1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts presents the first novel in a compelling trilogy about three brothers bound by fate, blood, and a timeless enemy. In the town of Hawkins Hollow, it’s called The Seven. Every seven years, on the seventh day of the seventh month, strange things happen. It began when three young boys--Caleb, Fox, and Gage--went on a camping trip to The Pagan Stone... It is only February, but Caleb Hawkins--descendant of the town founders--has already seen and felt the stirrings of evil. Though he can never forget the beginning of the terror in the woods twenty-one years ago, the signs have never been this strong before. Cal will need the help of his best friends Fox and Gage, but surprisingly he must rely on a stranger as well. Reporter Quinn Black came to Hawkins Hollow hoping to make its eerie happenings the subject of her new book. She too can see the evil the locals cannot, somehow connecting her to the town--and to Cal. As winter turns to spring, they will shed their inhibitions, surrendering to a desire that will grow and form the cornerstone of a group of men and women bound by the fight against what is to come from out of the darkness… Don't miss the other books in the Sign of Seven trilogy The Hollow The Pagan Stone

*Praise for Nora Roberts and Blood Brothers*

*“America's favorite writer.”—The New Yorker*

“The eternal struggle against evil plays out in the launch book of Roberts' new trilogy, The Sign of Seven. As in previous series, three couples over the course of three books must face their darkest fears. This is creepy and eerie fun!”—RT Book Reviews

Autorentext

Nora Roberts is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than 200 novels. She is also the author of the bestselling In Death series written under the pen name J. D. Robb. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print.

Klappentext

*#1 New York Times* bestselling author Nora Roberts presents the first novel in a compelling trilogy about three brothers bound by fate, blood, and a timeless enemy.

In the town of Hawkins Hollow, it’s called The Seven. Every seven years, on the seventh day of the seventh month, strange things happen. It began when three young boys—Caleb, Fox, and Gage—went on a camping trip to The Pagan Stone...
 
It is only February, but Caleb Hawkins—descendant of the town founders—has already seen and felt the stirrings of evil. Though he can never forget the beginning of the terror in the woods twenty-one years ago, the signs have never been this strong before. Cal will need the help of his best friends Fox and Gage, but surprisingly he must rely on a stranger as well.

Reporter Quinn Black came to Hawkins Hollow hoping to make its eerie happenings the subject of her new book. She too can see the evil the locals cannot, somehow connecting her to the town—and to Cal. As winter turns to spring, they will shed their inhibitions, surrendering to a desire that will grow and form the cornerstone of a group of men and women bound by the fight against what is to come from out of the darkness…

Don't miss the other books in the Sign of Seven trilogy
The Hollow
The Pagan Stone

Leseprobe

One

Hawkins Hollow

Maryland

July 6, 1987

 

Inside the pretty kitchen of the pretty house on Pleasant Avenue, Caleb Hawkins struggled not to squirm as his mother packed her version of campout provisions.

 

In his mother's world, ten-year-old boys required fresh fruit, homemade oatmeal cookies (they weren't so bad), half a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a bag of Ritz crackers made into sandwiches with Jif peanut butter for filling, some celery and carrot sticks (yuck!), and hearty ham-and-cheese sandwiches.

 

Then there was the thermos of lemonade, the stack of paper napkins, and the two boxes of Pop-Tarts she wedged into the basket for breakfast.

 

"Mom, we're not going to starve to death," he complained as she stood deliberating in front of an open cupboard. "We're going to be right in Fox's backyard."

 

Which was a lie, and kinda hurt his tongue. But she'd never let him go if he told her the truth. And, sheesh, he was ten. Or would be the very next day.

 

Frannie Hawkins put her hands on her hips. She was a pert, attractive blonde with summer blue eyes and a stylish curly perm. She was the mother of three, and Cal was her baby and only boy. "Now, let me check that backpack."

 

"Mom!"

 

"Honey, I just want to be sure you didn't forget anything." Ruthless in her own sunny way, Frannie unzipped Cal's navy blue pack. "Change of underwear, clean shirt, socks, good, good, shorts, toothbrush. Cal, where are the Band-Aids I told you to put in, and the Bactine, the bug repellant?"

 

"Sheesh, we're not going to Africa."

 

"All the same," Frannie said, and did her signature finger wave to send him along to gather up the supplies. While he did, she slipped a card out of her pocket and tucked it into the pack.

 

He'd been born-after eight hours and twelve minutes of vicious labor-at one minute past midnight. Every year she stepped up to his bed at twelve, watched him sleep for that minute, then kissed him on the cheek.

 

Now he'd be ten, and she wouldn't be able to perform the ritual. Because it made her eyes sting, she turned away to wipe at her spotless counter as she heard his tromping footsteps.

 

"I got it all, okay?"

 

Smiling brightly, she turned back. "Okay." She stepped over to rub a hand over his short, soft hair. He'd been her towheaded baby boy, she mused, but his hair was darkening, and she suspected it would be a light brown eventually.

 

Just as hers would be without the aid of Born Blonde.

 

In a habitual gesture, Frannie tapped his dark-framed glasses back up his nose. "You make sure you thank Miss Barry and Mr. O'Dell when you get there."

 

"I will."

 

"And when you leave to come home tomorrow."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

She took his face in her hands, looked through the thick lenses into eyes the same color as his father's calm gray ones. "Behave," she said and kissed his cheek. "Have fun." Then the other. "Happy birthday, my baby."

 

Usually it mortified him to be called her baby, but for some reason, just then, it made him feel sort of gooey and good.

 

"Thanks, Mom."

 

He shrugged on the backpack, then hefted the loaded picnic basket. How the hell was he going to ride all the way out to Hawkins Wood with half the darn grocery store on his bike?

 

The guys were going to razz him something fierce.

 

Since he was stuck, he carted it into the garage, where his bike hung tidily-by Mom decree-on a rack on the wall. Thinking it through, he borrowed two of his father's bungee cords and secured the picnic basket to the wire basket of his bike.

 

Then he hopped on his bike and pedaled down the short drive.

 

 

Fox finished weeding his section of the vegetable garden before hefting the spray his mother mixed up weekly to discourage the deer and rabbits from invading for an all-you-can-eat buffet. The garlic, raw egg, and cayenne pepper combination stank so bad he held his breath as he squirted it on the rows of snap beans and limas, the potato greens, the carrot and radish tops.

 

He stepped back, took a clear breath, and studied his work. His mother was pretty damn strict about the gardening. It was all about respecting the earth, harmonizing with Nature, and that stuff.

 

It was also, Fox knew, about eating, and making enough food and money to feed a family of six-and whoever dropped by. Which was why his dad and his older sister, Sage, were down at their stand selling fresh eggs, goat's milk, honey, and his mot…