I scanned the room. A place for poor work, surely; Belot stood at the foot of the table. Behind Belot, tall as a man, were shelves heavied by standard potions and jars. On the other side of this table, Belot faced the material he used when playing necromancer. The stack of corpses appeared untampered, having died at ages from elder to infant, and now lay like firewood in different stages of decomposition. And above everything, attached to a ceiling hook, watching from an iron birdcage, sat my imp. Seemingly content to forever study the shelves; feet, arms, and nose poking out from the caging, the imp, I rejoiced, must have refused to imprint with Belot. Imprisoned until it assimilated to its new master, the little fiend was reduced to sit and watch.

Strapped down at his wrists and his ankles, purple with fresh death, Toadly could only squirm and weep. “Youuuu,” slid off Toadly’s swollen tongue as his eyes rolled upward against his will.

“Oh, silence now,” Belot said, hands on his hips. “If you absolutely refuse to tell me where it is, I can’t let you rest. You’re doing this to yourself, you know.”

Delight and intrigue fought for a superior position within me. It was a delight to witness Toadly be tortured, and even more a delight to savor these moments right before Belot’s big surprise. I knew what he was up to, for Belot, if anything, was consistent. Though Toadly’s flesh was now dead, his mind again lived, one Belot had brought back, and now began to dominate.

Where it is? It struck me like a lightning bolt. Abducting Toadly and executing this reanimation had to be for a good reason. It—Belot could only be referring to the hand statue! If Belot didn’t already have it, then where did Toadly have it hidden? I glared through the window as I redeveloped my plan. I could usurp minds too.

Belot’s arms began to rise and Toadly howled in accordance. My luck had turned, for I couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing.

Baying in protest, Toadly was feeling every thought he’d ever held suck toward his captor like warmed honey dripping from a wooden spoon. Belot, fueled by the frantic kicks and pleas for mercy through a slit throat, inched closer to putting Toadly in the state all necromancers feared most. For while what body one could occupy could change form, and the very boundaries of life and death could be hopped over like a naughty child hopping over a line deemed off-limits, the mind itself was the sole source of a being, to be preserved and unmolested at all cost. Belot’s arms raised, he held the separate powders for this spell in each hand. Upon their union, Toadly would divulge all, and go forever to his grave defiled.

If I hadn’t switched out the powders the day of the reading.