by Lisa Amowitz
It was as if someone had dropkicked me in the gut. I couldn’t breathe.
Vincent continued. “Not only was Sam resistant to reprogramming, but he could reverse it in others. He could nullify the effects of any Talent by just pointing a finger. His control was masterful. Try to imagine the uproar his presence created. He and Xavier wreaked havoc on the compound. It was pure mayhem. The Guild was on its way when Sam somehow escaped and disappeared into the night. Xavier was taken away for detention. They tried to make us all forget everything. But I never did. Then Xavier returned, bitter and changed.”
I shivered in the icy water, tears burning my eyes. It must have been Zuber who had helped Sam to escape. I wondered if he’d lied about knowing Sam, or if he had been made to forget.
I couldn’t ask him now.
“If you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?”
“If Monica found out that you knew, they would figure out that reprogramming didn’t work on me. Which would lead to instant Elimination. I’m not as valuable as Xavier. So I hid what I knew, and lived in fear they’d find me out.”
Vincent gazed into my eyes, the warm aqua haunted and fearful. “Do you believe me now? I’m walking away from them because I believe in you.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. We held onto each other, shivering together on that cold ledge, until we finally fell asleep. We woke as the morning light sifted down the gutter grates and spilled across the filth-strewn floor.
“They’re gone,” Vincent said.
“How do you know?”
“I’m a Tracker. It’s a side benefit of my Weaving Talent. Once I’ve touched someone, I can track their unique pattern from any distance. It’s most likely why they never considered Eliminating me. Cooperating like I did, I was far too useful to the Guild. If I’ve marked someone once after Weaving, I can sense them when they’re near. Andre and I worked as a team. He scouted new Talent. I marked them. I never really trusted Andre, so I marked him, too.”
I chewed a broken nail. “So Andre was the scout that brought us all in to the compound. What did he get, a cash reward or something?”
“Probably. But I don’t think money was is his main motivation. Andre has other issues. But never mind him. I marked all new Talent. You know what that means, don’t you?”
I shook my head. My thoughts were murky. I wanted to sleep, preferably wrapped in Vincent’s arms.
“It means that if Sam is alive, I can find him because I’d marked him. And if I can find Sam, we’ll find the Resistance.”
Vincent smiled, triumphant, apparently missing the elephant in the room. My stomach lurched.
“What if he’s dead? I’ve felt this shade watching me for a while now. What if that’s his ghost?”
“Did you feel his death? Wouldn’t you? What about Zuber?”
“That’s different. I saw him die.”
“You saw him sink into the ground. What if he’s just healing there?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No. He’s dead. I’m certain.”
“But you’re not certain about Sam.”
Vincent leaned in to kiss me gently on the forehead, then pressed my head against his chest. I listened to the thump of his faulty heart and willed it to keep its steady rhythm. “So there is still hope.”
Who would I choose if Sam was alive? Had I ever loved Sam as deeply as I needed Vincent?
“The first thing we need to do after we get out of this rank pit,” Vincent murmured, his hand stroking my hair, “is to get you a new guitar.”
I chuckled softly. “You’ve got to be kidding. What about clothes that don’t stink like a cesspool? And with what money?”
“My family has millions. Another thing Dad had glamoured onto me was the access code to our fortune.”
“So I hit the lottery, huh? Why is my guitar so important? You want me to serenade you to sleep in our slime-coated home?”
Vincent tipped my chin up toward his face and pushed the hair away from my eyes. Then we kissed, long and sweet, our thoughts and emotions woven together like a tapestry.
There was no getting him out of my system now.
“Because I’m going to hone your skills,” Vincent said, a little breathless, “and your music is the key. There’s a battle coming, and we’re going to win.”
Then he leaned in to kiss me again. It was a long time before we came up for air.
TO BE CONTINUED…
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I want to say a huge thank you and wish a fond farewell to the incomparable Kate Kaynak, fellow Squirrel on Crack, and founder of Spencer Hill Press, who has stepped down as the Grand Poobah to be replaced by the equally awesome Jessica Porteous. Without the belief that you’ve both shown in me these past nearly four years, and all you’ve put up with, I’m not sure where I’d be as a writer.
That brings me to my editorial A-team of editors at SHP—Vikki Ciaffone, Laura Ownbey, and Eagle Eye himself, aka The Closer, Rich Storrs. Along with my copy editors, Shira Lipkin and Hannah Ringler, they have scraped and polished this manuscript until it gleamed. To my publicist, the unstoppable Brooke DelVecchio, who also serves as my muse and Head Cheerleader (and occasionally therapist) and has worked tirelessly to make sure this book got into your hands. To Meredith and Kelly, and all the other members of the publicity crew who work to get the word out there. To my fellow designer, Errick Nunnally, who does most of the layout now.
And certainly, not lastly, a very critical member of my “team.” To my brilliant agent, Shannon Hassan, and the entire amazing agency, Marsal Lyon Literary—you all rock. I can’t even begin to explain how comforting it is to belong to the best agency in all of children’s publishing.
There are many others I wish to thank, but first, I’d like to recount the tale of exactly how this book, the third I’ve published with Spencer Hill Press, came to be.
You might be surprised to know that I had written this book before Breaking Glass or Vision, then stuck it in a drawer to gather dust, abandoned while I knocked out Breaking Glass and subsequently sold it, and then Vision, to SHP. Back in 2010, it had won runner-up for second place in a Writer’s Digest contest, got me my second agent, garnered interest from a bunch of others, and then never sold. Back then I’d called it Life And Beth. So I apologized to it, and set it lovingly away.
But something about this book would not let me go. I’m not sure if it was Beth herself or just the cool title, but the summer before Breaking Glass came out, I decided it had to be revisited. I tore it apart and inserted my favorite character orphan from one of my other, less beloved unpublished books (that you will never read). His name is Xavier. Once Xavier found his way into Until Beth, I knew I had found the spark to finally bringing this book back from the dead. So thank you to Xavier, my favorite fictional character ever. Your book may be gone, but you get to live again in the pages of a totally different story.
This brings me to the saga behind the cover of Until Beth. Some of you may know that not only do I design many of SHP’s covers, but am also allowed the great privilege (and burden) of designing my own. I don’t think I’ve ever had a worse client, thankfully. The story of the cover of Until Beth is as twisted as the story of how the book came to be written and rewritten.
In the summer of 2014, I’d created a cover that everyone loved and signed off on. Except one little graphic design sophomore with very definite opinions. My daughter, Becca, did not approve of my original cover, claiming it was pedes-trian, boring, and took no chances. It would not, she insisted, sell my book.
At first, I balked and brushed her off. After all, I’m the design professor and she’s just a student. But she called me from a design event and adamantly repeated the advice of a world-famous cover designer she’d met, with whom she’d discussed my cover. Finally, I got tired of arguing and listened to her. In a day, the idea for the guitar-shaped grave popped into my head. I sketched it and got instant approval from SHP and Shannon. And thus, I created what I believe may
be my favorite cover I’ve ever designed.
So I am indebted to the “monster” I have created—the talented, outspoken little genius that is my daughter.
That brings me to the many other people who support, tolerate, and stand behind me. My family—husband Rick, son Ben, the photographer (who currently resides on the opposite side of the planet). My parents, Gene and Sherry, who never once discouraged my unruly creativity. Also to my Aunt Arlene, Uncle Roy and cousins, Sue, Nancy (and Dan) and Judy who and act as a kind of family publicity mafia. Love you all.
And the friends, who are really not that different from family—to Joanne, my first reader. To Jill, and her son David, who listened to me read this book to them when it was only a few creepy chapters and insisted I keep writing. To Debbie, Andy and Josh—who have always been huge supporters. To Dhonielle Clayton, who started out as my “Baby Cuda,” but is now my Guru for all things writing. And to all the Cudas— Cyndy, Kate, Trish, Cathy, Linda, Lindsay, Christine, Pippa, Heidi, and of course, Dhonielle, who kept me afloat during the writing droughts, and edited this thing to death. To Christian, my first fan, who not only works for me, but follows me around to all my book signings. To Kristin, and all the other new pals who support and read my writing. To all my writer friends, all over the Internet for being there when needed. To the Binders, a massive group of YA writers I am fortunate enough to belong to.
And lastly to Bronx Community College—my day job— the place I get so much of my inspiration and support. Thank you to the young people who inspire me every day, and to the faculty who validate the fact that I write. And gratitude to an administration that actually helps promote my book.
In short—thank you, world. I’m grateful to be a part of you.
Lisa Amowitz was born in Queens and raised in the wilds of Long Island, New York where she climbed trees, thought small creatures lived under rocks and studied ant hills. And drew. A lot. She is a professor of Graphic Design at her beloved Bronx Community College where she has been tormenting and cajoling students for nearly twenty years. She started writing originally because she wanted something to illustrate, but somehow, instead ended up writing YA. Probably because her mind is too dark and twisted for small children. Lisa is represented by Shannon Hassan of Marsal-Lyon Literary Agency. [email protected]
Breaking Glass, released in July, 2013 from Spencer Hill Press, is her first published work. Vision, the first of the Finder series was released September, 2014. Fractured, a novella combining the worlds of Breaking Glass and Vision released as an ebook only, June 7, 2015. Amowitz is currently working on the unnamed sequel to Breaking Glass.
Website:
http://lisa-amowitzya.blogspot.com
http://www.lisaamowitz.com