Soothsayer Ch. 7, Pt. 1

Notes: I know this isn't the longest post, but I'm setting a lot of stuff up. Plus, wow, it's been a busy week and we've barely started! Full Credit is up in Spanish on the blog (see the right hand side under Pages), I just got cover art for an anthology I'm in that gets released next month (more on that later) and we can't forget last week's Academy vignette, which apparently a lot of people liked. Thank you! For now, though, on with Cillian and Sören, or...whatever is in the trunk.

Also, I'm sorry, all my Icelandic comes from translation sites, I apologize if there are egregious errors.

Title: Soothsayer, Chapter 7, Part 1.

***

“Your voice has haunted every inch of my soul since the last time I heard it…my world had been so dark, void of sound and then I heard you sing again—and it exploded.” – Cassandra Giovanni, Finding Perfection

                It took for fucking ever to get out of Chicago. Seriously, I don’t know how they even called it all Chicago, it was like, “Oh, the city center!” and then hours’ worth of suburbs before the highway suddenly spit me out into farmland. I could smell the cow shit from here, and it was not lovely. I would stand out like a five-alarm fire in one of these little farming towns, not that I expected the Egilsson family to be on my tail quite yet. Still, Andre was right. I needed to sleep, and that meant I needed to stop for a while. Sören was safe in the trunk—god, and I hated that he was stuffed back in the trunk but there really was no good way to explain the functional equivalent of a corpse to someone if they happened to look inside.