Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 339
The elder Dane sat erect in his bed, unnaturally, without
support. The old man’s eyes were bloodshot and wide. His
thin slit of a mouth was drawn back into something halfway
between a smile and a grimace. Thin wisps of hair floated
above his head by some sorcery of static electricity, creating
the appearance of an old man peering at them from beneath
the waves.
Dane the elder ignored all but Richard. He speared the
prior with the sharpest of glares. “My son is in the great
hall,” the otherworldly voice sprang from the old man’s lips.
“I trust, priest, that you will not forget our agreement?”
All eyes turned to Richard, who kept his focus on the
demon in the old man suit. “I remember,” he said. “I’ll be
true to my word. Anything else we need to know?”
“Probably not,” the old man sank back into his bed with
a wheeze that itself sounded lethal. “I could say, ‘Watch your
ass’ but you won’t survive it anyway.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Richard said, taking
the lead and striding out into the hallway.
“Okay,” Terry said, trotting on his shorter legs behind
him. “Exactly how many devils did you make deals with?
And is this something I need to be worried about?”
“I promised him dibs on my complete collection of 60s-era
Playboys if I croak, so see that he gets those, will you?”
“Uh-huh,” Terry said. “Remind me to give you the brushoff
next time you ask me an important question.”
The hallway was dark, and their feet moved soundlessly
on the thick carpet. Their eyes were restless but diligent,
keen for any sign of opposition.
They hadn’t long to wait. Rounding the corner, Richard
froze. Terry ploughed into him, but the others took note
before adding to the collision. “Holy shit,” Richard
breathed. Without looking behind him, he spoke quietly but
evenly, just loud enough for them to hear. “Back away. Don’t
let them see you. Back the fuck away.”