Jasfoup nodded at the door. “Here we go. I can hear someone coming.” His suit shimmered, changing from a grey Italian cut to a darker, cheaper suit, slightly shiny on the lapels and elbows.
“What's our cover story?”
“Looking for zombies, obviously. Got to stick to the truth, haven't we?”
“Like that's going to get us very far.”
“Just follow my lead.”
The door opened to reveal a middle aged lady in a blur chequered house coat of the sort favoured in the seventies, over a light blue blouse. Her neatly coiffured grey hair was highlighted in tints of ultramarine and he horn-rimmed glasses sported a distinct diamanté accent. “Yes?” Her voice was thin and reedy.
“Mrs Metcalfe?” Jasfoup pulled out an identity card. “Office for the Investigation of Mortal Affairs. Can we have a word with James Metcalfe, please?”
“I'll...er...I'll see if he's available.”
“Please do. It is rather urgent.”
The door closed again.
Harold rubbed at the corner of “She'll have gone to warn him.”
“I think he already knows. Give him a moment.”
They waited for more than a moment, causing Harold to doubt if the door would open again. He was pleasantly surpised when it did, eposing the head and one arn of a man with exceptionally short hair and traces of face powder. Oddly, he was wearing a blouse just like his mother's.
“Mr James Metcalfe?” Jasfoup held out his card again. “Office for Mortal Affairs. A word, if you will.”
“I'm sorry. I'm a bit busy.” The young man looked over his shoulder, into the house. “I work from home, you see, and I can't afford the time away from the computer.”
“I'm sure you're allowed a tea break.” Jasfoup gave him a broad smile and pushed past him into the house. “Or a coffee break, if you work for an American company.” It was amusing to see the shock on the face of the young man. He'd been careful to bar the door and had been talking through a thin gap between it and the frame. Jasfoup had passed him seemingly through the space of a needle's eye.
“Hey!” He turned to complain, leaving the door free for Harold to come in behind him.
“Where's the kitchen, then? I could do with a cuppa myself.”