Mort - back

ON YOUR KNEES, ALBERTO MALICH.

Albert’s mouth dropped open. His eyes rolled sideways to the shimmering blade a few inches from his head, and then narrowed to tight little lines.

“You surely wouldn’t dare, boy,” he said.

MORT. The syllable snapped out as fast as a whiplash and twice as vicious.

“There was a pact,” said Albert, but there was the barest gnat-song of doubt in his voice. “There was an agreement.”

“Not with me.”

“There was an agreement! Where would we be if we could not honor an agreement?”

“I don’t know where I would be,” said Mort softly. BUT I KNOW WHERE YOU WOULD GO.

“That’s not fair!” Now it was a whine.

THERE’S NO JUSTICE. THERE’S JUST ME.

“Stop it,” said Ysabell. “Mort, you’re being silly. You can’t kill anyone here. Anyway, you don’t really want to kill Albert.”

“Not here. But I could send him back to the world.”

Albert went pale.

“You wouldn’t!”

“No? I can take you back and leave you there. I shouldn’t think you’ve got much time left, have you?” HAVE YOU?

***

Mort p157