“Careful,” Sundel said, pointing to a blurry man-shape in a dark trenchcoat standing on a nearby corner. “Don’t speak to it.”

“Why not?” said Lute. Compared to some of the creatures oozing about openly, a blurry man-shape seemed almost mundane.

“It’s a Sentence Eater. It derives nutrition and pleasure from conversations; the more erudite the vocabulary and complex the syntax, the more nourishing the meal.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” said Lute, thinking of how one-sided Sundel’s conversations tended to be.

“Not at first, no,” Sundel replied. “The Sentence Eater will try to goad you into a philosophical discussion, and if you’re nourishing enough it will grab you and permeate between dimensions. You’ll get stuck in its larder in the null space between dimensions, forced to make intelligent conversation.”

“I think I know some people who would really enjoy that. University professors, mostly.”

Sundel scowled. “On pain of torture? And when your mind cracks, the Sentence Eater will give you over to one of its symbiotic roommates. Let’s just say that one of them is the Brain Eater and leave it at that.”