“When you say it like that...” Jasfoup made a sign that was too quick for Harold to memorise and reached to pull something. It was, as he had promised, a door, but one not recognisable as a portal opening. It looked more like the door to his Aunt May's house. Heavy oak painted black with a large, ornate knocker and a big brass knob right in the middle. A semicircular fanlight with a stained glass sunrise completed the door. It could almost have come directly from his own head.
Ah! That was the clue, wasn't it? “Gillian? Tell me what the door looks like, please?”
“You can see it, can't you?”
“Yes, but indulge me.”
She looked at him with the same expression she'd once used when he'd asked if he could melt chocolate over her but did as he asked, describing his Aunt May's door down to the last brass screw.
“Jasfoup? Why does it look like Aunty May's front door?”
“How should I know?”
“I just wondered if you'd plucked the image from my mind and used it to shape the door. It seems off that it's an exact replica.”
“Exact?” Jasfoup stretched out his arm to stop anyone going inside. “How exact? Down to the last tiny detail?”
“Almost.” Harold pointed at the fanlight. “There isn't the cracked pane that I remember.”
“Ah. Not exact, then.” The demon's hair blew in a sudden hot wind from the doorway. “It should be safe, then.”
“Should be?” Harold looked through the door.