Chapter Fifty-six - Deacon

“I think I found her,” Dara said as she stepped out of the motel room, a smoldering bowl in one hand and what looked like an area map in the other she must have ripped from the ancient phone book in the nightstand.

Deacon jerked his attention toward the witch, hope warring with his fear as he crossed over to where she stood. “Where is she?”

The others were quick to join them, Deacon’s father leaning on his cane as he tried to see the paper in Dara’s hand. Deputy Rushton stopped scribbling in his notepad as he pushed himself off his car and moved to where the others stood, his radio squawking with the sheriff department’s chatter.

Dara held the piece of paper out to Deacon, a dark circle drawn over a small area at the base of the mountain on the far side of town, the side in the opposite direction of Summermire. “What the hell? Why are they out there? That’s in the opposite direction of Damien’s club.” Deacon glanced up at Ralph. “What’s in that direction? What’s out there?”