Excerpt from The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Pappy Bohannon looks to be in a bit of a mood himself," Lydia said.

"To hear Travis tell it, Pappy Bohannon is in a permanent mood. It's called being a giant asshole, and it's incurable."

A moment or two passed before Travis came loping out-side. Ambling, perhaps. Whatever bears do. All six feet, six inches, and 250 pounds of him. His shaggy, curly red hair and patchy red teenager beard were wet from the shower. He wore his signature black work boots, black Wranglers, and baggy black dress shirt buttoned all the way up. Around his neck, he wore a necklace with a chintzy pewter dragon gripping a purple crystal ball— a memento from some Renaissance festival. He always wore it. He carried a dog-eared paperback from the Bloodfall series, something else he was seldom without.

Halfway to the car, he stopped, raised a finger, and spun and ran back to the house, almost tripping over his feet. Lydia hunched over, her hands on the wheel, watching him.

"Oh no. The staff," she murmured. "He forgot the staff."

Dill groaned and did a facepalm. "Yep. The staff."

"The oaken staff," Lydia said in a grandiose, medieval voice.

"The magic staff of kings and lords and wizards and . . . elves or whatever."

Travis returned, clutching his staff, symbols and faces carved on it with clumsy hands. His father glanced up with a pained expression, shook his head, and resumed work. Travis opened the car door. "

Hey, guys.""

The staff? Really?" Lydia said.

"I bring it on journeys. 'Sides, what if we need it to protect ourselves? Nashville is dangerous."

"Yeah," Lydia said, "but it's not dangerous because of all the staff-wielding brigands. They have guns now. Gun beats staff in gun-staff-scissors."

"I highly doubt we'll get in a staff fight in Nashville," Dill said.

"I like it. It makes me feel good to have it."

Lydia rolled her eyes and put the car into gear. "Bless your heart. Okay, boys. Let's do this. The last time we ever go school shopping together, thank the sweet Lord."

And with that pronouncement, Dill realized that the dread in his stomach wouldn't be going away any time soon. Maybe never. The final indignity? He doubted he'd even get a good song out of it.

2
Lydia

The Nashville skyline loomed in the distance. Lydia liked Nashville. Vanderbilt was on her college list. Not high on the list, but there. Thinking about colleges put her in a good mood, as did being in a big city. All in all, she felt a lot happier than she had the day before the start of any school year in her life. She could only imagine what she'd be feeling the day before next school year— freshman year of college.

As they entered the outskirts of Nashville, Dill stared out the window. Lydia had given him her camera and assigned him to be expedition photographer, but he forgot to take pictures. He had his normal faraway affect and distinct air of melancholy. Today seemed different somehow, though. Lydia knew that visits to Nashville were a bittersweet affair for him because of his father, and she'd consciously tried to pick a route that would differ from the one he took to visit the prison. She spent a fair amount of time on Google Maps plotting, but to no avail. There were only so many routes from Forrestville to Nashville.

Maybe Dill was looking at the homes they passed. Houses as cramped and dilapidated as his didn't seem to exist even in the parts of Nashville with cramped and dilapidated houses, at least along the path they took. Maybe he was thinking about the music that flowed in the city's veins. Or maybe something else entirely occupied his mind. That was always a possibility with him.

"Hey," she said gently.

He started and turned. "Hey what?"

Excerpted from The Serpent King by Jeff Zentner. Copyright © 2016 by Jeff Zentner. Excerpted by permission of Crown. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.