Page 20 of Double Mager

“Maybe you can help us there,” Morrow said. “Has your investigation shown you anything about how the charms work? No rhyme or reason on our end.”

“Yeah. Even our buddies over at SeraphiCorp said — oops.” I clapped my hands over my mouth, carefully avoiding Morrow’s eyes as he glared daggers at me.

Scrimshaw held his hand up in a mock salute. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Hell scout’s honor. Everything we’ve discussed is off the record. Besides, I’m not gonna screw you boys over. Xavi’s a good guy, and you two lunks haven’t been so bad to hang out with.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I think.”

The drapes parted again. Scrimshaw threw himself under a napkin just in time. Our same waiter, who’d gotten a proper cardio workout from pushing his cart to the kitchen and back one too many times, was rolling in our desserts. Crispy black bean pancakes, red bean porridge, almond jelly, a sweet silken tofu pudding, and slices of fresh fruit.

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “I couldn’t possibly.”

Our red-faced waiter did his best not to goggle at us as he cleared away the empty dishes. We’d demolished enough to feed a family of six. This man and our hostess deserved an amazing tip.

The drapes whispered shut. Scrimshaw slithered out from under his napkin, eyes bulging as he perused the dessert spread.

“I’ve truly never seen this much food in my entire life,” Morrow said. “Like a buffet spread. The whole table should have collapsed by now.”

He held his head in his hands, no doubt already stressing out over our bill.

“Cheer up,” I told Morrow. “We don’t have to finish it all. We can get some of it for takeout. Probably.”

Scrimshaw rolled up his nonexistent sleeves. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

I served Morrow and myself some bowls of red bean porridge before Scrimshaw dove in. Literally, I mean, gurgling and doing backstrokes in the sweet, soupy rice. I lifted a spoonful to my lips, blowing on it before I burned my tongue. As a tiny metallic imp, Scrimshaw seemed totally immune to the possibility of boiling himself alive.

Morrow sighed. “I certainly hope your email offers a commensurate amount of intel, Mr. Scrimshaw.”

“Please. Call me Scrimshaw. And don’t worry, I wasn’t done talking, anyways. Here’s the bottom line. My most important finding. It was there all along, if I’m honest. By process of elimination, think of all the corpos that put down roots in town. There’s only one for every underground faction. It’s a loyalty game. The corpos will compete with each other, tooth and nail, but they won’t abide internal conflict. One of each kind. No duplicates.”

Scrimshaw had a point. The undead had Necropolux. The celestials had SeraphiCorp. If a rival demon corpo ever tried to establish itself in Nomicon Valley, Jackal & Ashby would sue them out of existence.

If I understood correctly, it worked similarly even outside the world of arcane corporations. Only one vampire court in every state. Only one chapter of any given wolf pack in every city. Too many cooks, just like Scrimshaw said.

“Food for thought,” he continued. “Maybe it’s a dragon in disguise, you know? All that stuff they like: hoarding treasure, sleeping on giant piles of money. Or maybe it’s some other powerful mythical creature. Ooh. Like a recently awakened mummy with tons of newly exhumed riches.”

He scooped up a little handful of almond jelly, slurping it between his fingers, smacking his lips appreciatively. Morrow and I watched and waited in silence. That was one thing you learned pretty quickly in our line of work. Don’t interrupt the talkative ones. You never know how much more they have to tell you.

“But I’m just spitballin’ here,” Scrimshaw continued. “For all we know, it might just be a very, very powerful wizard.”

I straightened up. “You think that’s actually possible?”

Scrimshaw shrugged. “Sure. Why not? There’s plenty of ways to amass power in the underground. Contracts and such. Commune with the right entity, build a two-way relationship with someone even stronger than you.”

Morrow and I exchanged a careful glance. This was clearly a sore point for me, especially considering our little conversation about Freyja.

“Or if you think that’s too dangerous, then you contract with a bunch of mid- to low-level entities,” Scrimshaw said, this endless font of dubious wisdom. “Ever heard of a wizard’s familiar? Imagine one with dozens of them. Which is something I would know all about. That was me in a past life.”

Between handfuls of red bean porridge, Scrimshaw explained that he’d once served as a familiar himself. Some deadbeat wizard — his words, not mine — who ran a stall in the alternate bazaar dimension known as the Black Market.

“Smoked way too much wizard weed,” Scrimshaw said. “We never got anything done, so I spent my downtime writing and honing my craft. I wanted to do something better with my life, you know? Something bigger.”

I grinned. Even the smallest among us had big dreams.

“And now, you’re exactly where you want to be,” I said. “You’re exactly where you belong. But I have to ask. Wasn’t the separation a problem for either of you?”

“Well, it’s not quite as messy as a divorce, if you can believe it. Each party is just happy to leave the relationship with everything intact. Sometimes you decide that you’re just not a good fit. But it’s not always a clean break. Things can get pretty ugly pretty fast. You might walk away with less than you started. With missing parts of your soul, for starters, or maybe a few less fingers.”

I looked down at my hand and winced. I was right, then. I always knew it made sense to stay away from entities. Didn’t matter if they were dragons or mummies or goddesses. These things were always transactional, and the humans rarely — maybe never — came out on top.