Jared finished mixing the ingredients and pulled out his hand. It was covered in a lumpy coating on tuna, spam, corned beef and mayonnaise, dusted with custard powder and sprinkled with sugar. Harold's stomach rumbled. “And that's what you people eat, is it?”
“You people?” Jared scowled as he licked the concoction from his hand, his tongue travelling from his wrist to the tip of his fingers. “Sounds a bit racist to me. Or elitist. Something-ist, anyway.” He held his first two fingers up in the manner of a papal benediction then closed his mouth over them, making obscene sucking noises as his tongue licked away at the meat and sweet coating.
Harold glanced toward the living room and lowered his voice. “Demons, I mean. I know what you are, inside. It was me who suggested you be called in.”
Jared swallowed and extracted his fingers. “I appreciate that. It's good to feel a coat of mortal flesh again. It's been a long time.”
“Oh? You weren't one of Manoach's minions, then?”
“Not recently, no. The first time, of course. We all were, then.”
“So I understand.” Harold looked at the bowl. “May I have a taste?”
“A taste, yes. It's been a long time since I had the pleasure of taste.” His nostrils flared and he moved closer to Harold, sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail of a missing little girl. “A long time since I had the pleasure of anything in mortal form.”
“I can only imagine.” Harold took a spoon and dipped it into the bowl. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “Interesting. What's the nutty taste from?”
Jared picked up a discarded plastic foil. “Almond paste. It smelled good.”
“It certainly does.” Harold shrugged. “I'd never have thought that tuna and marzipan would go together so well. It reminds me of my first girlfriend.”
“You'd be surprised what can go well together.” Jared pressed his food-encrusted thumb to Harold's lips.