Delphine and the Silver Needle
Page 21
Delphine gazed at Alexander in his emerald formal wear and his makeshift burgundy velvet cloak. “You’re going to stand out like a sore paw in all this snow.” She looked down at her own ruby gown and burgundy wrap. “We both are.”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then pulled out her needle. “Luckily, I’ve been practicing. . . .”
With a wave of her needle, the colorful dyes drained from their clothing, soaking into the snow in bright puddles around them. Nothing was left but the natural creams and whites of the fabrics used to make the garments.
Alexander’s mouth fell open. “When did you learn how to do that?”
She winked, sliding her needle back into its sheath. “Perfect.”
She and Alexander climbed onto Cornichonne’s back and settled themselves in for a long ride, their now-white velvet cloaks wrapped up tightly.
“Let’s go, Cornichonne,” she said huskily.
Hunched over against the biting wind, they headed into the snow. Winter loomed before them. Delphine’s silver whiskers gleamed in the first rays of sun coming over the horizon.
It was time for the little dressmaker mouse to mend her crumbling world.
The End of Book One
ALYSSA MOON grew up in the Pacific Northwest, which explains her undying enthusiasm for rainy weather. She does her best writing in tea shops, independent bookstores, and at home under her grapefruit tree. She lives in Southern California with Picklepop (the “real” Cornichonne), and with three other cats who are a little grumpy at the fact they weren’t also given roles in this book. Delphine and the Silver Needle is her debut novel.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Words can’t express my appreciation to my wonderful editors, Brittany Rubiano and Eric Geron. Thank you both for believing in Delphine from the very start, and being willing to use up all those red pens editing draft after draft. A big thank-you also to everyone at Disney Publishing Worldwide for bringing Delphine’s story to the page, and for making the book so beautiful in the process.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my parents. My father always kept a drawer full of blank paper for us to write and draw on when inspiration struck, and my mother always encouraged us to check out as many books from the library as we could carry. We didn’t have bookcases built into our home; as a child, it seemed to me that our home was built around bookcases and the books within them. For that, I am eternally grateful.
Lastly, so much love to my grandmother Jane Elizabeth, who always spoke more gracefully and sincerely than anyone else I’ve ever known. You told the best stories of all.