E. Godz by Robert Asprin, Esther Friesner

suitable regalia but with enough shielding to keep airport Security happy."
    "An A.R.S.?" Peez asked. Then, noting how badly bewildered he was, she explained:
"Automatic Rationalization Spell. Very popular."
    "I guess that must be what he used, then. But your flight was delayed; the spell began
to wear off. That's why I was surrounded by all those people. I'm glad you showed up
when you did."
    "Me, too. You'd have hated to have to explain yourself to Security."
    "Tell me about it." He shuddered.
    He retrieved Peez's bag from the carousel, then escorted her to his car, a late-model
Volvo convertible. The faience image of a hippopotamus dangled from the rearview
mirror and the dashboard was a forest of figurines depicting some of the many gods of
Ancient Egypt. As soon as they had their seat belts fastened, he pointed to one of the
miniature statues and said, "She's my favorite—I mean, the object of my primary
veneration: Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war and sickness."
    Peez gave the little man a searching look. He appeared to be about as bloodthirsty as
a penguin. "Interesting choice," she remarked. "You a lawyer?"
    "I sell insurance."
    "Oh."
    They drove from the airport in silence. Gary took it upon himself to offer Peez a brief
guided tour of downtown Chicago. The weather was not cooperating; the city did not
show its best face under dingy gray overcast skies. Still, the drive along the lakeshore
was inspirational, and the skyline spoke to Peez with its own strange, steel-and-glass
poetry.
    As they drove, Peez discovered that Gary was about as scintillating and outgoing a
conversationalist as she was herself. He only spoke when he had no other choice, on pain
of death, and after he had pointed out this or that landmark his store of chitchat was
drained dry. There was nothing wrong with silence—Peez rather liked being alone with
her thoughts—but the Volvo was filled to bursting with that hideous beast, the nervous
silence, the kind that sprang to ugly life when both tongue-tied parties felt the pressing
obligation to say something to fill the soundless depths because—because—
    Because I don't really know who the hell this edgy little man is within the Chicago
hierarchy, Peez thought. He's not the head of the organization—that's Ray Rah—but what
if he's second-in-command, or even third? If this visit ends like the last one, without a
firm commitment of support, they're going to talk about me after I'm gone. I'd need all the
allies I can muster. Might as well start with Gary. No harm in taking a leaf from Dov's
slimy little book and trying to chat him up.
    She glanced around for a prop to use in order to break the ice and her eye happened
upon the placard with her name cartouche that Gary had dropped onto the passenger-side
floor. She picked it up and studied the column of images within the red ovoid frame for a
time, then said:
    "Well, that's disappointing."
    Gary almost jumped over the steering wheel at the sound of her voice. "What is?" he
squeaked.
    "How my name looks in hieroglyphics. I'd hoped it would require some of the more,
well, interesting elements to render Peez Godz. You know: snakes, owls, lions, people. I
can't even tell what some of these symbols are supposed to be. This one here looks like a
spittoon."
    She was trying to be funny. She lacked the practice, and it showed.
    Gary didn't laugh. Instead he flashed her a look of such violent alarm that Peez
realized she might have overestimated her ability to charm and had instead insulted a
potential ally right to the marrow of his soul. She could feel any chance of winning him
over slipping away, leaving the Chicago field wide open for an easy conquest by her baby
brother.
    Her oh-so-poised and charming baby brother. Except sometimes he didn't land on his
feet, either. In all the years of their growing up, she could remember more than a score of
incidents where Dov had put his foot in it up to the