Brick waved her hand at him. “All of that. The hugging and smiling and kissing and nonsense.”
Nate gave himself another moment to breathe, wiping his mouth and dusting his clothes off, every bit of his skin feeling brand-new and electric. Then he followed her out to the picnic of flatbread and dried fish.
Pixel sat at Ivy’s feet on a blanket. Reed’s scavenged pendant hung at her throat, shiny colors swirling, and Alden’s beaded necklace circled her small wrist three times. Nate’s breath hitched and shook out of him like the shudder at the end of a long cry. Pixel’s smile shone, easy and unburdened.
Sparks leaned against the low wall at the roof’s edge, eyes closed to the sun. The windy season kept the smog at bay, and the air smelled faintly salty—as if it had carried here all the way from the distant sea beyond the sludge.
Ivy caught his eye. “How does the alarm system look?”
“Still down. You need some wires replaced, but they shouldn’t be any trouble to find.”
Reed found a place on the blanket and gestured for Nate to sit beside him. As Nate sank, Reed pulled him close, bracketing Nate with his arms and legs. Nothing had ever felt so right or so comfortable.
Ivy shot Nate a quick, knowing look. She clasped her hands together. “What’s the mission tonight?”
Brick, Sparks, and Reed started talking at once, describing their plans to widen the ducts from the street level to Agatha’s old basement. They’d need another month to get the rest of the old still out. They had to be careful about running into the desperate chem fiends who raided the basement and slept on the stairs—hoping Agatha would return. They were too chem-struck to hear the news that buzzed on the streets and crossed the ticker screens every day: the Breakers were gone.
“Jamie will wait up for you,” Ivy was saying.
“I bet he’ll wait up for Sparks,” Brick said, laughing. She winced when Sparks leaned over and punched her thigh.
Despite the talk of leaving, none of them had made any efforts to find a new hideout. Every room in the big house was full, but somehow they’d made space, sharing mattresses and couches and warm corners to sleep, without fearing what might come once they closed their eyes.
Maybe tonight, Nate would invite Reed to his corner of blankets in the shed—the shadowed place where the night-songs of the Withers carried on the wind.
“What about me?” Juniper asked.
“I can’t have you scavenging when I need you here.” Ivy tugged Juniper’s sleeve until Juniper smiled back at her, half her mouth crooked, like she was still learning how to do it.
Pixel giggled at something Brick whispered in her ear, and Sparks scowled at them both, not quite managing to keep a stern look on her face.
You’re going to be terribly bored.
Nate sucked in a deep breath, and the sun-warm air chased the chill from his ribs. He rested his head back against Reed and smiled at the sound of his family.
Acknowledgments
I began to write this book a few months before an unexpected trauma. During that time, one day stands out clearly: grieving beyond reason, I wept on my living room floor, face against the cold tile, for hours. Eventually, I made my way to my desk. Writing, as reading always had been, became a healing escape. Night after night, I worked on this book. And night after night, I grew stronger and more whole. And so did the story—through rewrites and revisions and reimaginings. Eight years later, I am not the same person who began to write this book. And it is not the same book I started with.
I had a lot of help.
Thank you to my first readers, many of whom received zero draft updates in their inboxes at unholy hours of the night and still bolstered me with squee and photos of cats. You were doggedly encouraging when I was looking for reasons to give up.
Thank you to my brilliant agent, Erica Bauman, who favorited a tweet, pushed me to work harder than I’ve ever worked in my life, and kept me company while I got two piercings in NYC. Thank you for your wisdom, your advice, your endless encouragement, and the hard work that went into finding this book a home. Thank you for reminding me to celebrate.
Thank you to my fabulous editor, Kelsy Thompson, who loves Reed and Nate like I do and championed this book beautifully. You found opportunities within the text I never would have uncovered on my own and found emotional threads to tug on that enriched the story and its relationships. Your enthusiasm was rocket fuel.
Thank you to the entire team at Flux who made this book a reality. To Mari Kesselring for believing in this book and in Nate’s gentle courage; to Angela Wade for her careful copy editing; to Jake Nordby for his beautiful cover design; and to Megan Naidl and her team for their marketing magic.
Linsey Miller, you are more than a mentor. Thank you for picking me, believing in me, and sending me brownies that showed up at my front door like magic. Your wisdom, GIFs, DMs, books, and support carried me through this wild ride. You will always be the Patron Saint of Foreshadowing and Also Goats.
Thank you to my early readers and critique partners JD, Sylvie, Sarah, Adam, Kerbie, Tatiana, Julie, Anna, Max, Tracy, Mairi, Caitlin, Raffi, Adriana, Violet, and Melissa for the comments, the edits, the gut checks, and the motivation I needed to keep going when this draft was in its (long) infancy. Likewise, thank you to the Roaring Twenties and the Pitch Wars class of ’15, particularly Michael Mammay, who helped me break down and rebuild a third of this book. Thank you to Ryan Douglass for the thoughtful, helpful sensitivity read. Thank you to the entire YA community, the authors and bloggers and readers and artists and bookstagrammers and creators. I have learned so much from you all, and I learn more every day.
A special thank you to Diane Ashoff, who has endured multiple years of texts, who forgave me for killing her favorite character, and who has read and reread this book nearly as many times as I have. Thank you for being a voice of reason and for unreasonably insisting that the real ending of this book consist of Alden and Pixel opening a detective agency and solving mysteries.
Self-care comes in a lot of forms, and for me it often comes in the company of strong women. To that end, thank you to Meagn Goose and Kristen Quinley for countless brunches, Avett Brothers shows, plant-shopping dates, and indulgence in my publishing-related ramblings. I love you.
Thank you to my family for supporting me emotionally (and often tactically) as I performed a balancing act between raising kids, pursuing a fulfilling career, and following my heart on a journey to publication. My grandmother introduced me to fantasy novels. My mother drove me to the bookstore every time I had my braces tightened and let me read at the dinner table—and now she’s the best Grammy and friend ever. My father has always expected bravery and capability from me, even when I wasn’t sure of myself. My brother and sister have always encouraged exactly the kinds of shenanigans an author needs to indulge in when deeply stressed-out by an inadvisable obsession with writing books. I love you too.
I must acknowledge my good dogs, who have been there for me this whole time, and my cats, who showed up at the eleventh hour and likely wish to take all the credit.
Thank you to my boys. My alley cats. My wishes. You are my greatest joy.
About the Author
Maria Ingrande Mora is a marketing executive and a brunch enthusiast. Her love languages are snacks, queer joy, and live music. A graduate of the University of Florida, Maria lives near a wetlands preserve with two dogs, two cats, two children, and two billion mosquitoes. She can often be found writing at her stand-up desk, surrounded by house plants. Unless the cats have already destroyed them.
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