House of Roots and Ruin

Informationen zum Autor Erin A. Craig is the New York Times bestselling author of House of Salt and Sorrows and Small Favors. She has always loved telling stories. After getting her BFA in Theatre Design and Production from the University of Michigan, she stage-managed tragic operas filled with hunchbacks, séances, and murderous clowns, then decided she wanted to write books that were just as spooky. An avid reader, an embroidery enthusiast, a rabid basketball fan, and a collector of typewriters, Erin makes her home in West Michigan with her husband and daughter. Klappentext #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A modern masterpiece, this is a classic Gothic thriller-fantasy from bestselling author Erin A. Craig, about doomed love, menacing ambition, and the ghosts that haunt us forever. In a manor by the sea, one sister is still cursed. Despite dreams of adventures far beyond the Salann shores, seventeen-year-old Verity Thaumas has remained at her family's estate, Highmoor, with her older sister Camille, while their sisters have scattered across Arcannia. When their sister Mercy sends word that the Duchess of Bloemwife of a celebrated botanistis interested in having Verity paint a portrait of her son, Alexander, Verity jumps at the chance, but Camille won't allow it. Forced to reveal the secret she's kept for years, Camille tells Verity the truth one day: Verity is still seeing ghosts, she just doesn't know it. Stunned, Verity flees Highmoor that night andwith nowhere else to turnmakes her way to Bloem. At first, she is captivated by the lush, luxurious landscape and is quickly drawn to charming, witty, and impossibly handsome Alexander Laurent. And soon, to her surprise, a romance . . . blossoms. But it's not long before Verity is plagued with nightmares, and the darker side of Bloem begins to show through its sickly-sweet facade. . . . Leseprobe 1 The paintbrush was too wet. Pigment concentrated through the boar-­hair bristles, sluicing out in irregular blots and smudging the line I'd wanted crisp. Hold still, I murmured, barely moving my lips as I dabbed the brush on a rag, lest I somehow jar the moment before me and lose its magic forever. Just one minute more. The corner of Artie's lips trembled as if fighting the urge to break into a grin. I'm almost finished, I promised. Just . . . I flicked the brush across the canvas, capturing the gleam of impish merriment brightening my nephew's eyes. There. It's perfect. I want to see! I want to see! Artie exclaimed, falling out of his carefully arranged pose and tumbling over himself as he dashed behind the easel. His eyebrows fell. That's not what I look like. Is it? I studied the rendering with a critical eye before glancing back to the little boy before me. Thick waves of dark hair like mine, like most Thaumases, but with his father's button nose. I think it's a fine likeness. Very fine, a voice affirmed from the doorway behind us. Mama! he cried, racing off to give his mother a hug. Am I done now? Camille raised an eyebrow at me, seeking confirmation. I set down my palette and nodded. All done. Camille pressed a swift kiss to the top of his head before he was off, racing down the hall, breathless with pent-­up energy. How was he? she asked, entering the Blue Room to study the portrait more closely. Her amber eyes missed nothing. This arrived for you this morning, she said, handing me a thick envelope. It was marked with several palace seals. Mercy. A little squirmy but that's to be expected. I ran my thumb under the flap, ready to rip open the envelope and dig out my sister's letter, but I paused, watching Camille take in the painting. It's a lovely painting, she complimented. I can't believe he's five now. Where have the y...

Autorentext

Erin A. Craig is the New York Times bestselling author of House of Salt and Sorrows and Small Favors. She has always loved telling stories. After getting her BFA in Theatre Design and Production from the University of Michigan, she stage-managed tragic operas filled with hunchbacks, séances, and murderous clowns, then decided she wanted to write books that were just as spooky. An avid reader, an embroidery enthusiast, a rabid basketball fan, and a collector of typewriters, Erin makes her home in West Michigan with her husband and daughter.

Klappentext

**#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A modern masterpiece, this is a classic Gothic thriller-fantasy from bestselling author Erin A. Craig, about doomed love, menacing ambition, and the ghosts that haunt us forever.

In a manor by the sea, one sister is still cursed.**

Despite dreams of adventures far beyond the Salann shores, seventeen-year-old Verity Thaumas has remained at her family’s estate, Highmoor, with her older sister Camille, while their sisters have scattered across Arcannia.

When their sister Mercy sends word that the Duchess of Bloem—wife of a celebrated botanist—is interested in having Verity paint a portrait of her son, Alexander, Verity jumps at the chance, but Camille won’t allow it. Forced to reveal the secret she’s kept for years, Camille tells Verity the truth one day: Verity is still seeing ghosts, she just doesn’t know it.

Stunned, Verity flees Highmoor that night and—with nowhere else to turn—makes her way to Bloem. At first, she is captivated by the lush, luxurious landscape and is quickly drawn to charming, witty, and impossibly handsome Alexander Laurent. And soon, to her surprise, a romance . . . blossoms.

But it’s not long before Verity is plagued with nightmares, and the darker side of Bloem begins to show through its sickly-sweet facade. . . .

Leseprobe
1

The paintbrush was too wet.

Pigment concentrated through the boar-­hair bristles, sluicing out in irregular blots and smudging the line I’d wanted crisp.

“Hold still,” I murmured, barely moving my lips as I dabbed the brush on a rag, lest I somehow jar the moment before me and lose its magic forever. “Just one minute more.”

The corner of Artie’s lips trembled as if fighting the urge to break into a grin.

“I’m almost finished,” I promised. “Just . . .” I flicked the brush across the canvas, capturing the gleam of impish merriment brightening my nephew’s eyes. “There. It’s perfect.”

“I want to see! I want to see!” Artie exclaimed, falling out of his carefully arranged pose and tumbling over himself as he dashed behind the easel. His eyebrows fell. “That’s not what I look like. Is it?”

I studied the rendering with a critical eye before glancing back to the little boy before me. Thick waves of dark hair like mine, like most Thaumases, but with his father’s button nose. “I think it’s a fine likeness.”

“Very fine,” a voice affirmed from the doorway behind us.

“Mama!” he cried, racing off to give his mother a hug. “Am I done now?”

Camille raised an eyebrow at me, seeking confirmation. I set down my palette and nodded.

“All done.” Camille pressed a swift kiss to the top of his head before he was off, racing down the hall, breathless with pent-­up energy.

“How was he?” she asked, entering the Blue Room to study the portrait more closely. Her amber eyes missed nothing. “This arrived for you this morning,” she said, handing me a thick envelope. It was marked with several palace seals.

Mercy.

“A little squirmy but that’s to be expected.” I ran my thumb under the flap, ready to rip open the envelope and dig out my sister’s letter, but I paused, watching Camille take in the painting.

“It’s a lovely painting,” she complimented. “I can’t…