FIVE
“YOU COULD THINK THE arrival of a n***d, dirty, ex-demon lord would merit at least a few raised eyebrows,” Savian said as I collapsed into a chair. “But no one seems to care.”
“It’s probably more they don’t know what to think than they don’t care,” I said.
“That or they’re just too horrified at the sight of a p***s curse to take more than a quick peek.” Savian glanced around the faux-medieval basement bar of the hotel at which we had taken rooms. At this hour of the day, it was empty of customers, a few morsels of gray light bullying their way in through thick, waved glass panes strapped with militant precision in what was no doubt supposed to be a design reminiscent of the court of Elizabeth I of England.
“Are you impugning my c**k?” Magoth asked, his hands on his hips.
Savian l
