Our base of operations was the Bazaar at Deva, a well-known rendezvous for magic dealing that was the crossroads of the dimensions. As might be imagined, in an environment like that, there was never a shortage of work.
I had barely gotten settled for the morning when there was a light rap on the door of my office and Bunny stuck her head in.
“Busy, Boss?”
“Well . . .”
She was gone before I could finish formulating a vague answer. This wasn’t unusual. Bunny acted as my secretary and always knew more about what I had on the docket than I did. Her inquiries as to my schedule were usually made out of politeness or to check to be sure I wasn’t doing something undignified before ushering a client into the office.
“The Great Skeeve will see you now,” she said, gesturing grandly to her charge. “In the future, I’d suggest you make an appointment so you won’t be kept waiting.”
The Deveel Bunny was introducing seemed a bit slimy, even for a Deveel. His bright red complexion was covered with unhealthy-looking pink blotches, and his face was contorted into a permanent leer, which he directed at Bunny’s back as she left the room.
Now, there’s no denying that Bunny’s one of the more attractive females I’ve ever met, but there was something unwholesome about the attention this dude was giving her. With an effort, I tried to quell the growing dislike I was feeling toward the Deveel. A client was a client, and we were in business to help people in trouble, not make moral judgments on them.
“Can I help you?” I said, keeping my voice polite.