Dabry had turned out to have an unexpected (to Niko, at least) flair for all of this. He was the one who had found the odd little space that they turned into the restaurant, a former bar built by Derloens, who had fled the place when a particular side effect of their inhabitation became too much for them. Derloens leave what some species might call “ghosts” behind them, and these spirits, while no longer sentient, still inhabited the space in the form of long, glowing blue worms swimming through the air, which their maître d’, Lassite, had incorporated into the decor.

Most of the restaurant’s interior was dark blues and blacks, giving it a restrained rather than subdued look. The luminescent, writhing forms, shimmying overhead in aimless pursuit of one another, shed their light over it, augmented only by thumb-sized glow candles on each table.

Over the past year, and particularly in recent months, the restaurant had proved surprisingly successful. Something about the shadowy decor hadn’t lured the criminals whom Niko had feared, but diners who sought privacy and exclusivity: lovers, those wishing to become lovers, diplomats, people with other people that they wanted to impress.

“Speaking of which, shouldn’t I be planning this meal?” Niko grumbled.

“You said I could take this one,” Dabry protested. It had pained him to have had to step back and let Niko take the wheel the last time they presented to the Holy Hive Mind, a yearly requirement of their situation.

“All right,” Niko said. She waved her hand. “Go forth. And if you truly desire an eggplant to dissect, then who am I to stand in your way? Place an order with the Mannan.”

Dabry hesitated.

Niko’s eyes narrowed farther. “What?”

“An order from the Mannan,” Dabry said, “would take over a sleep unit to get here. Too late.”

“Then where are you planning on getting it?”

“I have a favor due me,” Dabry said with dignity.

“Do I want to know anything about the nature of the favor or what you intend to do with it?”

“Probably not, other than that I will obtain an eggplant with it.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re even telling me!” Niko threw up her hands in exasperation. Sometimes she thought Dabry enjoyed these encounters; the more expressionless he remained, the more convinced of that she became. She began to add a remark to that effect but a flurry of knocks on the door interrupted her.

Only one of her workers knocked like that. “Come in, Skidoo,” she called.