lately. I still should be able to walk into my own room
without getting jumped! I mean, if a magician isn't safe
in his own quarters, can he be safe anywhere?
Scratch that question!
It's the kind of thing my teacher says to convince me
that choosing magic for a career path is not the best way
to insure living out one's normal life span. Of course, it
doesn't take much convincing. Actions speak louder
than words, and the action since I signed on as his ap-
prentice has been loud enough to convince me that a
magician's life is not particularly quiet. I mean, when
you realize that within days of meeting him, we both got
lynched by an angry mob ... as in hung by the neck ...
But I digress.
We started out with me simply walking into my room.
Yeah, simple! There was a demon waiting for me, a
Pervect to be exact. This in itself wasn't unusual. Aahz,
the teacher I mentioned earlier, is a Pervect. In fact, he
shares my quarters with me. What was unusual was that
the demon waiting for me wasn't Aahz!
Now I haven't met many Pervects . . . heck, the only
one t know is Aahz . . . but I know Aahz very well, and
this Pervect wasn't him!
This demon was shorter than my mentor, his scales
were-a lighter shade of green, and his gold eyes were set
closer together. What's more, he wasn't smiling ... and
Aahz always smiles, even when he's mad . . . especially
when he's mad. To the average eye Aahz and this
stranger might look alike, but to me they were as dif-
ferent as a Deveel and an Imp. Of course, there was a
time when I couldn't tell the difference between a
Deveel and an Imp. It says something about the com-
pany I've been keeping lately.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"You Skeeve?"
"Yeah. Me Skeeve. Who you?"
For an answer, I suddenly felt myself snatched into
the air by an invisible hand and spun end over end until
I finally stopped dangling head down four feet off the
floor.
