Tracy Clark - Scintillate

“I can’t leave him here.”

“You must!”

I fell to my knees over my dad’s body, adrenaline and sorrow hitting me all at once. I bowed my body over him, his blood soaking my knees. His colors gone forever.

Somewhere in my mind I heard Griffin groan on the floor. Arms gripped my waist, but I didn’t fight them. I let Giovanni and Fergus pull me up. They poured me into Fergus’s car, and we screeched away from the shed and down the dirt road leading toward Rising Sun Manor.

“You’ll have to ditch this car very soon,” Fergus said. “I’ll retrieve it when it’s found. There are some supplies in the trunk, and cash.” We drove up to the manor, and Giovanni slid into the driver’s seat when Fergus jumped out, waving us on. “Godspeed!”

I leaned my head into the cold glass of the window and glanced over my shoulder at Gráinne, who had curled into a fetal position in the backseat. It wasn’t going to be easy to be covert with her, and we needed to find a place to regroup. To recover our stolen strength. To mourn. To figure out where we could possibly go from here.

Giovanni placed his hand tenderly on my leg. “I’m so sorry, Cora.”

I bit my lip and turned my head away. But something niggled at my brain. “The knife,” I said. “I don’t know how, but it looked like you took it from Griffin. Did he throw it at you?”

“No. He didn’t throw it.” I glanced at Giovanni and could see by his eyes and the way he worked his mouth that he struggled with his words. “I didn’t tell you everything. It’s like with the book at the library… I pulled it to me.” When he saw me trying to understand, he added, “The Arrazi are not the only ones with special abilities. I’ve used mine to steal. Many times. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered, glancing at the tattoo on my hand, reliving the memories that had assaulted me when I touched certain objects. I hadn’t been able to look, but I knew there was a knife etched on my back. How poetic. I didn’t understand why I had to be marked by the objects, but for once I was glad I had the ability to retrieve memories. That, and being able to detect the lie in Clancy’s aura. It had saved our lives. This time.

“Take me home,” Gráinne moaned from the back. For a second, I wondered if she meant the home she’d had for the last thirteen years or our home, the one that lived on in her mind all the time she’d been a prisoner. Did she imagine in her wrecked head that we could stroll through its daisy gate and red door once again? Live happily ever after?

How I wished to be home, too. Sitting on my bed, with Mari, with Dun, spread out on the floor, all of us listening to music, trashing the VIPs, complaining about Dad’s strict ways. Dad…

That was another life.

This new life demanded more, so much more. If my father was right, it demanded we somehow find a way to stop the Arrazi and balance the energy in the world. Do that, all while staying out of the Arrazi’s clutches and avoiding a hidden Society that even Clancy had feared. I nearly laughed to myself. One girl, one boy, and a crazy woman were supposed to fix the universe’s energy? We either attempt the impossible or we spend our lives running. Hiding. More people die. And the world goes down with our cowardice.

Rain pelted the windows as we bumped down the narrow drive toward the iron gate.

“Home,” Gráinne moaned again.

I swiped at a tear snaking down my face, and a new determination etched into my soul. “We don’t have a home,” I said. “Until this is over, there is no home for us. There is no home for the hunted.”

I looked back at my mother mumbling in the backseat.

No wondrous thing was ever discovered were it not for someone brave enough to seek it.

Those words weren’t just Mom’s legacy. They were my father’s as well. And now, mine. I wasn’t done seeking answers. I refused to live my whole life running. I would not let my father die in vain. Scintilla were something beautiful in a sometimes ugly world. We were givers of light in the darkness.

I would not let the light go out on my watch.

This dream would not have come true were it not for my brilliant and colorful children who made me promise to never give up. They motivate me every day to prove by example that anything is possible if you know who you are, know your truth, and dedicate yourself entirely. Sydney and Cooper, I love you. Promise me you’ll do the same.

Dear Patrick, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Our paths will always run parallel. I love you and am grateful for all you’ve given.

My mother, Yvon, who always encouraged me to be colorful and strong, and to use my voice. This business requires all three, and I’m so appreciative.

The Tribe—Monica (Jo) Bogue, Mary Claire Bouchér, and Lucy Hunter. In one form or another, you three are in all my pages. I love you, sisters of my heart. And to my dear Tribettes—Samantha, Sierra, Makenzie, Sydney, Sage, and wee one—you are who I write for. I hope you feel understood.

My wise and wonderful agent, Michael Bourret, who believed even before I truly did. And my editor, Karen Grove, whose words “This book haunts me” will go down as one of my all-time favorite compliments. Huge thanks to the entire Entangled team for bringing my books to life.

Deep, everlasting gratitude to Ellen Hopkins and Susan Hart Lindquist, who’ve been unwavering mentors and friends, for believing in me, pushing me, and guiding me. Thank you for always saying, “Not if, but when .” You’ve helped me grow in so many ways. I adore you.

I received invaluable editorial insight from dear colleagues and friends, Lorin Oberweger, Jackie Garlick, Eric Elfman, and Lia Keyes. Each of you, in your own ways, helped me to see a better way to tell a story and that knowledge will carry forward forever. Thank you.

I owe so much to SCBWI and to my Nevada SCBWI family. I’m certain this would have taken years longer without your support and friendship. The Criterati emerged from this clan! For years of critiques, beta reads, and sanity maintenance, my sincere thanks to Heather Petty, Chris Ledbetter, and Julie Dillard. You’ve taught me so much. I am indebted to so many people who’ve read my words and have shared their words with me over the years. Too many to name, but each written on my heart.

A special thanks to Tony Bates who handed me the right books at the right time.

Jason Roer, my cohort and conspirator. Thank you for your boundless enthusiasm for my work and for your constant love and support. You see, really see, my true colors. And I see yours. It’s beautiful. 333.

Finally, to the writers, published and unpublished, who inspire me with their creativity and passion. You light my way.

Tracy Clark grew up a “valley girl” in Southern California but now resides in her home state of Nevada with her daughter and son. She’s an unapologetic dog person who is currently owned by a cat. She is the recipient of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) Work in Progress Grant and a two-time participant in the prestigious Nevada SCBWI Mentor Program. Her debut novel was inspired by her enchantment with metaphysics as a teen, seeing it as the real magic in life. Tracy is a part-time college student, a private pilot, and an irredeemable dreamer.