“Grab Soldier Boy, Al!” she said as her signature shimmering began to build. “And whatever you do—don’t let go!”
Al reached out …
The owl screeched a second time …
And Stuart Morholt suddenly called frantically to Paulinus, who stood there, agog, the sword in his fist still dripping blood onto the Tor.
“Stop them!” Morholt cried out in mangled, snotty-Englishmovie-villain-accented Latin, pointing back and forth at Marcus and the great Snettisham Torc. “That legionnaire! He knows where the rest of the gold is—gold!” He jabbed a finger wildly at the gleaming torc. “It was he who hid it on the way back from Mona! He’s the only one who knows where it is! Don’t let him get away!”
Paulinus’s eyes narrowed and he sprang, cobra-fast, wrenching Marcus from Al’s grasp just before the shimmering took hold. A scream tore from Al’s throat and she thrashed in Clare’s grip, desperate to grab on to Marcus again … but it was too late. The white owl screeched for the third and last time, the night bloomed with fireworks … and Clare, Milo, and Al shimmered away to stardust. Leaving Mark O’Donnell behind once more, in a time and place where he would remain Marcus Donatus.
Trapped in the past.
Trapped with Stuart Morholt.
That lousy, treacherous snake.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m so very thrilled to have been given the opportunity to continue Clare and Allie’s story in these pages. These characters and their adventures are so much fun to write and I want to sincerely, enthusiastically, possibly with strange toothy facial expressions and flappy-hand gestures, thank all of the people who have made it possible for me to do so. First and foremost are the usual suspects: John and Jessica. John for his belief in, support of, and utterly indispensible creative contribution to both my life and the books. And Jessica for continuing to fiercely champion both me and my stories.
Massive thanks to Penguin Canada and the fantastic folks at Razorbill, especially Lynne Missen who took up the editorial reins on this go-around. I’m fairly certain that poking my manuscripts into shape feels like herding cats a lot of the time, but she does a fantastic job, asks all the right questions, and this story is stronger and smarter for it. Thanks to Mike Bryan for his enthusiasm and insight. And to Mary Ann Blair and Karen Alliston for time and talent and attention to the details. Thank you once again to the design department for making this book look just as good— if not better—than its predecessor. Thanks to Liza Morrison and Charidy Johnston, both of whom I’ve owed thanks for their unflagging support of me and my books for quite some time now. And thanks again to Vimala Jeevanandam, my wonderful publicist, for taking such good care of me.
Thanks to Matthew Skinner, Humberside Collegiate Institute, for doing my Latin homework!
Thank you, as always, to Jean Naggar and the staff of JVNLA. And “thank you,” in this case, while grossly inadequate, also means that I promise I will not forget to bring another box of TimBits next time I drop by the office. You. Guys. Rock.
Thanks—also grossly inadequate in this case—to my family. I love you guys. Simple as that.
To all of my friends who continue—still!—to indulge me, help me, and put up with me: please continue. Also? Thank you!
To all of you out there who keep reading, and writing, and— this is a biggie, having met so many of you over the last year or two and been witness to your collective awesomeness—blogging, I don’t even know what words to use to convey the depths of my gratitude and glee. So I’m just going to go with my stand-by and assure you that these two words are infused, soaked, positively stuffed with all of that:
THANK YOU.
Every Never After Page 25