“Is that you?” Jac
felt behind him for the comfort of the signpost's metal rod. Despite
his greased hair and man-about-village laissez faire, the bravado he
generally displayed was severely lacking when it came to meeting a
strange man at the only crossroads in Polroun in the middle of the
night.
“That rather depends
upon who you were expecting.” Ebon skin all but vanished under the
starlight. In addition to the other stipulations, Mr Asfou had
specified the night of the new moon.
Jag swallowed his fear
and left the comfort of cold iron. “Are you really the devil?”
“The devil?
No. Merely an associate with Power of Infernery.”
“But you can grant my
wishes?”
“A wish, I think we
established. Singular.”
“Yes.” Jac wiped
his hand over his hair. A nervous gesture, he knew, and he wiped the
Brylcream off on his trousers. “All right, then, I'm game.”
“Excellent.” The
man produced a sheaf of paperwork and held out a pen. “Just sign
here.”
“Where? I can't see
anything. Have you got a torch?”
“Does a witch need
burning?” White teeth flashed and Jac felt his hand guided to the
paper. He signed his name, hoping his pen was in the right spot.”
“Excellent.” The
paperwork was tucked away and the stranger turned to leave.
“What... What about
my wish.”
“Go home to your
wife, sir. She'll be pregnant by morning.”
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