Wraith
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “Hey, Cal,” Dylan says from inside the car. open slit or the tinted window frame. I wonder if he’s still jet lagged from his arrival, or if he’s too lazy to get out of his seat. Kornelía motions for me to follow her to the trunk so I can store my bag and backpack. I keep hold of my violin case as I move to the vehicle’s far side. “Speaking of different,” she whispers, nodding towards the car. I quirk a brow, but she only shrugs one shoulder before opening the front door and sliding into her seat. I pause, taking another deep breath and pushing down the slight queasiness born from knowing this is the last stretch before camp is officially upon me. Then I open the car door and duck inside. The hired driver I’m guessing is a local starts the vehicle and heads away from the Ilulissat Airport. I settle into my seat before turning to Dylan—and promptly doing a double- take. Dylan Benowitz has always had a sickly, sallow complexion. But his skin looks nearly gray in the car’s interior light. The bags under his eyes have darkened, and there is a definite yellow tint to the whites. Combined with the disheveled, shaggy state of his dark hair, the discoloration makes him look like he’s contracted a fake illness only ever seen in the movies. “Hey,” he says again. His eyes are wary and expectant, like he knows what I’m about to say. “Are you… okay?” I ask, unable to refrain from posing the question I’m positive he’s heard many times since his arrival. “I’m not dying,” he mutters with a sigh. He scrapes his hair back, scratching his scalp. “Trust me. Between my mother and my stepmom, I’ve been to at least a dozen doctors over the last six months. Not to mention consultations with the rabbi. I’ve taken enough tests, I’m shocked I haven’t earned some kind of degree. My blood work checks out, my oxygen levels are ideal, and my liver function is fine.” He rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” “Well that’s good, I guess,” I mumble. Dylan smiles, dropping his hands to his lap as Kornelía turns in her seat to face us. “I can still function, at least,” he says. “Unlike poor Korni.” I shift my gaze forward. “They still haven’t figured out what’s going on with your eyesight, then?” “Nope,” she says with another shrug. “According to tests, I’m fine too. Except my eyes keep getting worse. I never thought I’d miss my old glasses.” The slight release of tension offered by the open air dissolves as worry coils back around my chest. I didn’t expect to see my friends in such a bad state. I’ve talked to both Dylan and Kornelía over the last ten months, but our conversations didn’t prepare me for how they now appear. From the looks of it, our third summer with the Oracle of Senders isn’t off to a smashing start. “We’re all falling apart, aren’t we?” I muse.
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