Azazel
Isaac Asimov
Language: English
Pages: 221
ISBN: 038524410X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
He's two centimetres tall. He's fiery red. He has magical powers strong enough to wreck a normal human's life...all with the best intentions, of course. George Bitternut, an eccentric linguist stumbles onto an ancient incantation that calls forth this diminutive demon of astonishing wizardry. Unfortunately, Azazel refuses to do anything for George's personal gain - but he agrees to help out a few of his friends. This devilish collection of stories follows the antic adventures - and misadventures - of Azazel and our beleaguered Mr Bitternut. Told with great fun and in the inimitable Asimov style, Azazel makes for hours of pure impish delight.
Leander gave me and you can come in my pocket.” “Fine,” said Azazel. “Call me back when you are ready to leave for the game. Right now I must finish my zymjig,” by which I suppose he meant his Turkish bath — and he disappeared. I must admit that I find it most irritating to have someone place his puny and parochial affairs ahead of the matters of great moment in which I am engaged — which reminds me, old man, that the waiter seems to be trying to attract your attention. I think he has your
that. He sank lower than that, however. He turned to his studies. Under the contemptuous, and even sometimes pitying, eyes of his schoolmates, he slunk from lecture to lecture, buried his head in books, and receded into the dank depths of scholarship. Yet through it all, Juniper clung to him. “He needs me,” she said, her eyes misting with unshed tears. Sacrificing all, she married him after they graduated. She then clung to him even while he sank to the lowest depths of all, being stigmatized
satisfaction, certain amiable indelicacies in which we had participated in the past. “Boom-Boom,” I said, for I had never gotten out of the habit of using her stage name, given her by the common consent of the awed observers of her interesting act, “you are looking well.” This I had no hesitation in saying, for so was I. “Oh yeah?” she said, in the insouciant manner that always recalled the streets of New York in all their brassy splendor. “Well, I ain’t feeling good.” I could not believe that
out this contempt?” He hung his head. “I am weak — weak.” I left him, determined to find Philomel Kribb at once. It did not take long. I quickly determined at the registrar’s that she was majoring in advanced cheerleading, with a strong minor in chorus-line dramatics. I found her in the cheerleading studio. I waited patiently for the intricate stomping and melodious shrieking to end, and then had Philomel pointed out to me. She was a blond girl of middle height, glowing with health and
fetching little thing altogether. She had blue eyes, almost as brilliant as my own; russet hair, long and lustrous; a delightful little nose, powdered with freckles in the manner approved of by all who write romances; a graceful neck, a slender figure that wasn’t opulent in any disproportionate way, but was utterly delightful in its promise of ecstasy. Of course, all of this was of purely intellectual interest to me, since I reached the age of discretion years ago, and now engage in the