Page 18 of Double Mager

“Or maybe we scared him off,” I said, craning my neck, trying to look out through the drapes.

I had to admit, I wasn’t really bothered as I surveyed the overwhelming assortment at our table.

Morrow nodded, picking up his chopsticks and a bowl of rice. “We’re supposed to start,” he said, nodding at the lazy susan.

“What the hell kind of foreign dignitary are we meeting tonight?” I asked, still in disbelief. But my stomach was rumbling, and without even thinking, I realized that I already had my own chopsticks and bowl of rice in my hands.

I liked to think of myself as a connoisseur of all sorts of cuisine, especially Asian food. We could say what we wanted about how strange life could get in Nomicon Valley, but the city sure didn’t have a shortage of restaurants featuring cuisine from all over the world.

But I had to admit that I’d never seen at least half of the dishes here. Morrow, on the other hand, seemed to know something interesting about every single one.

Translucent black eggs with gray yolks, covered in a clay mixture for months to achieve that special consistency and color. Century eggs, they were called. They reminded me of gemstones, like obsidian. They tasted like heaven, too, savory and creamy, nothing at all like fresh eggs, and nothing at all like what you might expect from an egg that had been buried for a hundred years. It was more like a hundred days, give or take, as Morrow explained.

There was a shredded jellyfish salad, spicy and chewy. Bird’s nest soup, which reminded me of a mix between egg drop soup and vermicelli. A fried yam ring topped with a colorful seafood medley and surrounded by crispy noodles. And something called Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, yet another kind of soup, just as delicious as everything else.

“This is unhinged,” I said through a mouthful of rice and hot shrimp salad. It felt twice as uncivilized to speak with a mouthful of food like that, but Morrow never once condescended. In fact, he seemed delighted by the opportunity to tell me about every single thing I put in my mouth.

It felt like I’d been eating for an hour, but we’d barely made a dent. I was about to ask Morrow if he could guess where our guest was when a little gout of fire flashed on the table, accompanied by a puff of smoke that smelled like farts.

Out stepped a tiny metallic man, pot belly, horns, and all.

I held my breath, waiting for the brimstone smell to go away. I had to be polite. Morrow barely reacted, gracing our guest with a kind smile. Holy crap. Xavi really hooked us up.

He’d sent us to meet a demon.

CHAPTER 8

This little guy was an imp, a diminutive demon from the prime hells. This wasn’t our first brush with these creatures. Our first and only visit to the Wispwood showed us that the academy’s kitchens — its entire food and beverage staff, in fact — was operated by a small army of gainfully employed, well compensated imps.

Very convenient, considering their ability to quickly teleport with dishes straight from the kitchen counter to the dinner table. I’d heard of imps working as messengers as well, or as spies, and now, apparently, they were journalists, too.

You just had to get used to the characteristic flatulent odor of imp teleportation. That was why the table suddenly smelled like sulfur, like rotten eggs. I slowly exhaled, hoping it was okay to breathe in again. Oh, good. The fart smell was gone.

“You must be Xavi’s contact,” Morrow said. “I am Agent Theodore Morrow, from Occultech. This is my partner, Jericho Frost.”

The imp cocked an eyebrow. “Partner, eh? You guys are cute together.”

“It’s not like that,” we said at the same time, carefully avoiding each other’s gaze.

The imp cocked the other eyebrow, obviously restraining a mischievous grin. Wait a minute. Did Xavi tell him about my little crush on Morrow? Damn it, Xavier.

“The name’s Scrimshaw,” the imp said. “Reporter for the Eldritch Observer. I’m on the crime beat. Well — sort of. I also do lifestyle and entertainment. And features. Look, we’re short-handed, okay?”

“So you and Xavi know each other because of the periodicals, huh?” I nodded encouragingly. “It’s super cool knowing that the Observer has such a diverse range of talent onboard.”

The imp puffed up his chest. “As if they could resist me. Didn’t have much on my resume going in — total rookie when I started, in fact — but they knew that I’d be good at snooping. A literal fly on the wall, you know? And that’s why we’re here, aren’t we? To talk about some snooping.”

Scrimshaw paced over to a napkin, tying it around his neck like an oversized bib. He strutted over to the nearest crab dumpling — as big as his head, really — and cleanly ate half in a single bite.

“Whoa,” I said. “Impressive.”

“Fank you,” the imp said through a mouthful of juicy dumpling.

“I’m sure Xavier briefed you on what we wanted to discuss tonight,” Morrow said. “And we’ll be sure to make this worth your while. What was it that you wanted in exchange for information?”

Scrimshaw swallowed the second half of his dumpling, then chuckled. He swept his little arm across the table in a grand gesture.

“This is it, right here. I always take my payment in vittles. Victuals. Grub. The more of it, the better, and I happened to be in the mood for high-end Chinese. It’s been a while.”