Jason Mott - Ava's Gift

Following on from the critically acclaimed The Returned comes another blockbuster release from New York Times bestselling author Jason Mott.

Perfect for fans of Eowyn Ivey and Erin Morgenstern, this is a spellbinding tale of love, sacrifice and the power of miracles.

A freak accident reveals a secret that thirteen-year-old Ava has been terrified to share.

Ava has a unique gift: she can heal others of their physical ailments. Now the whole world knows and people from all over the globe want to glimpse the wonder of a miracle.

But Ava’s ability comes at a cost and, as she grows weaker with each healing, she finds herself having to decide just how much she’s willing to sacrifice in order to save the ones she loves most.

Full of intrigue and suspense, Ava’s Gift captures the imagination and will have readers enchanted until the very last page.

Also by Jason Mott

THE RETURNED

Ava’s Gift

Jason Mott

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To those who pull us through the impossible.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text Following on from the critically acclaimed The Returned comes another blockbuster release from New York Times bestselling author Jason Mott. Perfect for fans of Eowyn Ivey and Erin Morgenstern, this is a spellbinding tale of love, sacrifice and the power of miracles. A freak accident reveals a secret that thirteen-year-old Ava has been terrified to share. Ava has a unique gift: she can heal others of their physical ailments. Now the whole world knows and people from all over the globe want to glimpse the wonder of a miracle. But Ava’s ability comes at a cost and, as she grows weaker with each healing, she finds herself having to decide just how much she’s willing to sacrifice in order to save the ones she loves most. Full of intrigue and suspense, Ava’s Gift captures the imagination and will have readers enchanted until the very last page.

Booklist Also by Jason Mott THE RETURNED

Title Page Ava’s Gift Jason Mott www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dedication To those who pull us through the impossible.

One

Interlude I

Two

Interlude II

Three

Interlude III

Four

Interlude IV

Five

Interlude V

Six

Interlude VI

Seven

Interlude VII

Eight

Interlude VIII

Nine

Interlude IX

Ten

Interlude X

Extract

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Copyright

ONE

FOR ONCE, DEATH took pity.

That is what the people of Stone Temple would say in the time that came after. It was late autumn and the townspeople were preparing for an early winter. The clouds were heavy in the days before the Fall Festival and that always meant hard, cold months ahead. The festival was their way of saying goodbye to short sleeves and tourist season, cicadas and apple brandy on the front porch at sunset.

The highlight would be Matt Cooper, who would come and entertain them with stunts in his airplane. He was one of only two people to venture out from Stone Temple and return with the world knowing his name. He had become a pilot for a traveling air show troop and, when he could, he came to town with his red-white-and-blue-painted biplane to show the people of this small town that he had not forgotten them. He would land it in the open field where the town held festivals and barbecues, and the townspeople loved him not only for his stunts, but because of how he had defied the fates of so many others who left the town, were broken by the world and returned with their hats in hand.

So on the day of the festival, the Ferris wheel was set up along with the tents for games and vendors and places where sweet foods could be cooked and there was a competition for blue-ribbon vegetables and a competition for the best gingerbread recipe. The entire town came out and the air was sweet and thick for miles when the day got late and Matt Cooper finally climbed into his airplane and buzzed above the earth. The townspeople took seats in makeshift bleachers and the old concrete grain silo was converted into an announcing booth. A pair of men sat atop it calling out all of Matt Cooper’s tricks and techniques. They frequently remarked on both the inherent danger and, whenever they could, on the fact that he was a native of Stone Temple who had “done good.” Folks craned their necks and held their breaths.

The plane ascended—straight up, the propeller chopping air, the engine buzzing, the sound of it softening as it stretched the rubber band of gravity, lifting into the heavens. Mountains could be stacked between man and earth just then. Finally, the crowd could hold their breaths no longer. They exhaled and, even though they knew full well that Matt Cooper could not hear them, they applauded.

It was when the tide of their applause was receding that they heard the sound of the engine sputter. The drone was broken, then restarted, then broken again. It went this way three times before only silence fell from the sky above. The silence remained. Because the plane was so far above them, it took a moment for the crowd to understand that it was falling. For so very long it seemed to be stationary—a dim, red star burning in the distance. Then the silence washed away and there came the long, dark aria of a man—who the town of Stone Temple believed was the best of them—falling to earth.

It was difficult to measure the space of time between when Matt Cooper’s plane began falling and when it finally crashed into the earth. Some would later say it was all too fast to understand. Others that they had never known horror could last so long.

Then the waiting ended.

Matt Cooper was dead and there was a fire burning and the grain silo upon which the announcers had been seated lay broken, with the fragments of Matt Cooper’s airplane scattered around it like dropped leaves. Everything was panic.

But for whatever reason that such things sometimes come to pass, fortune was kind. Debris from the plane washed over the crowd like sea foam. It left them bloodied and, in some cases, with broken bones, but Death stayed its hand. As people took stock of one another—still trying to douse the fire, still sifting through the rubble of the grain silo—the only death anyone could count was that of Matt Cooper, who died instantly when his plane hit the silo. Even the announcers, perched atop it like a bird, had somehow come out alive. The more time that came and went, the more people waited for bodies to be found—for the number of the living in this world to be lessened. But it was a day of miracles.

So it was with nervousness that the boy and girl were found buried in a pocket of concrete and steel beneath the grain silo. It was built with an infrastructure of steel piping that, when felled by the plane, created small pockets. Macon Campbell, the town sheriff—a dark-skinned, overworked man who had made it through the lion’s share of his thirties with only a handful of things he wished he’d done differently—could just make out the pair of children held within the rubble. For a moment they were only shapes in dim lighting. Then he understood that one of them was his daughter, Ava. The other, her best friend, a boy named Wash.

The fear that came over him was like swallowed lightning.

“Ava!” he called out. “Ava! Wash! Can you hear me?”

His daughter responded by moving her hand. Her body was bent at an awkward angle—fetal, pulled in on itself like a ribbon—and she was half buried by debris. But she was alive. “Thank God,” Macon said. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out.”