Killing November
(Sprache: Englisch)
From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of How to Hang a Witch comes a thriller set at a secretive boarding school where students are trained to carry on family legacies that have built--and toppled--empires.
November is as good as dead....
November is as good as dead....
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From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of How to Hang a Witch comes a thriller set at a secretive boarding school where students are trained to carry on family legacies that have built--and toppled--empires. November is as good as dead. She just doesn't know it yet.
At the Academy Absconditi, there's no electricity, no internet, and an archaic eye-for-an-eye punishment system. Classes range from knife throwing and poisons to the art of deception. And the students? Silver-spoon descendants of the world's most elite strategists--all training to become asassins, spies, and master imporsonators.
One is a virtuoso of accents--and never to be trusted. Another is a vicious fighter determined to exploit November's weaknesses. And then there's the boy with the mesmerizing eyes and a secret agenda. November doesn't know how an ordinary girl like her fits into the school's complicated legacy. But when a student is murdered, she'll need to separate her enemies from her allies before the crime gets pinned or her...or she becomes the killer's next victim.
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My name is November Adley and I was born in August. The way my dad tells it, the Connecticut nights were unusually cool that summer, and the day I arrived our maple burst with color reminiscent of late fall hence my name. He claims the leaves shone so brightly in the morning sun that it looked like our front lawn was on fire. Dad also says that s part of the reason I m obsessed with the woods. I m not sure there s any connection, but I enjoy the comfort of that story a reminder of a time when the world was safe and so was my family.The most disorienting thing about safety my own in particular is that it never crossed my mind before. My ex-CIA, now financial manager dad often tells me I m too trusting, all the while shaking his head like he s shocked that we re related. Which I, of course, remind him is one hundred percent his fault, since I ve lived my entire life in the same small town with the same friendly people, who pose about as much threat as a basket of sleeping kittens. Dad argues that I want to believe people are good and that while that s admirable, it s also not realistic. To which I ask him how it helps anyone to believe that people are bad. He claims that having a healthy sense of suspicion prepares you for every possible danger. But until now, it was all just a theory. And if I m being honest, even yesterday, with Dad insisting there was an imminent threat to our family, I still wasn t convinced. Nope, there was absolutely nothing indicative of danger in my life until a few minutes ago, when I woke up in this medieval-looking . . . parlor?
I frown. A man I m assuming is a guard stands against the wall next to me. He s staring forward, blatantly ignoring me, as I consider the door. I push as hard as I can on the wrought-iron latch and even throw my shoulder into the dark wood, but it doesn t budge. I let out a huff from the effort and scan the room. There s a roaring fire in the fireplace and maroon velvet furniture that
... mehr
probably costs more than my entire house. But there are no windows and the door in front of me is the only exit.
I know you hear me, I say to the guard, who so far hasn t answered a single one of my questions. He s dressed all in black, with a leather belt and leather armbands that put to shame the Roman gladiator costume I wore last year for Halloween. I toy with the idea of snapping my fingers in front of his face, but he s a good foot taller than me and his arms are more muscular than my legs.
He remains silent.
I try another angle. You know I m a minor, right? That you can t keep me locked up in this . . . Well, I m assuming this is my new boarding school. But what kind of a school locks up their students? Dad told me this place would be different, but I have a hard time believing he meant I d be trapped in a windowless room.
Just then I hear a key slide into the door and it swings outward. My shoulders drop and my hands unclench. Another guard, dressed identically to the first, gestures for me to follow him. I don t waste a second. Unfortunately, the room guard comes, too, and walking between them, I feel almost as confined as I did in that room.
The guard in front pulls a lit torch off the gray stone wall and I take inventory of my surroundings the lack of electricity, the arched ceilings, the heavy wooden doors that use latches instead of knobs. There s no way I m still in the United States. This place looks like something out of a documentary I once streamed about medieval Irish castles. However, I find it nearly impossible to believe Dad would send me all the way to Europe, not to mention be able to pay for it. We almost never leave Pemb
I know you hear me, I say to the guard, who so far hasn t answered a single one of my questions. He s dressed all in black, with a leather belt and leather armbands that put to shame the Roman gladiator costume I wore last year for Halloween. I toy with the idea of snapping my fingers in front of his face, but he s a good foot taller than me and his arms are more muscular than my legs.
He remains silent.
I try another angle. You know I m a minor, right? That you can t keep me locked up in this . . . Well, I m assuming this is my new boarding school. But what kind of a school locks up their students? Dad told me this place would be different, but I have a hard time believing he meant I d be trapped in a windowless room.
Just then I hear a key slide into the door and it swings outward. My shoulders drop and my hands unclench. Another guard, dressed identically to the first, gestures for me to follow him. I don t waste a second. Unfortunately, the room guard comes, too, and walking between them, I feel almost as confined as I did in that room.
The guard in front pulls a lit torch off the gray stone wall and I take inventory of my surroundings the lack of electricity, the arched ceilings, the heavy wooden doors that use latches instead of knobs. There s no way I m still in the United States. This place looks like something out of a documentary I once streamed about medieval Irish castles. However, I find it nearly impossible to believe Dad would send me all the way to Europe, not to mention be able to pay for it. We almost never leave Pemb
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Adriana Mather
In addition to her novels How to Hang a Witch and Haunting the Deep, Adriana Mather is also a full-time producer and actor. She owns a production company called Zombot Pictures, which has produced the award-winning Honeyglue, among other films. She lives in Massachusetts with her family. Follow her at @AdrianaMather or @adrianamatherauthor.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Adriana Mather
- Altersempfehlung: Ab 12 Jahre
- 2020, 416 Seiten, Maße: 13,8 x 20,9 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Ember
- ISBN-10: 0525579117
- ISBN-13: 9780525579113
- Erscheinungsdatum: 19.02.2021
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"Full of danger and intrigue, this series opener establishes a fascinating premise with an international cast of tenuous allies and ambiguous adversaries that will keep our heroine, and her readers, on a knife s edge." --The Bulletin"Anything is possible in this world of cloaks and daggers. A strong beginning that will leave readers hungry for more." --Kirkus Reviews
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