The Girl at Midnight (36 page)

“Tanith,” the Ala continued. “Altair, if he survived. Their enemies. Their allies. Anyone with a vested interest in the firebird’s power.”

“I know,” Echo said. She shoved her belongings into her bag with a surprising amount of calm and tried not to think about the things she was leaving behind: the Nest, the home she could never return to, or Rowan, the boy she couldn’t—wouldn’t—burden with her newfound power. The dagger lay next to the backpack, gleaming prettily against the white of Jasper’s sheets. She would pack that last.

“You can’t stay here.”

“I know,” Echo said.

She looked around the loft, airy and bright at the top of the Strasbourg Cathedral. Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, painting the white carpet—dirty as it was—a thousand shades of orange, purple, green, and blue. It was so very Jasper. How quickly it had begun to feel like a home, with so many people—Avicen, Drakharin, and human—packed into it.

The others puttered about the loft, gathering the few things they would need on the run. Dorian and Ivy were packing whatever medical supplies they could scrounge up, while Jasper lay on the sofa, sulking. Ivy and the Ala had worked miracles on his wound, but he needed time to heal. Time they didn’t have.

Caius met her gaze from across the room. He smiled at her, eyes soft and warm, and Echo couldn’t not smile back. Dorian called his name, and Caius looked away. There was the faintest echo of a presence inside her head, demanding attention. Rose. Echo closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Rose faded, like the ghost she was.

The Ala smoothed her honey-colored skirt over her thighs. “What will you do?”

“The same thing I’ve always done,” Echo said, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. She held the dagger in her hand, onyx and pearl magpies catching the light. If she angled it just right, they looked like they were flying. “Run when I have to, and fight till the end.”

AVAILABLE IN JUNE 2016

Writing a book is a bit like embarking on a quest to throw a magical golden ring into an active volcano. You start off alone, wondering how you’re ever going to make it to the end, and along the way you wind up picking up friends who make your journey possible.

I’m so incredibly lucky to have been given the opportunity to work with inimitable Krista Marino at Delacorte Press, who is more wizard than editor. Her unwavering faith in the book, even when it felt like mine was failing, sustained me, making sure that Echo got where she needed to be by the final page. Publishing your first novel is by turns thrilling, overwhelming, and terrifying, and I feel so fortunate to have a wonderful team at Random House who worked to make
The Girl at Midnight
the best it could possibly be. And an extra special thank-you to Alison Impey, Gail Doobinin, and Jen Wang for designing such a beautiful book. I mean, just look at it. Go ahead. Ogle it. Appreciate the pretty. I’ll wait.

Are you back? Okay, good. Let us proceed.

There’s that saying that sometimes in art, you must kill your darlings, and as a debut writer, that can be difficult. The urge to be precious with your book babies is strong. You want to pet them and love them and cherish them forever, but you really need someone in your corner who will help
you do what needs doing, even when it’s scary. My agent, Catherine Drayton, has always been ready with both tough love and pep talks, dispensed with great wisdom as needed. Thank you so, so, so much for looking at this story and seeing something special there, even (especially) when I couldn’t. And thank you to the staff at InkWell Management, especially foreign rights rock stars Lyndsey Blessing and Alyssa Mozdzen, for all their hard work.

I wouldn’t be who I am—as a person and as a writer—without the ladies of the Midnight Society. Calling you critique partners and beta readers doesn’t do you justice. Amanda, I don’t even know if I’d be writing novels if it hadn’t been for those stories we wrote by passing notes, oh-so-stealthily, to each other in French class. Idil, I may have racked up a mountain of debt in grad school, but since the experience was the start of a beautiful friendship, I don’t regret a single penny. If not for our lunch at Yo! Sushi that fateful afternoon, Echo would probably never have been born. Laura, your enthusiasm was sometimes the only thing that got me through the day. The fact that you were excited for this book made me know I had to finish it, even if just for you. Also, I was kind of afraid you would hunt me down if I didn’t. I’m doubly grateful that you introduced me to Robin Lange—thanks for the Latin translation, Robin! And, Chelsea: You were the first person to read
The Girl at Midnight
from start to finish. When you emailed me to say you’d devoured it in one sitting, staying up late into the night to reach the end, I cried. Real, human tears.

To paraphrase Virginia Woolf, a woman needs a room of her own to write fiction, but even more importantly, you need to have a roof over your head and food on your table. If
not for my family’s love and support, this story would probably never have made it from my brain to the page.

Like Echo, I was a lonely child, but I knew that so long as I had a book in my hands, I was never truly alone. I’m incredibly grateful to the writers whose stories kept me company, reminding me that the world was a wondrous place, full of adventures, if only you were brave enough to look, and to the teachers (Hi, Dr. Meade!) who encouraged me to write my own.

And lastly, I would like to thank
you
, the reader, for going on this journey with me. The fact that you even picked up this book at all will never stop boggling my mind, and I’m honored and humbled that you chose to spend those precious hours of your time with Echo and her friends.

Melissa Grey wrote her first short story at the age of twelve and hasn’t stopped writing since. After earning a degree in fine art at Yale University, she embarked on an adventure of global proportions and discovered a secret talent for navigating subway systems in just about any language. She works as a freelance journalist in New York City. To learn more about Melissa, visit
melissa-grey.com
and follow
@meligrey
on Twitter.