“I don't understand.” Dill lifted the wooden spoon and dripped resin across the box. “Are you being metaphorical?” A couple of drops landed on the hot plate and filled the room with the stench of burned amber. Not that Harold had ever had a piece of amber spare to burn, He'd met a girl could Amber, once, in his advanced Economics class, but the thought of setting fire to her had never crossed his mind. The smell currently wafting through the room was burned resin, but resin was raw amber, so this is probably what it smelled like.
“No. Literal.” Harold grinned.
“Something to do with Christianity then. God is the father and all that?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Harold is the son of Lucifer.” Jasfoup held up a hand, “and no, he's not the antichrist, before you ask. His mother tried to summon an incubus but didn't think to dampen the spell and got the Lord of Hell instead. So since...” He waved a hand vaguely upwards. “...is the creator of Lucifer, he's technically Harold's grandpappy.”
“That's brilliant.”Dill pointed with the spoon. “So does that mean you can do Jesus stuff? Raise people from the dead and cure the lame?”
“I'm a magician, not a doctor.” Harold scowled. “Anyway, you just watched me raise the dead. Is that resin ready yet? And how's the coffin coming?”
“Nearly there.” Delirious manoeuvred a pair of clamps.
“Ready, I think.” Dill gave the solution a final stir. “Shall I let it cool?”
“No. it'll go hard.” Harold shooed a fly away from Amanda. “How did that get in here? I thought we'd sealed the room?”
“Sorry, sir, It must have come in with me.” Devious was sat in a corner eating a sandwich. He had mayonnaise on his chin. “I just got here but you were talking about...him upstairs...and I didn't want to interrupt.”
“About time you got back. Help Delirious with the coffin.” Harold turned back to Dill. “She won't feel it, anyway. Her nerve endings are all dead.”