Harold looked about, his anxiety flaring. “You're sure?” He'd never met an angel who didn't try to kill him. Some, like Jedith, were subtle about it and passed on a supposedly incurable disease while others, like Raphael herself, favoured the more direct route of cleaving him in two (lengthwise) with a flaming sword. He got better, but it was still an experience he'd rather not repeat.
“No, but what else could it be? The only thing which can dampen the connection Hell has on the earth is the aura of an angel. I have no connection to hell, ergo...” His voice trailed off as he stared at the screen, still tapping buttons.
Harold lightly brushed the demon's left shoulder and when Jasfoup turned, reached in from the other side and plucked the Bloodberry from his claws. “I used to have a phone that was rubbish at getting a connection. This was back...oh...at the turn of the century. I used to have to walk around with the phone held as high as I could to pick up a signal.” He held the Bloodberry high, rotating on the pavement as he tried to get the LCD bars to light up. “There's nothing. You're sure it's not broken?”
“The phone works. And the police scanner. It's just the Hell connection.”
“Perhaps that bit is broken.” Harold turned the phone over and tried to prise off the back.
“It needs blood to take the back off, Genius. The clue's in the name.” Jasfoup reached forward and nicked the ball of Harold's thumb with his claw. Just a tiny wound. A bead of blood welled from the spot and dropped onto the case. The back of the phone slid away.