Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

I was only running away from Ophelia, but my family believes I killed myself out of distress at my ruined engagement. Over a broken heart. I shouldn’t have come back here, should have lost myself in the streets and clubs as I’d intended, or used Daddy’s money for a ticket to California. Yet here I am, clutching my coat, hat low, eyes down as everyone my family has ever known walks slowly up the worn marble steps.

Seeing them grieve will undo me. I’ll never be able to watch Lars stand stiff and pale, surrounded by flowers. They aren’t at church because of my suicide. Ophelia has been rendered unholy.

The thought does make me smile, but only a little bit.

Just before I turn away, promising myself that I’ll write to Lars as soon as I’m settled someplace, I see Hal.

The top hat suits him not at all, but the long coat swings around his ankles like a cape. All that black is muted and severe in the gray light, and his lips are pressed into a line. He sweeps through the crowd and inside, and I go after.

Everyone parts for him, and my prince’s path is unobstructed until he reaches the sitting room. It is draped in the darkest violet and black cloths, the windows shut and lit by candles. A portrait of me as a fifteen-year-old girl rests on an easel beside a spray of hothouse lilies.

It’s Lars who blocks his way.

“Devil take your soul,” my brother cries. My stolid brother—cheeks flushed and fists clenched. “You cannot be here, Halden King.”

“What is this?” Hal grasps Lars’s shoulder, to push him back.

“It’s for you that she’s here—or rather that she isn’t here, you animal.”

Mother calls from the back of the room, “Part them!”

My hands are on my face, and I hit the door frame for backing away so fast.

Hal releases Lars, palms up, “You can’t keep me from this.”

“You denied her in life, so how could you have her in death?”

Oh, my brother. Tears blur the scene and I am awhirl with sorrow. I should reveal myself here, now, and they will all be well.

But I would be trapped again, stripped and put back in my dress and feathers, caged and prettied up for the feast. I dig my fingers into my mouth to keep myself from speaking.

My whole family stands as a wall against Hal, and all the crowd of mourners pushes nearer to hear. Hal touches Lars’s face, and my brother flinches away. But Hal says, his voice raw and ugly, “I loved Ophelia.”

I don’t know if it’s because I’m weak or because I’m strong, but I push forward through the crowd. “Stop!” I say, throwing off my hat and stripping the heavy coat from my shoulders. Beneath it is my suit, my tight vest and pressed pants, my jacket and tie. I am a slim young gentleman with the face of a dead girl.

“O.” Hal rushes at me faster than Lars or Daddy or Mother, none of whom know me thus.

Whispers break out, and at least one feminine shriek, as Hal throws his arms around me and kisses me in front of them all.

We are the most incredible scandal to ever blaze through the city, they say.

I won’t marry him, though I love him. So Hal takes me away to Paris with his inheritance and we rent a flat, the two of us friends from school we say, in the City of Light to experience the best life has to offer.

My family never contacts me until Lars shows up in the summer, hat in hand on the steps of our building. When I greet him in my favorite new suit, which is pin-striped and the vest curves against me smoothly without my bindings, Lars squares his jaw and says, “What should I call you?”

“I’ll always be your sister,” I say, grasping his hand and dragging him inside to supper with us. He’s uncomfortable, but trying, hunting desperately for a way to understand this puzzle. That night, Hal goes out to the theater, where a friend of ours is singing, and Lars and I sit sipping brandy on the iron balcony. From there we can see the top lights of the Eiffel Tower, and all the hazy stars behind.

“This is dangerous, Phe,” he says, quite drunk so that his cheeks are blotchy.

I’ve loosened my tie and slouch with my head against the low back of the chair. “Lars, anything else would be wrong.”

“If you would marry him, you could come home.”

I purse my lips.

“Halden told me he asks you every day.”

“To be a wife would lock me into one thing, and I don’t know what I am, yet.”

Lars reaches across the little space between us and takes my hand. He flicks a finger over the topaz cuff link Hal gave me for my birthday last month. “You’re mad, is what you are,” he whispers.

I open my mouth and laugh at the sky.

Sarah Rees Brennanis the author of the Demon’s Lexicon trilogy, a series about demons, magicians, and two very troubled brothers. The first book was an ALA Top Ten Best Book and received three starred reviews. Most recently she is the author of Unspoken , the first in the Lynburn Legacy trilogy, a Gothic mystery with imaginary friends who turn out not to be so imaginary, and coauthor with Justine Larbalestier of Team Human , about a girl who isn’t very impressed by vampires. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, which she uses as a base for her adventures, and she blames Diana Wynne Jones for her incurable fantasy addiction. Visit her at www.sarahreesbrennan.com.

Kate Espeywas born in Kansas and moved to San Antonio, Texas, in the sixth grade. She blames her mildly morbid and blunt writing style on this sudden relocation during her crucial formative years. Unfortunately, Kate is a high school student, but she likes to distract herself by making YouTube videos and writing stories in class. Kate has more experience with murder than boys (otherwise, she would have a date for prom).

Tessa Grattonhas wanted to be a paleontologist or a wizard since she was seven. She was too impatient to hunt dinosaurs but is still searching for someone to teach her magic. After traveling the world with her military family, she acquired a BA (and the important parts of an MA) in gender studies, then settled down in Kansas with her partner, her cats, and her mutant dog. Visit her at www.tessagratton.com.

Rachel Hawkinsis the author of the New York Times bestselling Hex Hall series and Rebel Belle . She was born in Virginia and raised in Alabama. This means she uses words like “y’all” and “fixin’” a lot, and considers anything under sixty degrees to be borderline arctic. Before deciding to write books about kissing and fire (and sometimes kissing while on fire), Rachel taught high school English for three years, and she is still capable of teaching you The Canterbury Tales if you’re into that kind of thing. You can visit her online at www.readingwritingrachel.blogspot.com.

Christine Johnsongrew up in, moved away from, and eventually came home to Indianapolis, Indiana. She lives there with her husband and two kids in a creaky old house that is disappointingly unhaunted. Christine is the author of Claire de Lune , Nocturne , and The Gathering Dark . You can visit her online at www.christinejohnsonbooks.com.

Valerie Kempis an award-winning independent filmmaker from Michigan. She has been creating stories ever since she first learned how to write. After challenging herself to turn a too-complex screenplay idea into a novel, she fell head over heels in love with writing YA. Valerie loves to travel, and when not writing screenplays or novels, she can be found shooting music videos, reading voraciously, and possibly hanging out in foreign country. You can visit her online at www.valeriekemp.com.