Friday, May 27, 2011

Dead Rite chapter 61.03

Harold would have done exactly that had Gillian's open-top audi not been parked in the space. He would have been cross but she'd considerately squeezed her car far enough to the left to give him plenty of room. He pulled up at the side of it and switched the engine off. “I feel bad about her now.”

“Not surprising, matey.” Jasfoup watched the squad car pretend to be a lost tourist and engineer a thirty-three point turn in the access lane. “She almost ate your kid. You're bound to feel bad about her.”

“I don't mean it like that. I feel sorry for her, you know? She was frantic about her sister being in a medically induced coma because you'd taken her to Hell. That was a good idea by the way. Ten out of ten for inspiration.”


“Minus a hundred for actual 'lets-think-this-through' mind.”

“Everyone's a critic.”

“The point is...” Harold grimaced. “She didn't bite Lucy despite the wolf-mind she was in. She was fighting with a vampire for the life of her sister. I'm sure I can allow her a little leeway in not biting my child.”

“That's very magnanimous of you, old bean. The crux of the matter, though, is will Gillian agree with you? It was her that threw her out and it's up to her whether Felicia is forgiven. She's Gillian's pet, after all.”

“It's my house. I can decide who lives there.”

Jasfoup laughed and, seeing the look of consternation on Harold's face at the mirth, laughed even harder.

“What's so funny?”

“You.” Jasfoup tried to stop laughing and got himself under control for several milliseconds before cracking up again.

Harold drummed his fingers on the steering wheel wondering what the police in the now-parked squad car were thinking. All they'd be able to see was the van rocking. Would they assume murder was being committed or just rampant sex?

“I'm sorry.” Jasfoup fished a monogrammed silk handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab his eyes. It wasn't his monogram but the effect was elegant nonetheless. “The thought of you standing up to Gillian.” He giggled again. “We all know who wears the trousers in that relationship, and they're not Mark's and Spark's.”

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