Harold put a hand on his friend's arm. "Don't turn around but there's a snake in the grass."
"That's supposed to be a metaphor, Harold." Jasfoup smiled tersely. "it's supposed to mean there's a traitor in our midst but you meant it literally, didn't you? Since this is England and it's far too damp today to encourage adders and grass snakes to come out and play I suspect what you're looking at is what Devious affectionately calls a 'Legionnaire.'"
"One of those wiggly demon children Legion was on about, you mean?"
"Yes." Harold pulled a jam jar out of his pocket. "Let's catch it."
"Yes." He bent into a wicket-keeper's position, the jar and the lid in separate hands. "You're a demon so it can't attack you and I'm half-demon so I should be safe too." He paused. "Shouldn't I?"