Something in him felt like it had been cut, leaving him adrift. Amberlough was a name, a fantastical city that no longer existed. He had said as much in his letter to Cyril, but realized now he hadn’t truly believed it. The photograph of the smoking ruin on Temple Street … that convinced him.
Halfway up the hill, he heard footsteps on the path. Farah was jogging toward him, her sensible boots grinding stones into the mud.
“Mr. Sangster,” she panted. “You had a wire.”
His heart jumped, searing through the melancholy that had gathered in his chest.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the yellow slip of onionskin paper from her outstretched hand. “I’m sorry, about earlier.”
“Never you mind.” She patted his arm. “These are hard times, and you’re upset.”
He half nodded, staring at the telegram. No oranges.
“I don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but do you know anyone in Amberlough? The way your face fell, when you saw that photo, I thought…”
“No.” He had to swallow against a dry throat. Lies came to him easily. The truth was much, much harder. “No, I don’t think I do.”
* * *
He walked into gathering clouds with a curious feeling, like someone had finally drawn out a needle he hadn’t felt go in: a pulling, emptying sensation that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. There was nothing supernatural about it—he didn’t believe in restless spirits or telepathy. He didn’t know if the weightless, tugging feeling in his center meant anything beyond his own acquiescence.
It had been two weeks. Some people would wait longer, holding on to shrinking hope. Aristide was not one of those people.
It was not heartlessness. On the contrary, he ached. As he moved around the single room of the cottage, gathering what little there was to take, he pleaded with himself: Stay, stay.
But if Cyril was going to come by conventional means, two weeks was more than enough time. If he was going to arrive via miracle, none of Aristide’s actions would hinder him.
As he stuffed the first rolled-up pair of socks into his canvas rucksack, his knuckles brushed the pearls sewn into the lining. He’d never cut them out—there was no place to wear them, though not for the reasons about which Zelda had cautioned him.
He had left this place for something better, once. For furs and footlights, absinthe and artifice. For things he had not even known he wanted. Maybe—it hurt him to hope, but maybe—he could find those things again.
No way to know but try.
LARA ELENA DONNELLY is a graduate of the Clarion Writers’ Workshop, as well as the Alpha Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror Workshop for Young Writers, where she now volunteers as on-site staff and publicity coordinator. In her meager spare time, she cooks, draws, sings, and swing dances. After an idyllic, small-town Ohio childhood, she spent time in Louisville, Kentucky. She currently resides in Harlem, in a tower named after Ella Fitzgerald. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Map
Epigraphs
Part 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part 2
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Part 3
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
AMBERLOUGH
Copyright © 2017 by Lara Elena Donnelly
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Victo Ngai
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8381-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-9341-2 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466893412
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First Edition: February 2017
Amberlough Page 34