Harold’s in a lot of pain for some reason. I can’t see why, because I’ve severed his connection to the poppet by extracting the two hairs of his that had been attached to it. That wasn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s not just a matter of pulling the hairs away (and filing them away in an envelope in case they come in useful later on) but of severing the magic that binds them to the poppet s strand by microscopic strand.
I did it rather well. I got an A in curses when I was no bigger than an imp and I haven’t lost my touch. I’m just about the best curse maker and breaker that you’ll ever meet, short of divinity. Belphegor’s probably got the edge on me, but laying curses is all he does all day; he doesn’t have the eclectic knowledge base that I have. You wouldn’t catch him coding a virus that targets Linux systems.
Anyway, Harold’s got bellyache. It may just be the prawn curry he had for breakfast, but it may be directly related to my manipulation of this little doll. The field’s still there, it’s just not connected to Harold any more. I may try a little experiment.
It’s odd how women are attracted to Harold. Or rather, how they’re not attracted to him. When I met him what? three years ago? he was middle aged before he’d even lived. Saggy yellow cardigans are not the stuff of heroic legend, let me tell you. I took him to a decent tailor in Milan and got him outfitted in leather and silk, got him a hair stylist and taught him to act like a gentleman.
It seems to me that ladies of a certain age who meets Harold want to mother him. It works perfectly well for the owner of a little second hand shop to flirt with these let us say mature ladies, but give him a nubile young socialite and he starts talking about his train set. What’s wrong with the man. The only woman he’s shown the remotest interest in was Jedith, my ex-wife and the Angel of Pestilence. They certainly shared a spark of something – a terminal disease. Terminal to Harold anyway.
At least until I arranged to have him blood bind with a vampire. He’s not a vampire himself, though he can draw on those powers when he needs to and it saved him from the disease, which was the point of the exercise. Then what happens? The fool falls in love with her. I ask you: How can I get him to procreate little Harolds when his only love interest died thirty years ago?
I have a plan on that score.
Okay I asked Julie if she felt under the weather. I suspected she did because she called me an ‘selfish incubus who only visits priests’ which was a bit hurtful and indicated that she was suffering PMT, there being no other reason for her to be narked at me. I took two hairs from her brush and spent a pleasant hour attaching them to the doll.
What happened? Let’s just say I’ll be knocking off early tonight.
It seems to me that this poppet wasn’t made with malevolent intent at all, but as a protection charm. I might keep it attached to Julie and see how my luck holds.