MORE ABOUT THIS BOOK
From Jack: Secret Histories
Weezy laid the object on the ground between them and began to examine it.
Jack knelt opposite her. "What do you think it is?"
She shook her head, looking as baffled as he felt. "I don't know. Some kind of stone—onyx, maybe? It's got no writing on it, but I get this feeling it's . . . old." She looked up at him. "Know what I mean?"
Jack couldn't say why, but he knew exactly what she meant.
"Yeah. Very old."
"And where there's one there's probably others." Her eyes were wide with wonder and excitement. "Help me, Jack?"
"Try and stop me."
He wanted one of those cubes for himself.
So they started digging—not easy in the wet sand. But they kept coming up empty. Frustration was beginning to nibble at Jack when his fingertips scraped against a hard surface.
He dug his fingers down on each side of whatever it was and pulled it up.
And found himself looking into the empty eye sockets of a rotting human head.
He stared in mute, open-mouthed, grossed-out shock. Beside him, Weezy screamed.