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and drink for Pleeancis to partake of whenever he wished. Now the divans and
chairs were old and ill kept, the rugs frayed, and the cupboards bare. If not for
the invisible servant valets, the place would no doubt be knee deep in dust. To
Pleeancis, who loved the finer things, the villa was empty of everything important.
It looked worn, dull, like the plane itself, like the Boss's spirit since her death.
Heavy with self-pity, Pleeancis dragged his clawed feet along the floor as he
walked. He made his way through the maze of bare hallways and down the spiral
staircase, until he reached the ornate, slightly ajar double doors of the Boss's
workroom. His ears perked up. Within, he could hear the Boss mumbling to
himself. Pleeancis could imagine well enough what the Boss was doing-the same
thing he had been doing for the past two years: poring over esoteric tomes,
Grafting this or that obscure magic item, scribing one or another theretofore
unknown spell, all in an effort to bring her back. That was all the Boss cared
about anymore. Pleeancis didn't get it. Who needed her? They had each other.
Of course, the Boss didn't feel that way. He had put her body in stasis
immediately after her death and had tried all the ordinary spells-even called in
priests-to bring her back from the dead. Much to Pleeancis's delight, something
had interfered, and the spells had failed. The Boss thought the difficulty had to do
with the fact that she had died while the city had been in the midst of a planar
crossover. Interaction of magic and planar mechanics or something like that.
Pleeancis picked absently at an itch behind his ear while he worked up the
patience he would need. The Boss just wasn't the Boss anymore, he thought
wistfully.
A shout from within the library nearly scared him out of his scales.
"Boss!" Pleeancis flapped his wings, leaped into the air, pushed through the
door and found-
-the Boss, seated at his worktable, barely visible behind a pile of stacked
tomes, bubbling beakers, and glowing braziers, laughing. Laughing!
Unsure of what to make of this unexpected mirth, but pleased to see the
Boss more like his old self, Pleeancis flitted over to the desk and landed on a
stack of tomes.
They smelled like dry leaves. The Boss shot him a grin, Ids tired gray eyes
more alive than they'd been since she had died.
"I found it, Pleeancis. I've finally found a way." He nodded at the single gray
wax taper, still cooling in its iron mold, which sat on the table before him.
Before Pleeancis could answer, the Boss rose from his chair, took Pleeancis
by his tiny, clawed hands, and danced a little jig. Pleeancis could not help but
flash his own fangs in happiness. The Boss was as chipper as an archfiend at a
feast of souls.
When the Boss finished the jig, Pleeancis leaned down to look more closely
at the candle. Except for some unusual gray and brown whorls that ran through
the wax, it was ordinary. The mold too appeared ordinary. Nothing to indicate
why it made the Boss so happy. Still, Pleeancis did not want to spoil the mood.
Maybe the Boss had gone insane, but the good kind of insane, where he would
think everything was great. If so, maybe Pleeancis could convince him to set
some decent food at the table for a change. Pleeancis smacked his lips and
decided to play along.
This is a nice candle," he said, and tried not to giggle at how silly that
sounded.
The Boss patted him on the head, still smiling. "It is that, little one. It's the
way to bring Jennah back."
He glanced over at the magically hardened glass case set along the wall that
held her perfectly preserved body.
Pleeancis followed his gaze and bit back a snarl.
Jennah-she-lay there in her little glass case like some red haired doll with
alabaster skin. Pleeancis wished he had gouged out one of her eyes over the
years. He could've blamed it on a rat or something.
The Boss walked across the room to the case, his face wistful. He reached
out and laid a hand on the glass.
"Soon, dearest," he whispered. "Soon."
Pleeancis ground his fangs and squinted his eyes in anger. Damn it! He did
not want her back.
Since the Boss's back was to him, Pleeancis took what vengeance he could-
he stuck out his forked tongue and made a terribly obscene gesture taught to him
by a dretch demon. She, of course, made no response.
Pleeancis used the claw on his forefinger to pop the candle from its mold. He
picked it up and held it in his hands. He wondered if it would hurt him to eat it.
After all, no candle, no her. He sniffed it. It smelled loamy, vaguely like tenday old
mushrooms. He opened his mouth- "Pleeancis!"
He dropped it with an alarmed squeak. The Boss rushed over and gingerly
picked up the candle, as though he were holding an infant.
"I was just smelling it, Boss." Pleeancis took a step back, prepared to take
flight, but the Boss didn't seem angry. Relieved, Pleeancis beat his wings and
halted his retreat. "It smells funny. Kinda like the dirt covering dead people.
What's in it?"
The Boss secreted the taper in an inner pocket of his black and purple robe.
"Souls," he answered cryptically, his eyes aglitter. "Life-force. Enough to
overcome the resistance that has prevented the efficacy of my spells. Enough to
ensure that my next attempt will bring my love back."
He looked past Pleeancis to the glass case. Pleeancis rolled his eyes.
He didn't understand the human obsession with love. What a bunch of tripe.
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