Chapter 31, Part 2: A Tale of Candlewax

As usual, warnings apply: This is the rough draft of a story with adult themes and situations. If you are offended by bad language and grammatical errors, gentle reader, read no further! For those of you who have decided to stay, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy this week's chapter!



He drank again. “Instead of giving into despair though, I decided that revenge would be my goal. I banked my fires to embers and waited. Cordova can live for a goodly time, especially playing bum boy for the alchemists, but so can I. I’ve been here, burning low since the thirties, waiting for someone to spring me, and by Jove, at long last here you are.”

“And that, my friends is the sad story of Candlewax; betrayed by his closest friend, and imprisoned for these long years.”

There was a silence where Candlewax took another drink, and Stirling digested all he’d heard.

“I’ve got a question,” said Stirling at last.

“By all means, lad, do go on.”

“Why is it that all these supernatural badasses have names that sound like they’ve been randomly picked from stuff you’d find in a goth’s garbage can. I mean there’s Rag, Bone, and now Candlewax. No offence,” he said turning to Candlewax who looked bemused, “but what’s the deal?”

In his mind, he heard Magnon groan. “I don’t know why I bother trying to keep you alive when you seem so determined to get yourself killed.”

“Not the question I was expecting, but to answer it, those of us what aren’t born in the normal way still have to start out somewhere. My name’s Candlewax, because that’s how I began. Madame Rag and Mister Bone are of a similar persuasion, as is Mormal, the turncoat.”

“If we can though, I’d like to turn the topic of conversation to the subject of my release. It’s been a concern long on my mind.”

Stirling shrugged. “You ran a protection racket and got screwed by a bunch of alchemists, is that about right?”

“No, lad, it was nothing as sordid as all that. I provided a service to the community, the money was no different than taxes paid to a city for sewers, streetlights, and whatnot.”

“I get that, and it sounded like it was a job that needed to be done, but let me ask you a question. What happened when someone didn’t pay on time?”

“That depended, didn’t it? Most of the time we’d come to an arrangement.”

“And if you couldn’t, what happened then?”

The embers burning under Candlewax’s skin began to burn a bit more brightly. “Well, if you let one off the hook, then they’ll all expect it won’t they? Go soft once and soon everyone’s got a sob story. But look here, all that makes no nevermind now. I’ve got no crew, Cordova’s betrayed me, and someone else is top dog now. All I want is my freedom. You can’t fault that.
”
“And what will you do with it once you have it? It sounds to me like you’ve got some scores to settle. I’m already on the run, I don’t need to give people a reason to be more pissed with me than they already are.”

Stirling pointed to an imaginary point in the distance. “Oh look, there goes Stirling, isn’t he that fuckwit who released Candlewax and got half the city burned down. He’s thick as a brick and twice as dense.”

“So what’s it to be then? You’ll leave me here to starve and burn out?”

“Nah, that’s not my style. Truth is I’ll probably be able to let you out of here eventually, but right now I’ve got my own alchemist problems. Letting you go now would be like lighting my crotch on fire while I’m juggling hand grenades. Juggling grenades is distracting enough without a burning cock.
“Don’t tempt me, lad. I can have your cock sizzling like a sausage on the griddle in but a wink. I’d reconsider your decision right quick,” he spat, sparks showering out of his mouth.

“No, you won’t. My happy bits are safe from your fiery kung-fu.”

“Oh, I won’t? And why, pray tell, won’t I?”

“Because I’m your only ticket out of here. How long will it be before there’s another necromancer who even knows about this place? Another eighty years? More? I’m the first since the Dust Wars that has done more than speak to a few ghosts before getting himself dead. You’ve waited eighty years for your revenge, a bit more time spent here is nothing compared to keeping yourself in my good graces and getting out in the next while.”

“You’re a right bastard.”

“You have no idea.”

“Fine then, but if I’m to be your prisoner, I want food and drink. And some books too. I need to catch myself up on what’s been going on in the wide world.”

“There are no prisoners, there are just people I haven’t released yet, but sure, I’ll get you food, drink, and some books.”

“If I’m not your prisoner then take off this chain. Fire’s no good on it, but you deadies have the cold of the grave at your beck and call. You could shatter it in but two shakes.” He held out his foot.
Candlewax had clearly put some thought into this. Stirling supposed he had ample time to think about ways he might get free. “I’m not going to let you loose. You’d just walk right out the door.”

“No lad, that door can only be opened by a Necromancer like yourself.”

“He’s lying.” Magnon put in.

“You fucking stay out of this!” Candlewax literally flared up, pointing a finger at the crow.

Stirling petted the crow’s head. “It’s alright, Precious,” He said. “If the bad man talks like that he’ll get the hose again.”

“What?” said Candlewax.

“What?” said Magnon.

Stirling sighed. “You know what I’m looking forward to? I’m looking forward to you two soaking up some pop culture references past Prohibition. Then we’ll dig a pit and play Buffalo Bill properly with you two at the bottom.”

“I know Buffalo Bill,” said Candlewax, a bit defensively.

“You know a Buffalo Bill.”

“So what do you like to eat? Beef, Chicken, a Readylight firelog?”

“That painting right there,” said Candlewax, immediately pointing to the far wall where an oil painting of a Victorian woman in a blue dress was hung in a gilt frame.

“The painting,” said Stirling flatly. “You know I was kind of joking about the firelog thing.”
“Bring it to me!” said Candlewax, shaking and almost beside himself. “It’s like the drink,” he said, gesturing with his bottle. “They hung it there to torment me, knowing I’d never reach it on my own.”

“Rightly-ho.”

Stirling went over and as he approached it, he began to sense a presence. He knew without seeing the ghost that this painting had a ghost attached. Interesting. The ghost was quiescent at the moment, but it was definitely there.

“Are you sure you want this one? It’s, uh, occupied.”

“Yes. The spiteful wisp tormented me for all the long years I was here. They put her there because they knew it. Now I’ll have it.”

“Who was she?”

“No one,” Candlewax said it a bit too quickly.

“Come on. Who is she?”

Candlewax glared at him.

“Come on. You can tell me. It’ll be our secret.”

He got closer to the picture around to look at it critically. “She’s a bit toad-faced for my tastes, but the artist had some talent.” He looked closer. “I wonder if that’s goiter or if she just has a really thick neck.”

“She’s my wife!”

Stirling shrugged and lifted the painting from the wall. He was less concerned now that Magnon had explained that ghosts were the toenail clippings of the dearly departed.

The frame was heavier than he thought, and he lugged it over to where Candlewax waited for couples counselling. He set it down within reach the burning man and stepped back.

“Call it up for me,” Candlewax’s teeth were bared, and Stirling decided it was best not to argue.
Stirling loosened the mental barriers in his mind and gave the ghost the arcane equivalent of a hip nudge. A ghost matching the appearance of the woman in the painting began to slowly form in front of Candlewax.

She had an unpleasant smile on her slightly amphibian-looking face. “Hello Candlewax,” the ghost greeted him in a low, throaty voice. “Still chained up I see. You poor dear. I really don’t know how much longer you can last. You must be just starving.” She drifted to his side to speak into his ear.
“Still, it’s a kinder fate than what your poor friends suffered at the hands of the alchemists.” She spun a pirouette on her heel. “I watched it all you know. They called for you at the end, each and every one, but you weren’t there. No, you were passed out drunk on the floor, just there, as they died in agony,” she said pointing to a nearby spot. “If only you could have saved them.”

“Ah Anne, it’s so good to see you again. I’m in need of your professional advice as a second-rate piece of interior decorating. I’ve been thinking about doing a spot of rearranging, and there’s a picture that needs a bit of touching up.” He pulled up her picture from where he’d rested it face down on the side of his chair.

“It’s an amateur work, and I’ve been told the subject matter is more than a little toady, but still, it holds a special place in my heart.”

“How did you…” The ghost turned and appeared to see Stirling for the first time. “Oh, so they’ve started to return, have they? The pig-buggering abominations.”

“Are you propositioning me?” Stirling asked coyly, “because I have to admit it’s been a while since I hit the swine.”

The ghost sneered at him.

“You had to deal with that for eighty years?” he asked Candlewax, nodding toward the ghost.
The burning man nodded. “Every day I was here.”

“Bon fucking appetite then,” he said.

Candlewax stood and held the picture to his breast. The gold paint on the frame began to blister with the heat. “I’ve been waiting to touch you for years Anne, now my fondest dream is at last coming true.”

“Go on and destroy my picture, at least I won’t have to be here with you anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, lass. Now for better or worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part again we’ll be together forever.”

The picture began to smolder and smoke, but instead of drifting away, the smoke was drawn into Candlewax’s mouth and he took in a deep breath. At the same time, fine filaments of ethereal smoke began to be drawn off of the ghost and joined the smoke as it was drawn into Candlewax.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m already beginning to feel better,” he told the ghost.

Stirling felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“Wow, there’s cell coverage in here?” He asked the crow. “Nice.”

He popped the phone out of his pocket. He didn’t need to see the number, The phone was playing the saccharine sound 90s bubblegum pop in the form of Aqua’s Barbie Girl. It was Rebbecca.

“I’ll let you two get on with your… thing,” he said waving a hand behind him and moving away from the unfolding drama.

He slid his finger on the touch screen to accept and asked, “Are you an angel?”

“I beg your pardon?” came the accented female voice from the other end. The voice sounded a bit fuzzy, but it was clear enough that he knew that this wasn’t Rebbecca. He had his suspicions as to who it was.

“I always felt bad for that kid,” he continued blithely, “it wasn’t his fault Lucas couldn’t write dialogue for shit.”

“I have no idea what you are on about,” said the voice Stirling now had pegged as Madame Rag. He took a second to think about that. Madame Rag was calling from Rebbecca’s phone. There was no possible way this could be a good thing.

“Ha! Why am I not surprised? I’ve been dealing with more and more of you old bastards and you know what? You wouldn’t know Godzilla from Gamera if he stomped you flat. You people need to get your heads out of the nineteenth century and ed-u-cate yourselves!”

“I have no time for your idiocy, and neither does your friend, Rebbecca.”

Stirling heard a commotion on the other end of the phone, then Rebbecca’s voice. “Stirling, you asshole! I told you that we shouldn’t have overcharged these people! You need to fix this! Mary Poppins is a goddamn psycho!” she said rapidly into the phone.

There was more scuffling, with the added sound of Rebbecca’s cursing, and her voice was replaced with that of Madam Rag. “We’ll be eating lunch at noon. Whether it’s your friend who will be on the menu is entirely up to you. Be at the corner of Broadway and Clark at eleven thirty—or don’t. Honestly, your friend smells delicious, and I won’t be terribly upset if you decide not to come.” Rag disconnected with a crunching noise that Stirling was fairly certain was Rebbecca’s iPhone being crushed, at least he hoped it was.