The spirit coiled in her hand, its pulsating body resembling a leech more than a human spirit. Lucy rolled her hand and arm as expertly as a juggler as the spirit pulsed along, looking for all the world like a spider looking for an escape route. Harold shuddered, feeling slightly sick at the sight of his daughter playing with it. The whole scene was reminiscent of a vision of Hell he'd seen on an old cartoon.
“Why doesn't her answer me?” Dill looked at Jasfoup. “He hasn't forgotten who he is, has he?”
“Not without a dip in the river Styx.” Jasfoup scooped the spirit from Lucy's hand. “The problem is he has no sensory input or output. He can't hear you and even if he did, he has no way to communicate. This is as near to a pure-form spirit as it's possible to get without them being shunted off for recycling.”
“Up or down, you know?” Jasfoup let the spirit slither around his free hand. “The question is, what do we do with him? He's no good to us like this.”
“We should just let him go.” Harold gathered Lucy from him. “It would probably be kinder, judging from the message he gave Dill.”
“No.” Dill reached for the leech-like spirit of his friend. “He meant he wanted out of the golem, not out of the cycle of life.”
“I can't countenance another zombie.” Jasfoup's eyes narrowed. “Better to release him than that.”