A Shilling Wasted.
Jasfoup laid the book on the top of Harold’s tomb. “He loved his books,” he said. “Let’s hope he enjoys this one from beyond the grave.”
“It’s unlikely.” Frederick looked at the title. “I don’t think he’s read Mills and Boon since he was in junior school.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” Jasfoup turned away and began to walk back to the house. Gillian hurried after him. “Weren’t you bound to Harold?” she asked.
The demon nodded, extending his chin forward in a show of solemnity. “That’s right,” he said. “I was bound to him until his death.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Jasfoup’s brows furrowed. “You have a point, you know.” He looked back towards the tomb. “While he was alive I could coma and go as I pleased. Now that he’s dead…” He frowned at looked at his arm as if he expected it to disappear. “I should have gone straight back down again and only come back if I was officially summoned.”
“Which means that we’ve buried him alive.” Gillian turned and began running.
© Rachel Green 2007