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294 pages, Hardcover
First published March 12, 2019

“Let’s start with the Witch in the Woods.”
“What if I told you that there’s a boy in the attic? And he seems to know me even though I don’t know him? And I don’t know where he came from or how he got there?”
“…after my encounter with the Darkness, that if we have secrets, they aren’t juicy at all. I think, more likely, our secrets are bloody.”
It should not be this easy for people to vanish. Disappearing should be difficult, rough and bloody. They should have to claw, tear, rip their way out, enduring some of the torment felt by the person left behind. There should be firecrackers bursting in their eyes; and stars snagging in their skin; and lighting bolts tangling in their hair, thrust under their fingernails. Explosions, abrasions, shudders, and shouts. Disappearing forever should not just be the quick and quiet opening and closing of a door.
All right. I’ll tell you. But be warned: fairy story is a misnomer. There aren’t any fairies in it, you see, but there is a princess, and a curse, and a king, and a prince, and a future queen, and a gray gorgon, and a nymph, and a bright girl with bright magic. There are foxes and sphinxes and manticores. There is darkness and sleeping and magic and light, lots of light. there’s an attic and a castle and screams that put together what has been torn apart. There’s foolishness and laughter and love. Speaking of love – there’s also a boy, a great necromancer. He has many names, some of which are long forgotten, and others that no one will ever dare to forget. Oh – and there’s a witch. Still want to hear my tale, a fairy story that is no fairy story at all?
The Witch smiled, her maw growing wider, so no one would ever guess how her atoms were held together by an unheard howl.
... her voice was cream burnt at the edges, unspooling from her long dark throat like twisted obsidian silk.
I sort of do know what she means, sitting here in the semi-dark and the semi-silence. I have a scratchy, restless feeling, as if my soul were grinding against my skin, my bones, not necessarily wanting to get out but urging my body to go to impossible places, convinced I can touch the stars and not burn.
“And so she cast a glamour over herself and snuck out of the castle at night, fleeing to the forest where the monsters lived. Where she could be a monster too.”