by Hannah West
“What’s wrong?” Lindsey asked.
“Just thinking,” I said. “Thinking about what I could do with the magic I still have.”
“Use it to ace tests.”
I shook my head. “Not important enough.”
“Win races.”
“Cheating? Really?”
“Hunt down campus predators,” she suggested.
“That’s more like it, but…I think I might defer for a semester.”
“Why?” Lindsey asked.
I didn’t have an answer.
By the time I made it home and gave Ranger and Maverick each a ritual belly rub, the dissatisfaction hadn’t dissipated. I tried to ignore it as I cleaned the skull for my collection, avoiding my dad so he wouldn’t get his hopes up about me majoring in biology like he did when he first learned of my new interest.
Afterward I sat at my desk chair, staring outside over Grandma Kerry’s now-overgrown, healthy philodendron on the windowsill. It would take over my whole room if I weren’t careful.
Eventually, I rested my fingers on my keyboard and typed.
Unexplained deaths.
The most haunted places of America.
Supernatural occurrences.
Rapt, I absorbed every engrossing detail, wondering what else could be out there. I filtered out every search related to San Solano, Texas, looking for new mysteries to solve. But one slipped past the filter: a post on OccultistQuinn.com.
After figuring out who I was, Quinn had tracked down my contact information and called me several times, trying to get an interview for her website. I’d ignored her, except the last time, when I’d told her to stop contacting me.
But Quinn had seen so much more than most people could here in San Solano. What else could she see?
The Woodwalkers were gone, but that didn’t mean I had to stop hunting down whatever dark beings existed out there. An unquenchable thirst for a challenge consumed me.
I scrolled through my incoming calls and sighed at myself as I tapped her number.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I started writing this book when I was twenty-three years old, but I’ll be thirty by the time it makes its way into the world. It’s now clear to me that this story desperately needed to mature alongside me in order to take its true shape. From the beginning, I knew the kind of book I wanted to write, but I didn’t know how to write it. After much reworking and tweaking, I almost stopped trying. A few people made sure that didn’t happen, and thanks to them, I’m prouder of Nat’s story than I ever believed I could be.
My editor, Sally Morgridge, deserves all of my gratitude. For the past six years, you’ve shepherded my most cherished ideas and understood my vision for every story. You’ve made me a sharper writer. Even when there was much work to do, you saw potential and rolled up your sleeves.
Thank you to my husband, Vince, who gladly went camping with me in Sabine National Forest and toured around San Augustine, Texas (the town on which San Solano is loosely based), so I could get a better feel for the area. I love that you’re willing to go on adventures with me for the sake of a story.
Thank you, Sarah Goodman, for admiring this book from the very first draft, and for sharing your delectable spooky Southern stories with me. I’m so lucky to have such an incredible bestie/critique partner combo, and I (Chris Traeger voice) literally do not know what I’d do without you.
Immense and heartfelt thanks to my parents and the rest of my family and friends for your perennial support and enthusiasm. I love you all.
My humbled thanks to everyone at Holiday House who diligently helped realize the vision for this book, including Terry Borzumato-Greenberg, Mary Cash, Hannah Finne, Alexa Higbee, Eryn Levine, Cheryl Lew, Emily Mannon, Kerry Martin, Miriam Miller, Michelle Montague, and Derek Stordahl.
Thank you to Jessica Lamb, Jody Persson, Christine Day, Kali Katzmann, and Logan Garrison Savits for your notes and feedback, and to Jeff Goodman, who has never not had an answer to my weapon- and hunting-related inquiries.
Lastly, thank you to my grandmothers and great-grandmothers for passing down real-life hereditary magic: your talents, your recipes, your stories, and your unconditional love.