Page 31 of Their Lethal Pet
“I like the idea of hiding,” Miranda says softly.
He ignores her, his focus on me.
I clear my throat. “I…” I pause.
I was about to admit that I have no clue what I’m doing, but an idea smacks me across the face in the next blink.
“Um, those girls mentioned a map…” I trail off, searching for any signs of recognition in Bartholomew’s and Miranda’s features. Because maybe they know something about a map, too.
Alas, all they do is stare at me and wait for me to keep talking.
Hmm.“I think finding a map might be useful,” I conclude, shrugging. “Those girls seemed to know where to go, and obviously the Protectors aren’t going to guide us. So…”
Bartholomew and Miranda continue watching me for a beat before the big guy slightly nods his head. “That’s a good idea.”
“Yeah,” Miranda agrees.
I release my breath, relieved. Probably because it’s niceto have some help. And I’m glad I don’t have to explain the real reason I want to find a map.
“Well, it’s not in there,” Bartholomew adds. “All I see is a bunch of green-skinned men with massive horns drinking at a bar.”
I blink at him. “What?” He gestured at the window while he spoke, making me peek through the glass again. “I don’t see anything.”
Miranda follows suit, her brow furrowing. “Neither do I.”
Bartholomew glances between us, then at the building beside us. “You don’t see the monsters?”
Miranda and I share a look, then shake our heads.
“What about the ones in the diner over there?” he asks, pointing to another dark-windowed building.
“Diner?” Miranda repeats.
“Yeah. Where the neon sign is,” he replies.
“What neon sign?” Miranda and I ask at the same time.
His brow furrows. “The giant one that saysDineracross the?—”
“Fifteen minutes,” the feminine voice from overhead interrupts, sending a chill down my spine.
“Shit,” Bartholomew mutters. “We need to move.”
He doesn’t pause to debate what we all can or can’t see, just turns toward a darkened alleyway and starts walking.
The direction certainly isn’t my first choice, but his vision here seems to be clearer than mine, so I let him take the lead.
He pauses every now and then to peek into windows, wincing every time. When I look, I see nothing.
My stomach churns with each passing minute, the hairs along my arms dancing on end every time that feminine voice speaks from the sky.
“Ten minutes.”
“Five minutes.”
“One minute.”
“Fifty-five seconds.”
