Page 8 of Geoffrey the Very Strange
Aspic fumbled in his tunic pocket and held out the paper from Heliotrope, slightly crumpled from the journey. "I have the receipt for him to sign right here. Do you want me to bring them inside?"
"I'll get the baskets. I don't think your cart will fit through the storage room." Shadows flowed out from the imp's fingers and lifted the three bushel baskets of shells from the cart. "But you come on in, too. Get your signature. His Grumpiness is back in the lab. I'm Cecil, by the way."
"You're his familiar?"
Cecil drew himself up to his full two-potato height. "I am the dread guardian of the cave."
"Sorry. My mistake. That was excellent dread there in your greeting."
"Thank you. You weren't scared, though."
"Oh. Well." Aspic ducked under the lintel into what had to be the storage passageway as he followed the imp and the floating baskets. "My mother was a ghour demon. I'm sure anyone else would've been terrified."
The imp's smile flashed in the gloom. "Thanks."
Storage space gave way to a much larger space, quite obviously the necromancer's laboratory, with all the oddly shaped glassware and books. Oh, and the huge stone slab of mage's altar right smack in the middle.
Geoffrey turned as they entered, a huge book still held in both hands. He was both less strange and more interesting without his outside protection-against-who-knew-what clothes. His eyes—though annoyed and suspicious—were pretty ones. Different colors, blue and brown, with long black lashes. His hair was some species of dark, too. Hard to tell in the lantern light of the cave whether it might be black or brown. Geoffrey wore it in a braid down his back that had probably been precise and tidy at some point.
He was smaller than Aspic had anticipated, but he couldn't be shocked at that. The holly-and-beetle hat and the feather-rag coat had accounted for most of his volume. The obligatory black necromancer's robe couldn't hide the fact that he was otherwise average—a little shorter than Aspic, not stout or thin. Not a figure to inspire dread, unfortunately for him, but Aspic found him unexpectedly appealing.
Geoffrey scowled at Aspic. "Oh. It's you. Where's Clomp?"
"Clover had to take the big order to the bakery." Aspic held out the receipt. "Could you sign for me, Mr. Very Strange?"
He took the receipt gingerly to read over first, saying in a distracted fashion, "Geoffrey is accessible."
"Aspic Caprice." Aspic held out a hand that was pointedly ignored. "Can I call you Geoff?"
Geoffrey glanced up without raising his head. "Can I call you A—"
"Ah, don't finish that thought, please. Sorry. I won't do any shortening."
A strangled snicker came from the imp, whose shadows still cradled the baskets. When Geoffrey glared at him, the imp whistled innocently, rocking heel to toe.
"This all seems to be in ordinance." Geoffrey took the receipt to a stone shelf that doubled as a desk, signed it, and returned the signed half to Aspic with a precisely counted handful of coins. "Cecil, put those in the corner for now, please."
"Sure, boss."
Geoffrey finally looked at Aspic fully, his eyes widening as he pointed to Aspic's shoulder. "Is that a jewel kestrel?"
"A mini one, yes. Rescued from a watering can. We've no idea how she got there."
"I don't approve of boutonniere animals." Geoffrey huffed impatiently. "But if she's a rescue, at least you had nothing to do with the breeding."
Aspic glanced around the lab, and unable to contain his curiosity, blurted out, "So what do you need so many shells for?"
"Notthat it's any of your business." Geoffrey returned his book to a shelf of equally impressive tomes, muttering under his breath. Something about idiots. "But I'm searching for altercate predeceased reanimation techniques."
Aspic took a moment to parse that, assuming thataltercatewas actuallyalternate. "So, different ways of raising the dead? Maybe ones that don't rely on icky things like blood and murder to do it?"
"Precipitate." Geoffrey hissed out a breath and shook his head. "Precisely."
"Is it dangerous?"
Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. "All necromancy is peristaltic… perilous."
"And you need so many shells since it's all theoretical. Experimental. Lots of tries to get it right."
