Then the cultist with the painted hands reached under his cape and drew a dagger that had a dark obsidian blade. In the frozen instant that he raised it, I knew what was about to happen. But I was too shocked to react quickly enough. The dagger plunged down, slicing open the chest of the boy. The priest forced a hand into the wound, yanked, and pulled out the boy’s heart. With a quick stroke he severed the arteries leading to it, spraying those around him with blood, then turned and raised the heart above the statue, letting blood pour down into the bowl. He squeezed the heart like a sponge, causing blood to spurt out and spatter the statue like rain. Then he led the cultists in a chant.