Sunday, November 24, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 161.22

“Really?” Jasfoup's raised an eyebrow. “Concealing their presence makes you an accessory after the fact, you know.”

“And how did I discover the presence of these graves? A demon told me.” Harold shook his head. “Oh, yes. I can see the police taking me seriously, can't you? They'd lock me up for my own good. And throw away the key, most likely.”

“You'd be the eternal prisoner. Never ageing, never dying. You'd become a legend among the prison staff. The man who never recovered.”

“That doesn't bear thinking about.”

“It would never happen, anyway. We'd just open a tunnel and you'd be home in time for tea.”

“Unless they filled me so full of pills I forgot who you were and didn't summon you.”

“If that were the case, you wouldn't care anyway. If you were so full of drugs that you forgot you were the man who could talk to demons I doubt you'd care that you were locked up in the secure wing of St Pity's psychiatric.”

“True.” Harold looked down at the floor, admiring the setting of the yellow flagstones. “She did a good job of laying these, don't you think?”

“She did.” Jasfoup picked up the pack of Dead Line cannabis and went back outside.

Harold followed. “What will you do with that?”

“What can we do with it? We can't burn it. There'd be no telling who'd breath in the smoke.” He crossed to a black bin, half tucked away under a buddleia just coming into leaf. He lifted off the lid and looked inside. “Compost.”

“You can't compost it either. What about the worms that eat it.”

“What about them?” Jasfoup opened the bag and sprinkled the leaves inside. “Would you really deny a demon the chance to possess a worm?”

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