In the height of summer, Gotham's evening air shimmered with dusky yellow light. Heat hung over the ground, and dampness rising from the hollows in the earth mingled with the fresh scent of grass, slipping in through the cracks of doors and windows, though it could only drift near the ceiling.
The guests entering the dining room caught an incomparably rich aroma.
Those who had come at the invitation discreetly assessed one another and found every face familiar. They were all Archmages who had gathered in Gotham some time ago to build Earth's magic defense network, along with the few apprentices they had left.
At that moment, every face bore an indescribable expression of shock.
It had nothing to do with the aroma or the dishes, but with the nearly tangible energy permeating the room—the power of demons, which they knew all too well.
"What's going on?!" Jim asked, his lips trembling. He lowered his head toward the food on the table and instinctively asked, "What kind of meat is this? What kind of meat is this, Schiller?!"
"This is moose meat."
"Impossible!!!" a female mage shrieked. She began howling like a madwoman and reached for the steak on the table, but her companion stopped her, staring fixedly at the meat and swallowing.
Schiller rose from the head of the long table, lifted his wineglass, and said, "As you can see, today's main courses are red wine-marinated venison leg steak, rosemary venison ribs, yogurt and parsley-seared liver tips, venison blood pudding, and vegetable venison stew."
"You've lost your mind! This isn't venison at all!" a Black mage roared. "How dare you... How dare you... You'll be cursed!"
"Of course, every place has different customs for naming meat. In my eyes, lying on this table are sixteen strong deer. But in