“Which means we’ll have incoming soon. I’m on it. What do you need?” A light flared from her screen, as she brought up her browser.
“Cross Point, Pennsylvania. I’m sorry, but this is where I leave you. Will you be able to get out on your own?”
Allison laughed. “Please, I could hop out a window at twenty stories. Plus I think we killed everything on the lower levels.” Her tone turned serious. “Okay, here we go. Ready?”
I added the numbers as she read them off, and then I added the date. Now I just have to hit GO, a crazy-simple interface for the amazing thing this device did. My father was probably responsible for that because he hated complicated systems. Ironic, given his field of study.
Sorry, Dad. I hope other-me is good to you.
Booted feet stomped down the hall, and men were shouting over the carnage in the corridor. They spoke in military jargon, which made me think they might not be run-of-the-mill guards. Allison whipped her head around, all the way around, and went for the door.
“Vanish,” she commanded.
I deactivated Aegis and tapped the watch panel. The world whooshed away in a blaze of light. My whole body melted and reassembled; it was disgusting, nauseating, and painful as I dropped onto the pavement. Dry heaves wracked me for endless moments.
Where the hell am I? Or maybe ‘when’ is the better question. Did I do that right?
Gradually I realized it was daytime, a good sign. I seemed to be in an alley behind a shop, crouched near a Dumpster. The smell was gross, and an old man stared at me and then the bottle in his hand. He apparently decided it was the liquor and chucked it away.
I need to know what day it is.
One look at my own hands convinced me I had to find a public bathroom fast. If I didn’t clean up, I’d be locked up on criminal charges even without a body. Without ID, my life would be impossible. Pulling up my hood, I hurried through backstreets with my head down. The downtown wasn’t large, and I found a convenience store pretty fast. That allowed me to wash up and check out what Buzzkill’s magic bag had to offer.
Credit card. Wonder if it works now. Various containers that I feared to open. Weapons. Rope. Pretty much, it had everything you’d expect from a killer clown. Thanks. You may have saved me. That would probably make him laugh.
After exiting the filthy washroom, I went to the mini-newsstand in front of the register and picked up the local paper. The date matched the one I’d entered. In Boston, I was only twelve … and fairly happy. Kian was about to hit extremis. Since he hadn’t told me exactly when, I’d chosen a random date in January to make sure I didn’t miss it.
Now I understood the potter future, and that was the one I’d chosen. I decided to be me: a smart, weird but fully human, nine-fingered girl with a pretty face and a fledgling idea of how to win a game I never wanted to play. Silently I said to Wedderburn, Come at me, bro. If you dare.
Time to fix everything I’ve broken.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is where I confess that I’m obsessed with the Harbinger. I love him so much that he’s already gotten his own short story. No question that he exudes a Loki-ish charm, but I also love exploring how wounded he is. There are forty-two trickster gods, and he’s lived all their stories. That rather boggles the mind. See, our divine myths are rarely kind and gentle; most are chock full of rape and incest, kin-slaying, theft, and betrayal. Now imagine you have no choice but to act out these fantasies, a dark, irresistible compulsion. Now you know how the Harbinger feels. Uncomfortable, yet … compelling, am I right?
But as humans, haven’t we always been fascinated with monsters? I mean, when you read Frankenstein, are you rooting for the mad scientist? I never was. We empathize with his poor, misunderstood creation instead, and we try to make sense of the darkness the monster is driven to by the lack of compassion he encounters in a strange and foreign world.
Likewise, in the Immortal Game, if I seem to sympathize with devils and dark spirits, that’s not far off the mark. I’m having a fantastic time adding personality to our oldest stories, imagining what cultural icons might be like in the modern world. One of my beta readers commented that she couldn’t believe I made her like a sadistic killer clown, even for a moment. To be honest, I didn’t mean for that to happen. He’s a monster, right? But every villain is the hero of his own story, and it’s impossible not to take that into account.
In some ways, this story was easier to write because Edie is in a different place emotionally. She’s no longer at the end of her rope, and she’s realized it’s better to fight. Yet there’s danger in that path as well. Sometimes we get so caught up in resistance that we lose sight of other important aspects of our life, and we don’t realize how vital balance is until it’s too late. Does that sound ominous? Well, you’re reading the author’s note, so I presume you finished the book. I need say no more on this topic, I suspect.
Moving on, then. Before I commenced writing, I researched more old gods and more Internet memes. I’m curious if you can figure out what monster Edie fights in the pit, and no, I’m not telling. I suspect the answer will surprise you. The fun of this project is, if Edie doesn’t recognize the beastie, you don’t find out its name, and that adds another layer of mystery. In Public Enemies, you encounter lots of beasts from legend and lore, and part of your fun may come from identifying as many as you can. One or two probably won’t be recognizable, unless you read the same weird books as the author. But don’t let that stop you from trying!
Along the way, I spent a fair amount of time learning about gods of the forge, and I didn’t like what I saw from the Greco-Romans. Vulcan / Hephaestus was always the butt of the joke, never getting a fair shake in love or war. So, I gave him a more Celtic flavor instead, and thus Govannon was born. I tweaked his name, which is properly represented as Gofannon. He was an ancient deity in Wales, renowned as a metal worker and whose beer could make you immortal. And I thought it was hilarious to plop him in Vermont with a bunch of cats.
Readers, I hope you enjoyed the second installment of the Immortal Game and are ready for the finale. I know I am!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Laura Bradford, who always supports my ideas. Not sure if that’s because she trusts me or if we’re always on the same page. Humblebrag: Since 2007, she’s never failed to sell anything I wrote. Not once. That’s over thirty novels, and I’m so thrilled to work with her.
Right after my agent, I always think of my brilliant editor, Liz Szabla. Partnering with her, I have learned a great deal, as she’s a pro at polishing my work without changing the heart of it. I’ve been so excited about bringing the Immortal Game to life with her, and I send heartfelt thanks that she didn’t even blink at a certain risky plot choice. (It’ll be okay, I promise.)
Much appreciation to the talented folks at Feiwel and Friends who do a phenomenal job: Jon, Jean, Rich, Elizabeth, Anna, Lauren, Zoey, Ksenia, Molly, Mary, Allison, Kathryn … well, I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone, so please forgive me and understand how much I value your contributions. No man is an island, so they say, and no book is created in a vacuum. Ergo, I humbly thank you all for your time and talent.
My fantastic copyeditor, Anne Heausler, is one of my favorite people. Thank you for the wonderful comments that make editing a task I truly enjoy. I’m also indebted to my meticulous proofreader, Fedora Chen. You ladies labor behind the scenes so I can shine, and I appreciate you both more than I can say.
Time for the honorable mentions! Public Enemies would not exist without those who supported me: Bree Bridges, Chadwick Ginther, Donna J. Herren, Marie Rutkoski, Caragh O’Brien, HelenKay Dimon, Yasmine Galenorn, Stephanie Bodeen, Lauren Dane, Mindy McGinnis, Megan Hart, and Vivian Arend. I’m thrilled to add Rae Carson, Veronica Rossi, and Beth Revis to this list. And you, of course. Yes, you. (Because you’re reading the acknowledgments, obviously. That’s hardcore support right there.)
To my beta readers, the incomparable Majda Čolak and Karen Alderman, I would
gladly buy you ponies for the amazing loyalty you’ve shown over the years. Sometimes other writers ask the secret to my productivity and I will never, ever tell them that it’s all due to you two. Because then they might try to take you away from me.
We’re nearly to the end now. Thank you, my darling family. Whenever I tell you I have an insane deadline, you never complain. My kids say, “Then we won’t bother you,” and my husband asks, “What can I do to make your life easier?” Yeah, I won the close-relatives lottery. You’re all incredible. Thank you for loving me, for understanding, for being the best of all possible kinsfolk. I adore you all.
Finally, readers … really, you thought I’d forget? No way. Without you, I’m the crazy lady with voices in her head. But when you come along for the ride, you’re paying me the highest compliment of all and giving me your time. I cherish each and every one of you for that. Thank you for reading my books; thank you for believing in my dreams.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ann Aguirre has been a clown, a clerk, a savior of stray kittens, and a voice actress, not necessarily in that order. She grew up in a yellow house across from a cornfield, but she now lives in a terracotta adobe house in Mexico with her husband and two adorable children. The post-apocalyptic novel Enclave is her first book for young adults. She also writes the romantic science fiction series about Sirantha Jax, starting with Grimspace, as well as urban fantasy and paranormal romance. As Ava Gray, she writes paranormal romantic suspense. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Darkness in Paradise
Holiday Haunted
Ghost of Christmas Past
Monster’s Ball
Death Matches Are Not Party Games
These Boots Were Made for Running
I Confess, I Do Not Trust You
Messages from Beyond
Funeral of the Heart
Badass in Training
It Can Always Get Worse
An Alien, Impossible Thing
This Pit of Despair Needs Carpeting
Dead Boys Do Not Make Good Pets
Blaming Cthulhu Never Helps
Righteous Anger is Kind of Hot
Dimensional X-Ray Specs are Totally a Thing
Heart in a Box
In an Emergency, Call the Killer Clown
Cue the Road Trip Music
A Gem Cannot Be Polished without Friction
The Age of Cats & Heroes
Saving the Day Isn’t Enough
Something So Amazing
Nevermore That Melancholy Burden
The Girl Who Hunted Death
Destined to be Broken
An Offer She Can’t Refuse
The Boy Who Loved Too Much
A State of Imaginary Grace
Nothing Else Matters
No One Left to Torture
This is Where I Leave You
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An Imprint of Macmillan
PUBLIC ENEMIES. Copyright © 2015 by Ann Aguirre. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to
[email protected] Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available
ISBN: 978-1-250-02466-4 (hardcover) / 978-1-250-08691-4 (ebook) /
978-1-250-07420-1 (international edition)
Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
First Edition: 2015
macteenbooks.com
eISBN: 9781250086914
Ann Aguirre, Public Enemies
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