Wild Hunt (28 page)

The thing was, ever since we’d gotten back from the quarry, bandaged and rattled and insanely glad to be alive, I’d had a feeling that something was missing. And not just Skelling’s ghost, which I’d been happy to lay to rest.

Bargains mean a lot in the undercurrent. If you make a trade, you damn well better carry through on it. And the quarry had taken something in exchange for Nate.

I kept telling myself that it was nothing to worry about, that I’d have noticed if I’d actually given up anything, and that anything I’d given up without noticing wasn’t something to freak out over anyway. I was alive, Nate was alive, all our pieces were in place and functional, and that was what counted.

I kept telling myself all that, and yet I couldn’t help wondering. That water, rushing through me as if I weren’t even there…and that glimmer, real or imagined, fading under the surface.

I don’t know. I don’t know anything for certain.

I got up from the couch, turned off the light, and stared out the window a moment longer, trying to see any reflection, any glimmer. Nothing. The room might have been empty, for all the reflection told me.

Save for Nate. He stood in the doorway to his room, watching me in the glass, seeing the reflection that eluded me. I turned to face him, and he smiled, reaching out without speech.

I don’t know what to tell him
, I thought.

It didn’t matter just yet. I’d figure something out in time, and for now…for now this was enough. I went to him, and he opened his arms to me.

A
lthough I spent several years writing
Spiral Hunt, Wild Hunt
took only a little over a year to complete. I’d like to say that this was because I’d achieved some great authorial enlightenment, but the truth is that I’m still as clueless as before. Instead, the pace of this novel was a result of caffeine addiction, sheer terror at what I’d gotten myself into, and the loss of any kind of social life. I don’t know that I’d recommend that method in future.

The spark that started this story came from Yoon Ha Lee, who sent me a package with a note on scrap paper. The back of the paper included a tantalizing reference to the Gabriel Hounds, and in tracking them down, I discovered the next path for Evie to run.

I owe a lot to the staff of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, who were patient with my questions and who do not deserve the crass purposes to which I’ve put their work, nor the characters I’ve put in their place. Thanks, also, to Mrs. Gardner herself, who I hope would have regarded this story with amused tolerance.

With this book as with
Spiral Hunt
, I owe much to the members of BRAWL, who took an early draft apart and got it pointed in the right direction. Allegra Martin read another draft, and her enthusiasm
made sure that I kept on with the revision even when I wanted to tear it into little pieces, fling it against the wall, and declare myself Empress of Confetti. And again, the staff, students, and faculty of Viable Paradise were extraordinarily helpful. Shana Cohen listened to me babble about the plot, and Kate Nintzel took the draft I gave her and hammered it into shape. What is good in this book can be attributed to them; I claim credit for the flaws. (And for the Storrow Drive scene, because that was too much fun to give up.)

And again, many, many thanks to Joshua Lawton, who listened to my ideas, doubts, and frustrations, and gave in return support and love (and, in one case, a well-timed suggestion that I take a walk down to Mount Auburn Cemetery). This book wouldn’t be here at all if not for him.