Simone stuck her tongue out and ran toward the ocean with Louis in pursuit. Nathalie watched her friends with a sense of contentment, despite the occasion. They were at a beach in Normandy, and the last few days had been solemn.
Summer 1888 was the “next year” of which Nathalie and Agnès had spoken in their letters. They’d hoped to pass the days in charming Bayeux and occasionally at the ocean. Nathalie didn’t know at the time if she’d ever have been able to take such a holiday the following year; it had nevertheless been an indulgent reverie.
Needless to say, there had been no such leisure. A year after the Dark Artist and his mad accomplice shattered both her world and worldview, Nathalie had continued to work as both morgue reporter and an Insightful assistant to the police. Last summer was a depressing one, where it seemed to rain every day even though it almost certainly didn’t. Those were the days she remembered most—long, dreary days absent of color.
Today wasn’t at all absent of color. The orange and yellow of bright sun, the ominous dark blue of the ocean, and the earthy beige of the sand, they all instilled in her a sense of vitality. Of now.
“Are you ready?” asked Christophe from behind.
“I think so.” Nathalie took the glass jar from her bag. Agnès had given it to her during their last day together, sand taken from the Deauville beach resort farther up the coast.
You have to give it back next year, Agnès had said. Not to me. To the beach itself. I want you to bring it when we go next summer. Pour it out on the beach and get some of your own!
“I feel badly pouring out any at all,” Nathalie said, turning to Christophe. “Although I can hear Agnès chiding me if I don’t.”
“You’ve waited a long time to do this. Your heart knows what to do.”
Her plan wasn’t to dispose of all of it, but rather pour out half and take half. She had a glass jar to fill with sand, too.
She drank in the vista before her. The ocean smelled saltier and more complex than she’d expected, and the roar was as fierce and encompassing as she’d imagined. The waves were hypnotic, each beckoning her senses more than the last.
“I’ll remember this,” she said. “I mean, truly remember this. I don’t have to fear anything being taken away ever again.”
Christophe put his hand on her shoulder. They’d had numerous conversations about this in the past month, beginning with that evening on the riverboat.
“Except when I get very old, I guess,” Nathalie added. “Did I ever tell you that as a young child I thought having wrinkles made people forgetful, because my grandmother had wrinkles and forgot things?”
He laughed and shook his head.
How much her perspective had changed. Since childhood. In the past two years. Over the course of the past few months.
The power of Insightfuls was something that grew and flourished and withered and died. Nathalie thought this so strange and imprecise at first, for magic administered by scientific means. Then she realized—and recalled quite clearly when it happened, because watching a leaf fall from a tree in Bois de Boulogne had inspired the thought—that Dr. Henard’s experiments challenged the rules of nature while also being subjected to them. Blood was physiological and the powers were rooted in one’s own personality traits. Life changed, and so Insightfuls sometimes changed.
She struggled with it daily, this shift in her identity. Sometimes she only saw the worst of it, like not being able to help at the morgue anymore. At other times she saw the favorable element, the idea that she’d never again lose a memory to anything but time.
She was still Nathalie. She just had to find a new means of being Nathalie, at least in some ways.
Her parents loved her. Jules had been right about that; not everyone was so fortunate. They cared for her, understood her. So did her friends. And so did Christophe. He was proving to be everything she’d hoped he’d be in a suitor, even taking a separate train with Louis to Rouen so the girls’ parents wouldn’t object to the holiday. Nathalie felt a touch guilty about the deception, but only a touch. All the proprieties remained in place, yet she needed him at her side right now.
And maybe, if she was lucky, forever.
She wouldn’t always see him at the morgue. Because did she want to be the morgue reporter indefinitely, despite losing her gift?
No, she wasn’t ready to give it up. Not at all. But she could see herself, someday, doing something else. M. Patenaude understood. Better than anyone, perhaps. He also encouraged her to write more Exposition columns. So when she’d asked if she could do a series of travel articles about her journey to the coast, he agreed.
That felt true to her soul. She wanted to go places, write about her experiences. Not just write everything down for fear of forgetting and needing a record; no, she wanted to write about the wondrous marvels of the world, great and small, because they touched her, changed her, made her think and feel. She wanted to absorb everything she could at the Exposition about other countries and the people and cultures that called them home. While the fair still had several months to go, she knew deep inside that somehow her journey would extend beyond it.
Elsewhere.
Nathalie found a clean, dry patch of ground. She unfastened the bluish-green jar and carefully poured out half the sand, tracing a heart around it with her finger. Moving a few paces to the right, she stooped down and filled up the empty part of the bottle. Then she filled the glass jar.
When the four of them got back to Bayeux later that day, they passed a café. Simone excused herself and went inside. She came out a minute or so later, hands behind her back.
“For you,” she said, presenting Nathalie with a pain au chocolat.
Nathalie smiled and hoped the tears that welled up in her eyes wouldn’t fall. By the time they did, she didn’t care. “It’s messy to split four ways,” she said. “But I think we should.”
* * *
After a stop at their hotel to change out of beach attire, they walked several blocks to the home of Agnès’s grandmother. Nathalie had written to her in advance, and the idea had been received well.
Although the property wasn’t large, it had been in the family for some time. The elder Jalbert regarded them through eyes that reminded Nathalie so much of Agnès, expressing gratitude before escorting them through a gate into the backyard. The grass was verdant, and the yard smelled of dirt and vegetables, scents that were new and not unpleasant to Nathalie’s nose. Hydrangea bushes lined their path; a bee darted out from one, spooking her before it flew away.
“Here.” Agnès’s grandmother had the hands of someone who worked the earth and the face of someone who did so with pride.
Agnès’s grave was marked by an oblong outline of rocks with daisies at the head. So simple yet so powerful.
Nathalie wept. She hadn’t expected to, and she hadn’t wanted to, not in front of everyone. Someone put a hand on her back. Christophe, Simone, and Louis all stood behind her, so she didn’t know whose touch it was. It didn’t matter.
Wiping her eyes, she knelt at the grave. Agnès’s grandmother gave her a hand-sized trowel.
She dug twenty or so centimeters deep and spread out the soil with her fingers. Christophe handed her the glass jar. She buried it with care, as if it had been a living being.
When she was done, she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees.
It had taken two years, but finally she had paid her friend homage. A swell of emotions flowed through her. Nathalie stood there a moment, contemplating all that had happened in the last two months. The last two years.
She glanced at Christophe, Simone, and Louis, grateful to be here, to live this moment.
One thing she knew for certain.
She’d remember it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I knew upon finishing Spectacle that Nathalie’s story would extend to a second and final book, so the end felt more like “see you soon” than “goodbye.” But Sensational is farewell to Nathalie, these characters, this world, and th
is two-book experience that has represented a chapter in my own life. I look forward to the rest of my journey as an author, deadline-driven junk-food cravings (I’m looking at you, Mini Eggs) notwithstanding.
I didn’t know what I was looking for in an agent several years ago, but it turns out I found it in Ginger Clark of Curtis Brown, Ltd. She’s a wealth of industry knowledge and expertise, a fierce advocate, exceptionally organized, and yes, hilarious. I’ll follow you into battle anytime, Ginger, as long as there’s an elephant somewhere on the sigil and adequate snacks (including fine cheese). Thank you as well to Nicole Eisenbraun, who stepped into a new role as agent assistant seamlessly.
I took a few plot and character chances while drafting this book, and I wasn’t sure how my editor at Tor Teen, Melissa Frain, would receive them. It turns out that we were yet again very much in sync, with similar inklings as to what was working and what wasn’t. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a great collaboration, and I’m lucky enough to have felt that throughout this project. To my publicist, Saraciea Fennell, thank you for showing such savvy and professionalism in all that you do to bring visibility to these books. I’d also like to thank editorial assistant Elizabeth Vaziri for being so prompt and courteous on administrative matters.
The behind-the-scenes elements of publishing are many; there are always people working on your behalf that you haven’t met, a team behind the team. At Curtis Brown, that team consists of foreign rights agents Jonathan Lyons and Sarah Perillo as well as film rights agents Holly Frederick and Madeline Tavis.
My gratitude to Tor Teen for giving me the opportunity to share this story and put “twice-published author” beside my name: publishers Fritz Foy and Devi Pillai, production editor Melanie Sanders, production manager Jim Kapp, and copy editor Christa Desir. And to art director Peter Lutjen and jacket designer Lesley Worrell, thank you for the gorgeous jacket for Sensational. I’m honored to have my name on a book that looks this good. To everyone on the Macmillan and Tor Teen teams in sales, marketing, and production, thank you.
Once again, Scott Erb and Donna Dufault of Erb Photography bring out the best in me. Thank you for the author photo and the support.
Thank you to my band of “whodunit” helpers, who read an early draft and answered a single specific question to help me further refine the story: Maria McDaniel, Shahnaz Radjy, Danielle Tedrowe, and Anna Wetherholt.
One of the highlights of being an author is becoming friends with other authors. Addie Thorley and Gita Trelease were indispensable in that debut year buildup as well as for “draft support,” and I have easily a dozen other Novel 19s to thank and another dozen after that whom I’d forget to mention, so I won’t name names—but you know who you are. (The Oscar panic of forgetting names is real, people.) Another author perk: engaging with readers. Thank you to those who’ve reached out to me on social media, sent me an email, or came up to me at a book event. I’m thrilled that you enjoy my work (and maybe my tweets).
Thank you to some people I know outside of publishing: to my “Facebook family and friends,” for lack of a better shorthand: I appreciate those of you who enthusiastically cheered me on. A special shout-out goes to my Vero Beach contingent; you all couldn’t possibly be more excited for me or more thoughtful in your support. And my Portal Crew in Raleigh—Vicki, Alisha, No-H Natalie, Kathy, Stacie, and the rest of the team—thank you for reading and listening to me chatter about book stuff.
I’m blessed to have good friends who have hopped on this train with me. You show remarkable patience when I wander off at a depot and don’t come back for a few weeks (aka “on deadline”). Your friendship goes far beyond my writing life, though, and for that I am grateful: Libby, for taking time to talk to me daily in this oh-so-busy world and for getting it (all of it), and also for cat pictures; Rachel, for such meaningful conversations and such depth in understanding and always so much support; DK, for correspondence ranging from the everyday to the literary, and for being endlessly interesting; Bobby, for decades of conversation, your heartfelt pride in me, and being so true for so long, as ever; Jessica, for being my Lucky Charm, “oldest” friend, and as genuine a friend as can be; and Johnny B, for going on so many travel and food adventures with me and for the wealth of happy memories.
I dedicated this book to my brothers in a magnanimous act of overlooking all the big-brother teasing from my youth. To Kenny, brainstormer extraordinaire, who suggested the 1889 Exposition Universelle as the setting for my sequel (ta-da!) and who is as excited about this stuff as me, and to David (GWS), even though he thought Stanley was the culprit in Spectacle, for shouting his IMS pride from the rooftops. You are both 100 percent behind me 100 percent of the time in this endeavor, and I am most grateful.
To my parents, whom I love so much it was hard not to dedicate a novel to them again. What more could I ask for, not only for support in my author life, but for everything, always? I’m proud to be a Zdrok and equal parts “Ma and Dad” in terms of who I am and how I see the world. You showed me how to live a life well-lived. (And have we had some fun together or what?)
If cats were mentioned in acknowledgments, I’d thank Minnie for serving as consultant on the Stanley, Max, and Lucy sections as well as for social-media assistance.
Lastly, my forever gratitude to Steve, who somehow manages to write these novels with me without penning a word. Everyone should be so lucky to have such love and support. You’ve deepened my creativity and my heart, and here I am, soaring and roaring.
* * *
For nonfiction works on the cultural history of France in the late nineteenth century, consider the following resources:
The Fin de Siècle: A Reader in Cultural History c. 1880–1900 edited by Sally Ledger and Roger Luckhurst
Eiffel’s Tower by Jill Jonnes
France, Fin de Siècle by Eugen Weber
ALSO BY JODIE LYNN ZDROK
Spectacle
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JODIE LYNN ZDROK holds two M.A.s in European history and an M.B.A. She works in technology as a content strategist. For fun, she enjoys rooting for Boston sports teams, traveling, doing races (to offset being a foodie), and posting cat photos to Instagram. She lives in North Carolina by way of Massachusetts.
Visit her online at jodielynnzdrok.com, or sign up for email updates here.
Twitter: @jlzdrok
Instagram: @jlzdrok
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Jodie Lynn Zdrok
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.
SENSATIONAL
Copyright © 2020 by Jodie Lynn Zdrok
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs: woman © Magdalena Russocka / Trevillion Images; other elements © Shutterstock.com
A Tor Teen Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
120 Broadway
New York, NY 10271
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Zdrok, Jodie Lynn, author.
Title: Sensational / Jodie Lynn Zdrok.
Description: First edition. | New York: Tor Teen, 2020. | Series: Nathalie Baudin; 2 | “A Tom Doherty Associates Book.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2019045343 (print) | LCCN 2019045344 (ebook) | ISBN 9780765399717 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780765399700 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Murder—Fiction. | Supernatural—Fiction. | Ability—Fiction. | Paris World’s Fair (1889)—Fiction. | Paris (France)—History—1870–1940—Fiction. | France—History—Third Republic, 1870–1940—Fiction. | Mystery and detective stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.Z395 Sen 2020 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.Z395 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045343
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045344
eISBN 9780765399700
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
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