Harold shuddered. “Why do I feel suddenly dirty?”
“Imps.” Jasfoup waved a hand dismissively. “They could make a saint feel dirty.”
“They often are. The whole point of becoming a saint is overcomeing your base nature and becoming a valued member of the community.” Devious was now holding a tiny espresso cup. Harold hadn't even seen him move from his position at the table to fetch it. He was getting really good at his illusions. Had he concealed the coffee about his person somewhere? Hard to do when wearing nothing but a loincloth and utility belt. Wait...
“When did you start wearing a utility belt?”
“Since I watched a man on television with one. It looked exceptionally useful.” Devious put down his coffee and stood on the chair to show it off. “It's full of handy gadgets, look. A pen. An easel and palette of oil paint. Stonemason's chisels. Tool for getting stones out of horses hooves.” He frowned. “Not sure why I've got a can of shark repellent, though.”
“You never know when a car salesman is going to pounce.”
“True, but it's hardly likely when so few mortals can see me.”
Harold reaches across and pried the espresso cup from Lucy's fingers. “It looks as though Lucy might need some imp repellent.”
“You wound me, Master.” Devious put a paw to his chest. Harold remained uncertain about the anatomy of an imp. He'd never come across any anatomical treatises of the Hellborn, but since most other magical creatures shared a basic structure with mortals there was no reason why demons and devilkin wouldn't.
“I'm sure you'll live.” He handed Lucy a glass of milk. “Eat your potato, honey.”