Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Dead Rite, chapter 106.02

“Fair enough.” Harold glanced at the departing Gillian, almost invisible against the darkness of the tunnel, even to his enhanced eyesight. He caught the flash of her eyes as she looked back at them. “Have one then. We're nowhere near Lucy.”

“I can't. I don't have any tobacco.” Dill patted his pockets. “It's funny. I used to buy a packet of Golden Virgin on a Saturday morning and make it last a week. I've been a zombie for what-six days?-and I've lost and misplaced more packets than a month of Sundays. Of course, it doesn't help that I've been attacked, imprisoned, dismembered and burned to a crisp in the meantime.”

 “That must be galling.” Harold showed his sympathy by patting the zombie on the least charred section of his jacket. “Still, I'm not dead and I've been cut completely in half by an angel and taken an arrow through the heart from an elf.”

 “An elf? Do elves exist as well?”

 “Fairies and goblins, too, though they're mortal enemies. Elves are pretty rare since their home plane got wiped out by dragons. It's a long story.”

“We've got three miles to walk.”

 “I've got a better idea. Jasfoup?”

The demon shimmered into view. Harold couldn't tell if he'd been there all along or was multitasking. Probably the latter. “Yes?”

 “Would you be a love and fetch Dill some tobacco? He's craving it.” “It's psychosomatic. He's dead. The one good thing about death is your body gives up all your addictions except the one for life.”


 “Here.” Jasfoup took a slim case from his breast pocket. “I'll spare a cheroot. Do you have a lighter or would you like me to provide a source of flame as well?” He tapped one of the paraffin-soaked pit props. “No pressure.”

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