geoffrey's ink blotter and plopped down. With his mottled-gray coloring, he probably didn't have to worry about ink stains on his butt. "You're different, that's why. I figure I'll get caught in someone's summoning eventually. Why not make sure it's not one of thoseI'm dark and evil, ooooo, look at menecromancers?"
"I'm still a necromancer." Geoffrey rooted under the counter for a dustpan and hand broom to sweep up the burned stone from the failed experiment. "Death is my calling."
"Yeah, yeah. Scary stuff." Cecil made an unimpressedpuhnoise. "You're grumpy, sure. But you're not, you know,evil. If I hook up with you, then I'm safe from the cruel, yucky ones."
"Hmm."
Geoffrey considered this while he swept off his laboratory altar table, then took the ash and crumbled stone to the cave entrance and tossed it to the winds. The cave had been a happy find as a child. In the hills just outside Merseton, tucked under a long outcropping, the cave had most likely been a natural one further carved out by an ancient goblin tribe that had left only a few stick-figure cave paintings behind.
It even had the advantage of having several, distinct rooms. In the front room—Geoffrey thought of it as his foyer—he kept certain necessary plants, like belladonna and wormwood, since enough sun crept in at certain times of day, as well as several umbrellas and his waders. The next room, which wasn't much more than a long, narrow passage, he used as his storage room. Everything from dried snake venom to sage to extra bottles of cleaning vinegar, all organized and categorized on oak shelves he had built himself after several failed attempts.
Trial and error. That was how he had learned most things. Important things, at any rate. He'd never served as an apprentice to another necromancer, one of the things of which he was proudest. He made his own way. Forged his own paths. Not to mention, lots of necromancers' apprentices died young and in horrible ways.
The storage passageway opened up at its far end into his laboratory. Here the ceiling was ten feet high, the shadows swallowing the light from his lanterns and candles before they reached the roof. This was a proper necromancer's lair, with spiders high in the corners and stalactites hanging from the ceiling like broken teeth. He had stone shelves for his desk and books, a rough counter for mixing and measuring and for the careful distilling of potions and unguents.
In every room, at the entrance, along the path leading up, he had set his wards of feather, honey, and bone. A necromancer could never be too careful or too protected. Even the theoretical could stir up malignant spirits or attract the attention of another mage who meant harm. That was never a question.
With that in mind, maybe having someone on watch wasn't the worst idea.
"All right. A deal," Geoffrey finally addressed his shadow-imp interloper.
"Yes!" Cecil pumped his fists and did a hip-swinging circular dance.
Geoffrey held up a finger. "Notas a familiar. But as a guardian. You're safe here behind my wards, and I'll let you stay. Let you live here. The wards will keep out evil things, and you scare away anything else."
"But not a familiar."
"No. I won't bind you to me. You'll still be free."
Cecil tapped a foot, thinking. "All right. I think I can live with that. So I'd scare off anyone not evil? Even your grandma?"
"Of course not my grandma. Not that you could frighten her anyway."
"True. Should we sign something?"
"That's… perhaps not a bad idea." Imp, after all. It certainly didn't hurt to have things in writing.
The contract Geoffrey drew up contained only a few clauses, nothing close to airtight, but he wasn't holding Cecil against his will, either. Duties to include guardian of the path and foyer, assistance with experiments, limited, local messenger services and occasional light cleaning duties. No stealing of items from the lair. No pranks, practical jokes, or mischief in the lair or directed at Geoffrey's person outside the lair. Room and board included along with a small stipend.
"Um, Geoffy? I don't really need money." Cecil made his fingers into wavy smoke. "Shadow creature and all?"
"All right. What sort of stipplewouldyou like? It doesn't have to be coin."
