"No," Solomon said abruptly. "It--has similarities. Perhaps, once upon a time, it belonged in the death-plane, but since then it's changed. Energy, in its own plane, belongs. This mist ... it doesn't belong here. And, if it went back to the death-plane, I don't know whether it would belong there either."

He poured another drink, debated stopping, debated how to answer that. He didn't have the energy for an evasion. "No," he said. "It was Asti's boon." He lifted the glass and idly put the bottle aside, and then belatedly realised he probably ought to put himself out of reach of it. So he turned to wander back to his chair. "He removed the addictive qualities from my magic."