304

Meanwhile, in the Seventh Circle of Hell, Drachmach was rolling grit into his fingernails when he felt the sudden and irresistible urge to stand, which he did, and turn in a circle three times, which he also did.  When he was done, Drachmach was no longer in Hell, the Seventh Circle, Molten Quarter, Drachmach's scrape-hole, but rather he stood in a cavernous room, the stone floor smooth, cold, and covered with chalk scratchings.  Torches flickered on the far away walls, and coals burned dimly in a portable fire nearby.  A man, a human, knelt outside the chalk scratchings, making noises and raising and lowering his hands.  It took Drachmach a few moments to work through his disorientation to realize what had happened: a human sorcerer had abducted him.

216

Chlora's master sacrificed another of her finger joints the night before, and she wasn't feeling well enough by the morning to stir the fire and make breakfast.  She cradled her truncated hands to her chest, curled on her straw in the corner of the master's workshop.  The demon breathed heavily in the middle of the room, within the protective circle.  Undoubtedly, the master was still sleeping in his feather bed, waiting Chlora's call for the morning meal.  She knew if he woke on his own before she rang the silver bell, she would pay with bruises and maybe even bones.