Joseph and Jie took a steamer back to America. In their last letter, they told me they had found the perfect location for a school. It is an old estate in North Carolina, and they have already begun calling it The Institute.’
Now, before you demand to know where we acquired enough funding so quickly, I shall tell you: it was provided by a Mr. and Mrs. Lang. They say they knew you, and they are quite eager to see the Sheridan Institute come to life. Mrs. Lang, in particular, has been immensely helpful. She has aided Jie in filing three of your patents already! One for the pulse pistol, one for the goggles, and one for the crystal clamp. Jie says they have to wait to submit paperwork on my mechanical hand, as they must sketch it and I am not there.
But I will go there as soon as I finish touring Paris. And then London—and Vienna and Rome, of course. It is a good thing I pulled that feather off the Pullet. I daresay, I would have run out of money long before I ever reached Munich.
Speaking of Munich, I am very displeased with you for never mentioning how much it would hurt when Herr Doctor Quitterer sewed on the mechanical hand.
Blazes, Daniel. It was worth it in the end, but really. Blazes.
While we are on the subject of suffering—and in case you are curious—I do not know what became of Allison. Last I saw her, she was old and wrinkled. She begged for our help at Saqqara; we ignored her, and we left her.
The Wilcox family has suffered so much, and yet there can never be too much suffering for Allison. Not to satisfy me, at least. If it hadn’t been for her betrayal, I would not be standing here speaking to a statue.
Yet I have learned something, Daniel. From you.
Vengeance solves nothing. None of us was a winner in the end. Not Marcus, not me, not Joseph. And of course, it was you who paid the price for our sins. You—the only one who never sought revenge against his wrongdoers.
We will never forgive ourselves, you know. Joseph, Jie, and me. We miss you so much.
I miss you so much. And I love you.
I always will.
Tears ran down my cheeks, but I didn’t mind. They were as common as spring rain these days—and I hoped just as cleansing.
Thwump! I smacked the spyglass shut, and ever so gently I laid it atop the glass. Then I withdrew my humming mechanical hand and scowled at the Anubis statue.
“You are all he has now. All that Mama, Elijah, Father, and Clarence have, so please, look after them. It is, I daresay, the least you can do after all you have taken from me.”
The statue’s eyes flashed gold. My scowl only deepened. . . .
But then my eyes settled back on the spyglass. My face relaxed with a sad, broken smile.
I would never forget my Daniel Sheridan. My inventor. My scalawag. I would always remember the freedom in his smile and the power in his touch.
“I love you, Daniel,” I whispered. “Too.”
“Jennifer!” A woman’s voice cried behind me. “Hurry up!”
I blinked, realizing the girl with unruly curls still stood beside me, gaping.
“Must you always be so strange,” the voice went on, shouting from the next room over. “You are holding up your classmates, and no one else wants to see the Egyptian exhibits.”
I shot a glower at the fussy-looking teacher. Then I shifted my gaze to the girl’s blue eyes.
“Jennifer,” I said softly. “Since you have listened to my monologue with such rapt attention, I will give you a piece of unsolicited advice.”
A blush rose on the girl’s cheeks, but she did not stop me as I powered on.
“Contrary to what your teacher might suggest,” I declared, “it is perfectly all right to be strange. For ever after, you will be glad you did what you wanted instead of what everyone else expected. No doubt you wonder how someone as young as I can possibly know this, but trust me: I have seen more deadly, dark, and . . . lovely things than you can possibly imagine.”
The girl narrowed her eyes skeptically.
I shrugged one shoulder. “You may listen to me or not. It is your choice. But”—I raised one mechanical finger at her—“should you ever decide you want a more interesting curriculum than what you’re currently receiving, you might consider the Sheridan Institute in North Carolina. I’ve heard they have the best teachers in the world. Certainly they are the strangest.”
I flashed her my most rakish grin (of which I was certain Daniel would approve), and in a flurry of skirts, I strode from the exhibit and left the Louvre behind.
When I stepped into the orange glow and bustling insanity of a snowy Rue de Rivoli, there was a lightness in my step that I had not felt in months. Years, even.
People in winter clothes swarmed among carriages and horses dusted with snow, and as I pushed into the evening traffic, I couldn’t help but murmur an old favorite quote. “The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.”
“El!” The tenor voice trickled into my ear. I scanned winter-flushed faces and carriages. . . .
“Over here, silly girl.”
I spun around and found Oliver sauntering toward me. He wore a lazy smile and his top hat askew. “Finished?” He twirled a hand toward the Louvre. “Because I know of a lovely place on Montmartre, if a Bohemian meal would interest your palate.”
“I am finished here, and I am famished.” My lips lifted, a sad but freeing smile. “Has Laure arrived yet?”
He shook his head no and slipped a hand into his coat pocket—a new coat that was part of a new suit in a handsome, chalk-gray color. He withdrew a silver flask. “Care for a drink?”
“Yes, please.” I smiled wider. There was only water inside. No more alcohol for my former demon.
Oliver wasn’t happy or settled or certain of himself, but he was working toward it. Each day, he struggled to understand mortality a bit more—to sort out what he wanted from this new life of his.
And so was I. So were most of us, I supposed. We waddled through life blindly, hoping to find something—and someone—worth fighting for. I had found it; I had lost it; I would find it again.
I took a gulp of icy water from the flask (to a few horrified stares of passersby—I winked at them), when Laure’s voice trilled out, “Miss Fitt! Je suis ici!”
I twisted back toward the busy street, and my eyes landed on Laure’s face. She waved excitedly from the window of a hired cab.
And I grinned at her. A wide, absolutely genuine grin.
Miss Fitt. It was who I was, and it was who I hoped I would always be.
Miss Fitt. Misfit. Forever.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This entire series has been a labor of love, and it only exists because so many people worked so hard. To start, I am forever grateful to Maria Gomez and Barbara Lalicki for first acquiring the Spirit-Hunters and bringing them into the HarperCollins family. Of course, it was Karen Chaplin and Alyssa Miele (who is not related to the vacuum company) who kept my prose from getting too boring and my plot from getting too twisty as the series progressed—while Rosemary Brosnan made sure those ladies didn’t get too twisty either. I am forever grateful to Cara Petrus, who designed the most stunning covers for my series—under the watchful eye of Barbara Fitzsimmons. Olivia deLeon and Sandee Roston were my publicists-in-shining-armor, while Kim VandeWater, Lindsay Blechman, and Diane Naughton handled all the marketing voodoo (it’s magic and I’m sticking with that). A thousand more thanks must also go to all the amazing copy editors who slaved over my misuse of ellipses, to Jon Howard, Josh Weiss, Andrea Pappenheimer, and—of course—Susan Katz and Kate Jackson. HarperCollins transformed my heaps of boring words into an entire trilogy of beautifully gleaming books.
The truth is, though, that Eleanor and the Spirit-Hunters would never have found HarperCollins if not for Sara Kendall, Joanna Volpe, and Danielle Barthel. Thank you for all your patience, your constant de
dication, and your awesome you-ness. I’m so grateful I get to be a part of New Leaf, and I feel so blessed to have you in my court.
For my anam cara, Sarah J. Maas: Death is only the beginning. And I mean that in the least creepy, most Mummy-reference-way possible. You taught me to tap into my deepest, darkest feelings and pour them onto the page—and my writing has been more powerful and more fulfilling ever since. You’re amazing; this book exists only because of your endless cheerleading through every single daunting chapter; and I love you forever and ever and ever. And then some more.
I have to extend a gigantic thank-you to Erin Bowman, for always having an ear ready when I need to vent, a shoulder ready when I need to sob (So. Much. Sobbing. During this book), and a hand ready when I needed to get off the floor and keep writing. You’re a neighborhood watch of one.
For Meredith McCardle: we’ve come a long way in a few years, and I’m so glad we’re on the road together. I’ll have to write another series in Paris so we can tour it again. Or, how do you feel about Venice next time?
Thank you again to Biljana Likic (and also to Mufei Jiang) for help with the Latin. Who knew an ancient language could be so hard? I’d have been lost without you.
For Maddie Meylor: You and your family are the coolest bunch of readers a gal could ever meet. I’m so glad we’re friends and that you love the Spirit-Hunters as much as I do. I hereby declare Daniel as your official fictional boyfriend.
To Kat Zhang, Dan Krokos, Amie Kaufman, Erica O’Rourke, Amity Thompson, Katherine Brauer, Julie Eshbaugh, Leigh Bardugo, Marie Lu, Alex Bracken, and Jodi Meadows—you guys have been the best friends a gal could ever ask for, and I honestly can’t imagine writing a book without you to cheer me on. Thank you for always being there.
Many thanks to my husband, Sébastien, for his tireless support and hundreds upon hundreds of delicious meals (though if I ever see another zucchini casserole, I might strangle you). This is only the first series, baby, so get ready for an entire future of dinner-based slavery. Oh yeah, and je t’aime.
For my parents, my brother and sister, and aaaaall of my huge extended family: thank you for always believing in me, always backing me up, and always thinking I’m the best writer in the entire universe (I’m looking at you, Mom and Dad). I’m so lucky to have such a warm, loving family.
For every librarian, every teacher, and every bookseller who has ever crossed my path (and the ones who have yet to cross it too): you’re the number one reason my books reach young readers. Thank you, thank you for doing what you do and sharing the stories that you love.
Finally, I want to thank my readers—old and new. Since the first book released two years ago, I have been constantly humbled by all that you do. Your emails, your tweets, your letters, your fan art, your presence at events—everything is downright awe-inspiring. Each time I hear from you, I remember why I write. These books are for you, and I can never thank you enough for your love and support.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SUSAN DENNARD is a writer turned marine biologist turned writer again. Among the traits she shares with her protagonist Eleanor Fitt are a weakness for Shakespearean quotes, a healthy appetite for baked goods, and an insatiable curiosity. Sadly, Susan does not get to wear a corset or wave a parasol on a daily basis. You can visit her website and blog at www.susandennard.com or follow her on Twitter @stdennard.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors and artists.
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ALSO BY SUSAN DENNARD
Something Strange and Deadly
A Darkness Strange and Lovely
A Dawn Most Wicked: A Something Strange and Deadly Novella
(available as an ebook only)
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COPYRIGHT
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
STRANGE AND EVER AFTER. Copyright © 2014 by Susan Dennard. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-0-06-208332-6
EPub Edition October 2013 ISBN 9780062083326
* * *
14 15 16 17 18 XX/XXXX 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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