Harold peered through the window between the back of the van and the seats but couldn't make out where they were. “This doesn't look like the hotel.”
“It's not.” Jasfoup stretched, his long legs, the toes of his hand-made shoes pointing despite Harold's knowledge of the hooves inside them. “Weren't you paying attention to all the curves and the turns? We're back at the manor.”
“We can't be.” Harold pressed his face to the back window but couldn't see anything that way, either. “Inspector White told us specifically not to return until he'd given us the all-clear.” The van rocked as Gillian got out.
“You're not afraid of him, surely?” The ambient light increased as Gillian opened her driver's door, causing the interior cab light to turn on. Jasfoup's teeth looked like a cross between the Cheshire Cat and a child's depiction of a dragon in the darkness. “He's a mortal policeman and you're a Prince of Hell. What could he possibly do?”
“He could make life very difficult.” Harold rubbed at his temples. “I'm getting a headache from the stress.” He rapped on the back door. “Gillian. Open up.”
“Give me a minute.” The vampire's voice hissed an octave lower than usual. “Let me just get Lucy out. She's here.”
“Well obviously, since you strapped her into her seat.” Harold gripped the rods securing the back door but without access to the handle couldn't budge them. “Lets us out, please.”
“I didn't mean Lucy. I meant that baby-eating bitch Felicia.”