TWENTY-EIGHT | DROWNING

I held the switchblade carefully between my hands, weighing it across my palms and tilting it back and forth in the morning sunlight. It streamed through my childhood bedroom window, slanting across my bed and catching the silver of the blade.

I’d left Sierra’s feeling uneasy last night. I’d checked the back of my car for intruders at least ten times before I’d settled myself in the driving seat, and even then I’d felt the need to continue checking over my shoulder.

My Dads had both been asleep by the time I’d got back, and I was glad I hadn’t had to talk to them, even though I’d wanted to ask if Diamond and Trigger had uncovered anything useful on their trip so far. I couldn’t shift the description of the vampire from my mind, and, paired with the re-appearance of my knife and the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something – something huge – from my night with Cyrus, I&r