I press the tip of the blade against the soft skin of my finger.
“I, Savannah Mae Dare, solemnly swear…”
“Is that a knife?” my older sister, Frankie, interrupts me for the third time. I sigh. The first was to ask why we had to go to Springer’s Point Preserve, the big nature park near our house. The second was why we had to go where it was hundred degrees to sit under a giant live oak with fire ants in the sand. I reminded her we live in North Carolina. On an island. It’s all giant oak and fire ants and sand, not air-conditioning and iced drinks and fluffy pillows.
Addison Cooke was done on his luck. Rain clouds had been following him around for months, though to be fair, he was in England. Whatever switch controlled the British weather was permanently stuck on Rain. Addison imagined that if archaeology didn’t work out for him, he could always enjoy an extremely easy career as an English weatherman.