Grand Guginol

“How come you want this Harmona-whatever-it-is so bad?”

“Power, the chance to become human after one hundred and ten years of lichdom, the removal of a means to detect my true nature…all good reasons, Grimstone. Figure out which one was the most important in the afterlife.”

Pulling his still-cocked revolver from his pocket and aiming at me head, he asked, “Any last words?”

“Just three,” I said with a smile. “Elohim transe met!”

Bart’s legs collapsed underneath him an’ the glamour collapsed wit’ it. The bones and tendons started rotting like lime’d been poured on ‘im. Bart’s trigger finger tried to flex, but couldna do more than twitch. When the red lights went out a’ his eye sockets, I thanked Alberich that Grandda had got o’er enough a’ his revulsion for magic to write down those three precious words.

I stripped the skeleton, dumping the clothes in the sewer and the bones in the manure. I kept the revolver, though. I still had some unfinished business.


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