The sun was rising. Johnny drove east, into the light, the ghost of a grin on his face.
Then Roarke stepped from the shadows.
“Because Roarke isn’t just after the boy’s soul. The boy is the key. A ritual. The sun. The blood of the innocent. You know how it ends.”
The sun was rising. Johnny drove east, into the light, the ghost of a grin on his face.
Then Roarke stepped from the shadows.
“Because Roarke isn’t just after the boy’s soul. The boy is the key. A ritual. The sun. The blood of the innocent. You know how it ends.”