Once inside the car, Baalth smiled at me. “Drive, Frank.” In his free hand, he held a bloody cloth with something wrapped inside. It seemed to pulse.
I didn’t hesitate, tearing out of the parking lot, the screech of tires drowning out the dog that howled at our backs. Once we were on the road and across the north-south line, Baalth opened the package and showed it to me. It was a heart, its beat winding down. It’d run too long to be human, so it had to be the demon’s.
A squirt of blackened blood struck my arm at its final spasm, and I waved the thing away. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.”
Вы читаете Betrayal
