Title: Daughter of the Fallen
Author: Madeline Wynn
Publisher: Book Baby
Pages: 250
Genre: YA paranormal
Format: Paperback
Author: Madeline Wynn
Publisher: Book Baby
Pages: 250
Genre: YA paranormal
Format: Paperback
Most sixteen-year olds aren't worried about the fate of their immortal
souls. May Krieg should be.
Typically, honor student May's biggest problems have revolved around her
super-hot arch-rival, Jack. But when a school project takes them ghost-hunting
in a local cemetery, she discovers that an ominous force roams in the darkness
around her.
And it follows her home.
It claws its way into her life, burning messages into her wall and
imprinting them onto her body. Even worse, she can't tell if it's trying to
possess her... or protect her.
May's thoughts soon become actions, causing the target of her anger
severe physical pain and giving her a rush the likes of which she has never
experienced. She quickly realizes that
she needs to find a way to reign in this power before she kills someone. May
hates the pleasure it gives her, hates herself for hurting others, but she
can't stop.
As her entire world shatters around her, she is forced to ask what her
soul is worth-- and who would she risk losing her soul to save?
This
is New England. And in New England, a town without a good witch hanging or
ghost story just, well, isn’t considered to be a real town. So when I walk past the iron gate of the
cemetery and feel the urge to bolt riding up my legs like a herd of football
players bum-rushing the food counter on taco day, I set my shoulders and do my
best to cowboy up.
Set between imposing stone walls and punctured
by large granite fists, Hillside Cemetery definitely looks like it deserves its
sinister reputation, making my attempt at bravery rather brief. “This place sucks. Maybe we should just go.”
“Here,
watch your step,” Cay says and holds out his hand to help me over the uneven
cobbles just on the other side of the entry. Once we make it over the stones,
he drops my hand and pulls the recording equipment out of the duffle.
We’ve
been friends ever since kindergarten, when some boy taunted me for living in a
“little troll house.” Cay, the kickball
king, told him that it was actually a gingerbread house, and everybody
knows that only fairy princesses live in gingerbread houses.
He
was wrong, of course; it was witches who lived in the gingerbread houses, a
fact I pointed out to him later, but I gave him props for the effort. We’ve been “Cay and May” ever since, but the
whole dating thing still feels… awkward.
“Is
this all from school or is Jack bringing some of his dad’s?” I swipe an errant
curl of hair out of my face and cringe at my surroundings as I reach for the
big videocamera. Why does it have to be
so dark? Why can’t people ghost hunt in
the daylight? You can still supposed get
sound bites and whatever in the daytime, right?
It’s not like ghosts go anywhere or sleep or, you know, whatever.
“Well, the big stuff is the professional gear with night
vision from school. And then we have my
stuff.” Cay stops in front of a wide
tomb, laying his multiple cameras and his mini video recorder along the top
like they are the most precious things in the world. “Weird that Mr. Dowd put
both you and Jack on my team.”
“Yeah, weird.” And a nightmare. If it wasn’t for Jack, I’d
be ranked first in our year, and, unlike Jack, if I don’t earn a ton of
scholarship money for college, then I can’t go.
Cay
fumbles with the equipment, his breath rising in great grey puffs of frost,
lingering in his dark bob of curls. I
shiver.
A
BMW pulls up in front of the entry gate, looking sleek and new and out of
place.
I
run an unsteady hand through my untamable hair…right…Jack.
He
gets out of the car and strides towards us, stepping out into the camera’s
lights: short blond hair, high cheekbones, and a long neck leading to strong
shoulders. Everyone at school, except
for me, that is, adores him because he’s rich, intelligent and
supposedly lost his virginity to a Victoria’s Secret model.
Watching
the god-like way he strides across the cemetery, you can almost believe the
hype. He lifts his eyes to meet mine as
he nods a greeting. My heart flips.
Of
course, it would be easier to dislike him if he wasn’t so damn… hot. I shake my head. I hate that about him, too.
“You’re
late.” I grab the sound gear from Cay
and hand it to him, eyeing the orange-clad harpy of a girl trailing after him.
“I
had to pick up Alicia.” He indicates the
thing as he straps on the professional sound gear. “And respond to your post on the AP History
board about gun control.”
I
huff. “You think we should arm everyone
with a credit card?”
“What
I think is irrelevant, Mason.” Jack’s
the only one in the universe who calls me by my full name. “It’s what the
Founding Fathers wanted that matters.”
He holds out his hand to help me navigate my way over a broken
tomb. I ignore it. He smirks, “Or do you not support the Bill Of
Rights?”
God,
please keep me from throttling him tonight.
Cay clears his throat.
“WTF, losers? A
graveyard?” Alicia Impestio. Wearing her designer hoodie unzipped so that she
reveals way more skin than she has to, her straight brown hair is bleached at
the tips and held off of her over-tanned face by some rhinestone-studded
catastrophe. I grit my teeth.
“Hey Alicia, glad you could make it.” Cay holds the minicam out towards her and
helps her onto the cobbled path of the graveyard.
“Whatever.” Alicia
grabs the mini and swats at Cay’s hand as she struggles to gain a
foothold. A challenging endeavor, I’m
sure, for someone wearing flip-flops in November.
She gives me the once-over, lips curling.
“You
really wore that?” She asks, mouth open
with disdain.
“Alicia…” Jack’s voice is low, menacing.
“I
mean” –she gives me the once-over and sneers- “Aren’t the Kardashians some of
you people? They at least know how to
dress. But, then again, they also know
who their daddy is.”
That’s Alicia: hitting where it hurts. I blink through the
stinging at my eyes as my mind races to find something snarky to
say...something to…
“Alicia,” Jack snaps. “Stop.”
“Fine,
but tell Clay Aiken over there to hurry it.
I’m cold.”
Jack makes a motion with his head to indicate that Cay
should ignore her as he adjusts the weight of the portable boom on his back.
“Okay,
I’m filming.” I say and catch the low-hanging
harvest moon before panning down to Cay.
“In three, two, one…”
“This
is Cayden Robison of Chase Hills High Broadcasting reporting on site at
Hillside Cemetery. In 1734, three witches were reportedly hung just up the
road, on the town green and buried, here, in this cemetery, in unmarked
graves.”
“Then,
in 1864, three men were arrested for grave digging, and ever since, people have
reported strange things not only here, but especially out behind the burial
grounds, in the woods.” Cay runs his hand along the top of a worn tombstone.
“Reports
of paranormal activity really began to pick up in the past thirty years.” He pauses, and I pan the camera over to the
creepy oak and the broken bench beneath it, hands a little unsteady. “Some people claim to hear voices, others see
full-body apparitions, but most convincingly, in the 1980s, some kids back here
partying say that they found satanists performing rituals in the woods. They watched as the group made a make-shift
temple of one of the half-buried barite mines in the woods, and claim that the
men actually raised a demon.”
He
stops, looking intently into the lens of my camera. I flex my fingers, my
breath rushed, like I’ve been running.
“Tonight,
we’re going to dig for the truth and see if Hillside Cemetery is actually
haunted.” Cays smiles.
Deep
breath, May. It’s just a story. Fairytales. There’s no such thing as demons,
or ghosts.
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