Fifteen-year-old Orla thinks her life is nothing short of ordinary. Then, a knock upon her door changes her entire world forever.
Orla is told she is one of the Seraphium, a society of people gifted with special Talents that can bend time, space, an...
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#Summary: Fifteen-year-old Orla thinks her life is nothing short of ordinary. Then, a knock upon her door changes her entire world forever.
Orla is told she is one of the Seraphium, a society of people gifted with special Talents that can bend time, space, and reality to their whims. In order to learn and master her abilities, Orla is enrolled in Bilarthus Academy, part of a secretive community where she makes her first friends with a girl whose touch can raise the dead, and another whose nightmares come to life.
Despite its charming exterior, danger lurks in the Academy. One of their teachers is found dead, and suspicion turns to Orla and her odd friends. To make matters worse, Orla can't be entirely sure one of them didn't commit the crime, not when her own Talent starts to behave violently in the presence of the enigmatic Obscrumancy instructor, Master Atlas Lazarian.
One thing is for certain: life will never be ordinary for Orla and her friends again.
#Book Contents: some violence and strong language. No graphic intimacy. Themes of fantasy bigotry and frightening imagery.
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ONE: A GIRL WITH HER SHADOW
Orla
Beneath the cafeteria's bothersome noise, Orla listened to the idle scuff of her sneakers swaying above the linoleum floor. The afternoon sun from the window behind her poured heat against her back. The northern seaboard of Maine usually cooled off by the time September rolled around, but summer was tenacious this year. The warmth clung to the pines and draped over the steep roofs and salt-stained shingles of Dirgemore, and it filled Oceancrest High School like a muggy, sticky cloud. Everyone was hot and irritated.
Orla exhaled as she picked over her lunch, plastic fork scraping against the tray underneath, sweat on her sunburnt neck prickling her skin. Her foot kept bumping against her backpack filled with the things she needed for the ninth grade. The stretched-out collar of her shirt gaped over thin, bony collarbone, the sleeves almost reaching her dry elbows.
Where the light flowed over her shoulders, it cast a shadow too long and large to belong to a fourteen-year-old girl. It swelled over the table and almost seemed to sit on the bench across from her.
Thoughts not belonging to Orla flitted against her mind. They popped up like white clovers in the grass after a spring rainstorm, brief pinpricks of light in the weeds.
"No," she answered, swallowing a bite of food. She tucked her untidy bangs behind her ears, the rest of the blonde strands gathered in a lopsided ponytail. "I can't do that, Morty."
