Book 18: Mental Decline

Fallon

Zayn stills as the young priestess rushes down the steps, her fingers gripping a slightly damp apron that carries the scent of camphor and chamomile–healing herbs I’m familiar with from my education in matters of witchcraft and the like. She looks incredibly frazzled as she reaches his side, out of breath. She tugs his arm in an effort to hurry him back up the steps, leaving me behind.

I stare after them. Somewhere in the distance, over the mountain peaks, thunder rumbles, promising another epic mid-summer storm. My skin prickles. Electricity spices the air, and I’m not sure if it's the weather driving the currents or something else–something slippery, slimy, and uneasy now curling in the pit of my belly.

I climb out of the truck through his open door. The hem of my gown snags on the clutch and rips, but the sound is swallowed by another b