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

As his mother was about to try to drag a firmer commitment from him, a bestickered Toyota Prius zoomed up his road and screeched to a stop in front of his house with a honk. Thank you, God.

"I gotta go," Dill said. "Have a good day at work." He hugged his mother goodbye.

"Dillard— "

But he was out the door before she had the chance. He felt burdened as he stepped into the bright summer morning, shielding his eyes against the sun. The humidity mounted an assault even at nine- twenty in the morning—like a hot, wet towel wrapped around his face. He glanced at the peeling white Calvary Baptist Church up the street from his house. He squinted to read the sign out of habit. NO JESUS, NO PEACE. KNOW JESUS, KNOW PEACE.

What if you know Jesus but have no peace? Does that mean the sign is wrong, or does that mean you don't know Jesus quite as well as you think? Dill hadn't been raised to consider either a particularly good outcome.

He opened the car door and got in. The frigid air conditioning made his pores shrink.

"Hey, Lydia."

She grabbed a worn copy of Secret History off the passenger seat before Dill sat on it, and tossed it in the back-seat.

"Sorry I'm late."

"You're not sorry."

"Of course I'm not. But I have to pretend. Social contractual obligations and whatnot."

You could set your clock by Lydia's being twenty minutes late. And it was no use trying to trick her by telling her to meet you at a time twenty minutes before you really wanted to meet. That only made her forty minutes late. She had a sixth sense.

Lydia leaned over and hugged Dill. "You're already sweaty and it's still morning. Boys are so gross."

The black frames of her glasses creaked against his cheek-bone. Her tousled smoky- blue hair— the color of a faded November sky streaked with clouds— smelled like honey, fig, and vetiver. He breathed it in. It made his head swim in a pleasant way. She had dressed for Nashville in a vintage sleeveless red gingham blouse with black high-wasted denim shorts and vintage cowboy boots. He loved the way she dressed— every twist and turn, and there were many.

Dill buckled his seat belt the instant before her acceleration pressed him into his seat. "Sorry. I don't have access to AC that makes August feel like December." He sometimes went days without feeling air as cool as in Lydia's car except for when he opened the refrigerator.

She reached out and turned the air conditioning down a couple of clicks. "I think my car should fight global warming in every possible way." Dill angled one of the vents toward his face. "You ever think about how weird it is that Earth is hurtling through the black vacuum of space, where it's like a thousand below zero, and meanwhile we're down here sweating?"

"I often think about how weird it is that Earth is hurtling through the black vacuum of space and meanwhile you're down here being a total weirdo."

"So, where are we going in Nashville? Opry Mills Mall or something?"

Lydia glared at him and looked back at the road. She extended her hand toward him, still looking forward. "Excuse me, I thought we'd been best friends since ninth grade, but apparently we've never even met. Lydia Blankenship. You are?

"Dill took advantage of the opportunity to take her hand. "Dillard Early. Maybe you've heard of my father by the same name."

It had thoroughly scandalized Forrestville, Tennessee, when Pastor Early of the Church of Christ's Disciples with Signs of Belief went to the state penitentiary— and not for the reasons anyone expected. Everyone assumed he'd get in trouble someday for the twenty-seven or so rattlesnakes and copperheads his congregants passed around each Sunday. No one knew with certainty what law they were breaking, but it seemed unlawful somehow. And the Tennessee Department of Wildlife did take custody of the snakes after his arrest. Or people thought perhaps he'd run afoul of the law by inducing his flock to drink diluted battery acid and strychnine, another favored worship activity. But no, he went to Riverbend Prison for a different sort of poison: possession of more than one hundred images depicting a minor engaged in sexual activity.

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.