Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(116)

Jules’s face hardens. She abruptly stands and tosses her braided hair behind her shoulder.

“You’re all stitched up now, Bastien. You should rest.”

“But—”

She crosses her arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I sigh and nod. “Fine.” Jules probably can’t even answer my biggest question—if someone can gain back the Light they lost.

Three knocks sound on the door.

Everyone in the room freezes.

One more knock. Then two.

Marcel’s code. Again.

Jules withdraws a knife. Birdine scoots closer to Marcel. Marcel tries his best to look brave. I bolt upright, and my back wrenches in pain.

“Who’s out there?” Jules calls, creeping toward the door.

No one answers.

She turns to Marcel. “Were you followed?”

“Would I know if I was followed?”

“Well, I would know if I was followed.”

My head spins. Don’t pass out, Bastien. I’m still dizzy from blood loss.

Rap, rap, rap.

Rap.

Rap, rap.

Jules throws me a questioning glance. I nod and ball my hands into fists.

She tightens her grip on the knife. Slowly unlocks the door. Cracks it open.

“Merde!” She jumps backward as a cloaked figure kicks the door wide.

Before anyone can react, a hand flashes out from the cloak. Seizes Jules’s knife. Flings it across the room.

Thwack. The blade sinks into the wall right behind me. Adrenaline shoots through my limbs.

“I don’t want to fight any of you,” the visitor says in a distinctly feminine voice. One I recognize.

“Too bad.” Jules lunges for her.

“No, don’t!” I say, even though the visitor easily dodges her attack. “She’s a friend. She’s Ailesse’s friend,” I clarify. Jules’s brow furrows.

The visitor takes three smooth steps into the room and draws back the hood of her cloak. Black curls spring around her face. Large brown eyes stare back at me. “Hello, Bastien.”

I nod, struggling to stay upright. My back is on fire. “Sabine.”

She lifts her chin. “I’ve come to tell you Prince Casimir has abducted Ailesse.”

“Saw it with my own eyes.” My jaw muscle tenses.

Sabine’s hand drifts to her necklace of grace bones. She inhales a long breath through her nostrils. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”





Acknowledgments

DREAMING UP THIS STORY AND crafting it into a polished book has been a wonderful and challenging adventure. I’m indebted and grateful to those who helped make it happen: My agent, Josh Adams, who saw a spark of greatness in my long and rambling phone call about French folklore, star-crossed lovers, bone magic, and Ferriers of the dead.

My editor, Maria Barbo, who believed in Ailesse, Sabine, and Bastien from the start. You brought out their angst, demons, and desires with your signature magic. I trust you implicitly.

Stephanie Guerdan, Maria’s brilliant assistant, who literally keeps us on the same page, adds wonderful editorial input, and performs a plethora of tasks behind the scenes.

My publisher, Katherine Tegen, and her fantastic crew at KT Books/HarperCollins. Thank you for giving me a home and continuing to support me.

The incredible design team: art directors Joel Tippie and Amy Ryan; and Charlie Bowater, who illustrated the breathtaking jacket art. I am absolutely smitten with the work you’ve all done.

My husband, Jason Purdie, for respecting my creativity and cultivating a home environment where it can run wild, and for continuing to inspire me with your theatrical talent.

My children: Isabelle, for her enthusiasm about this story; Aidan, for making me laugh during tight deadlines; and Ivy, for asking hard life questions that kept me grounded.

My French friends, Sylvie, Karine, and Agnés, who helped me feel seen when I felt lost and alone as a teenager, and who inspired my deep love for their country and culture.

My critique partners and besties, Sara B. Larson, Emily R. King, and Ilima Todd, for making my shark attack scarier, my world-building clearer, and my characters more relatable.

Bree Despain, for sharing firsthand knowledge and sensory details of her travels through the catacombs beneath Paris. One day I’ll go exploring with you!

My French translator, Oksana Anthian, for tweaking my made-up French words until they sounded realistic and phonetically accurate.

My mother, Buffie, for assuring me the work would get done, and for providing me a quiet place in her home whenever I needed to escape in order to make that happen.

My writer father, Larry, who has already been ferried to the Beyond. I feel your love, help, and inspiration every day, Dad.

My writing friends, Jodi Meadows, Erin Summerill, Lindsey Leavitt Brown, Robin Hall, and Emily Prusso, for their pep talks, brainstorming, and laughter.

The best friends across my life: Jenny Porcaro Cole (high school), Colby Gorton Fletcher (mutual beauty school dropout . . . don’t ask), Mandy Barth Kuhn (college), Amanda Davis (newlywed years), Robin Hall (past neighbor), and Sara B. Larson (writing life). Because this book is largely about best friends who would do anything for one another, I had to give a shout-out to all of you.

My nine siblings, Gavon, Matthew, Lindsay, Holly, Nate, Rebecca, Collin, Emily, and McKay.