By Stacey Marie Brown
Freak. Witch. loopy. Schizo.
Ember Brycin has been known as all of them. She’s regularly recognized she’s varied. nobody has ever referred to as her basic, even less than the simplest situations. extraordinary and inexplicable issues consistently ensue to her, and having assorted coloured eyes, unusual hair, and an strange tattoo in basic terms contributes to the gossip approximately her.
When the newest institution explosion lands her in a facility for bothered young people, she meets Eli Dragen, who’s scorching as hell and darkly mysterious. Their connection is stuffed with ardour, threat, and secrets and techniques. secrets and techniques that may not purely switch her existence, yet what and who she is—leading her down a course she by no means imagined possible.
Between gentle and darkish, Ember reveals an international the place fact and data are strength and nobody should be depended on. yet her survival is dependent upon checking out the reality approximately herself. In her pursuit, she is pressured among love and future and stable and evil, even if the diversities among them aren’t regularly transparent. At worst, she's going to incite a conflict which can ruin either worlds. At top, she is going to not just lose her center yet her lifestyles and everybody she loves. as soon as the fact is out, even if, there'll be no going again. And she’ll certainly want she may.
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Extra resources for Darkness of Light (Darkness Series, Book 1)
Good black suit, a little too small, clutched briefcase, freckles of gray in the hair. No rings. He did not seem startled or doubled over with desire as they sometimes were. He was calm, his answering smile measured and almost sweet, like a photograph of a soldier lost in a long-ago war. Coolly, without taking his dark eyes from hers, he turned over his left palm and rested it on the creamy brown edge of his briefcase. His hand was covered in a mark she first thought horrible—it snaked and snarled, black and swollen, where fortune-teller’s lines ought to have been.
At the end of each day they tell her all they have learned of living. It is necessary work. No family has been so often formally thanked by the city as hers. _______ On the other side of the street: a fortune-teller’s shop. Palm fronds cross before the door. Inside are four red chairs with four lustral basins before them, filled with ink, swirling and black. Orlande lumbers in, a woman wrapped in ragged fox fur. Her head amid heaps of scarves is that of a frog, mottled green and bulbous-eyed. A licking pink tongue keeps its place in her wide mouth.
It folds itself, origami-exact, in midair: it has papery eyes, inky feathers, vellum claws. It stares down the long avenues, searching for mice. This is the life cycle of Palimpsest fauna. Yumiko leans against the door post, holding her arms out like a sister who had never hoped to see her dear one again. She is not wearing her schoolgirl’s dress any longer, but a red scrap that clings to her waist like a spool of yarn pulled tighter than breathing. With a local girl’s surety she guides Sei inside—a little scalloped bell chimes, and Imogen looks up from her parchments with a stern face, her black hair soft around a neck just slightly too long for a woman to wear in company.