“Like what?” came Sikras’s sluggish, slurred reply as he rubbed his temples. “Quiet?”
“Yes.”
“Vocal cords cost extra.”
The answer appeared unsatisfactory to Theodore, but his concerns swiftly shifted to another matter. “And you can’t return his flesh?”
“I deal strictly in the intangible, my friend: souls, essence, and spirits only. Throw a mink stole on ole Mr. Tibbons if he gets too hard to look at.” As Sikras slid his chair backward with a scrape, Ben appeared at his side to help him stand.
With Ben’s lack of flesh serving as proof of Sikras’s limitations, Theodore accepted the disappointment with a relenting nod, then proffered his hand toward the corpse. “Hello, Mr. Tibbons. I missed y—”
The bones swatted his hand, back arching.
In the face of the violence, Theodore smiled. “Classic Mr. Tibbons. That’s him, all right.”
“Yes, well”—Sikras stumbled, but Ben caught him—“touching as this reunion is, we best be on our way.”
“Sikras.” It pained Helspira to trouble him when he had already suffered the sting of magical backlash, but she gripped his arm. “Perhaps we can think of another way to convince Theodore to relinquish the scroll?”
“Now, now, Helspira. We’ll find another way.” His cold hand gave hers a squeeze, then he faced Theodore. With Ben’s assistance, he dipped into a halfhearted sardonic bow. “Good game, Metamorphose master. A loss is a loss, and I accept my defeat. Off we go. Come along, Benjamin.”
“We’ll just scoop up our weapons on the way out,” Ben’s disembodied voice called out over his shoulder.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Helspira stuttered as she trailed the men outside the door and into the hallway. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”
“Yes,” Sikras whispered, strained, “quickly, quickly, quickly. Benjamin, I think I can stand for ten whole seconds. Be a dear and collect our weapons, will you?”
“On it.”
Sikras steadied himself against a wall as Ben hastily returned with an armful of weaponry. With the scythe in Sikras’s hands to serve as his crutch, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Helspira grumbled as she returned her sword to its scabbard. “Sikras, weneedthat scroll.”
“And we have it. Don’t we, Benjamin?”
“We have it,” Ben confirmed.
“What?” Helspira’s incredulousness sounded ridiculous when it came out as a strained whisper. She looked over her shoulder to ensure Theodore didn’t follow. “How?”
Pale-faced and struggling with each step, Sikras beelined for the main door. “While I was busy pretending to know what Metamorphose is, Benjamin was waiting for our little soulless stowaway to bypass Theodore’s arcane barriers and steal the scroll. Fuck me”—he panted—“was his hallway always this long?”
Stunned, Helspira faced Ben. Peering from the small opening when Ben parted his jaw, tucked into the hollow cavern of his mouth, an undead rat appeared, clutching the delicate scroll between its claws like a rolled cigar. Helspira gawked. “What did you ... How did you ...?”
“Like I said”—Sikras smirked—“why do your own bidding when you can delegate?”
“Wait.” Helspira hustled down the staircase, past the paintings and statues. “I’m still processing all this. You’veneverplayed Metamorphose before?”
“Played it?” Sikras huffed. “I’ve never even heard of it. And if I’m being honest, it lacks all the dignity of Rack and Ruin. We should walk faster. Can you walk faster?”
Helspira’s footsteps quickened. “Aren’t you afraid Theodore will notice it’s missing?”
“Not as much as I’m afraid he’ll discover I stuffed his cat’s corpse with the soul of the poltergeist who was trapped in that creepy vase.”
Ben scoffed. “I doubt he’ll ever discover the difference. Cats and malevolent spirits are sort of on the same level.”
“With a name like Mr. Tibbons,” Sikras said, “that feline was entitled to its anger. Substituting its soul with a poltergeist may have been a mercy for Theodore.”
Helspira’s pace slowed as they rounded another corner. “I don’t know how I feel about this. Don’t get me wrong, Theodore’s a prick, but trust me, it’s not wise to earn a wizard’s wrath, unless you want to wake up missing a few body parts.”
