The Premonition Series

Inescapable (The Premonition #1) by Amy A. Bartol

My name is Evie Claremont and this was to be the making of me--my freshman year of college. I had been hoping that once I had arrived on Crestwood's campus, the nightmare that I've been having would go away. It hasn't.

I may be an inexperienced seventeen-year-old, but I'm grounded...sane. Since meeting sophomore Reed Wellington, however, nothing makes any sense. Whenever he is near, I feel an attraction to him--a magnetic kind of force pulling me towards him. I know what you're thinking...that sounds fairly awesome. Yeah, it would--if he liked me, but Reed acts as if I'm the worst thing that's ever happened to Crestwood...or him. But, get this, for some reason every time I turn around he's there, barging into my life.

What is the secret he is keeping from me? I'm hoping that it is anything but what I expect: that he is not exactly normal...and neither am I. So maybe Crestwood won't be the making of me, but it could be the breaking of me. I have been left to wonder if the dark future my dream is foretelling is...inescapable.



Intuition (The Premonition #2) by Amy A. Bartol

I don’t open my eyes so I can’t see him, but I can smell him. He thickens the air I breathe, choking me with his scent…his aroma. I shiver. I have to resist. If I’m not strong, then I will be relegated to the same fate as this predator whose sickness infects me even now. But now, I crave him and he knows that; he has been counting on my need to end the gnawing pain. How he would savor my surrender. I’m alive, but how much longer will it take until I beg him not to be?



Indebted (The Premonition #3) by Amy A. Bartol

I hang my head in sorrow for just a moment when I know I am truly alone. I feel like I’m going to my execution, just as he had said. Then I move forward again. I hop a fence of fieldstone and cross a field dotted with Queen Anne’s lace. Goose bumps rise on my arms as I pass the cluster of windmills that I have seen in a dream. The scent is sweet in the field though, not the scent of heat, like it had been when it was forced upon me in visions. I gaze down the hill, beyond the small, whitewashed house that I knew would be there. The church looms dark and grim with its rough-hewn, timber façade, capped by tall, oblong spires reaching to the sky. Black, ominous clouds have collected above the roofline, as if Heaven is showing me the way.

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