The Loneliest Place (Blight Harbor)

The Loneliest Place (Blight Harbor)

Evie ventures into the Dark Sun Side to rescue her loved ones, only to discover truths darker than she could have ever imagined in this “riveting and wildly imaginative” ( Kirkus Reviews ) finale to the Blight Harbor series that’s perfect for fans of Doll Bones and Small Spaces . As summer comes to an end, Evie Von Rathe is determined to begin the search for her parents in earnest. Armed with her knowledge of the otherworldly, her mom’s violet glasses, and a pendant full of doors, Evie begins to piece together clues. When she realizes her mother’s bedtime story might be a roadmap to finding them, Evie follows it back to the Dark Sun Side. But stories are funny things, and they change from one teller to the next. The black nothing of the Radix is waiting, and it knows more than it’s ever let on. Evie will need every bit of courage she has for what’s coming. With Bird at her side, and maybe even a reluctant Lark as well, Evie has what she hopes is her last adventure under a purple sky. "Senf’s storytelling is riveting and wildly imaginative, and her story is populated with unique, otherworldly creatures and characters. Evie’s death-defying crusade makes for a satisfying, compelling closing to the series. A fitting finale for a top-notch series." -- Kirkus Reviews ― 8/1/24 Lora Senf is a writer of dark and twisty stories for all ages. She is the author of The Clackity , Bram Stoker Award winner The Nighthouse Keeper , The Loneliest Place , and Pennies . She credits her love of words to her parents and to the public library that was walking distance from her childhood home. Lora finds inspiration for her writing in her children’s retellings of their dreams, on road trips through Montana, and most recently while reminiscing about summer days spent on her bike. She lives in eastern Washington with her husband, their twins, and two remarkably lazy cats. Visit her at LoraSenf.com. Alfredo Cáceres is an author and illustrator from Santiago, Chile. He has worked in picture books, magazines, newspapers, and video games, including the acclaimed Blight Harbor series and New York Times bestseller The Millicent Quibb School of Etiquette for Young Ladies of Mad Science . His debut graphic novel Through the Black Gate is based on the city of Valdivia, Chile, where he grew up between rain and moss. Visit him on Instagram @RedoLaf. Chapter 1 1 For some people, bravery is a thing they have at their fingertips, ready and waiting to be called on. I was not one of those people. Every time I got done using my bravery, I immediately misplaced it and had to go looking the next time I needed it. And then, once I did find it, covered in cobwebs and dust bunnies, I’d have to remember how it worked all over again. I was in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to use my bravery but so anxious that I was basically vibrating. I couldn’t even read, and sleep was totally out of the question. I hadn’t bothered getting changed and was still in the jeans and grey tank top I’d been wearing all day. Bird flew in nervous circles around my neck, and I kept patting him and rubbing the top of his head with a fingertip. I needed Bird calm and sure, not fidgety and restless like me. When my little buddy was nervous, I got even more nervous, which was the opposite of helpful. Right then I needed all the calm and sure I could get, because I was about to do something that scared me a lot. Something I knew Aunt Des would never, ever let me do. Especially on my own. Which was why I hadn’t told her. Which was also why, beneath the nervous bubbling in my chest, I was feeling the sludge of guilt settling in my stomach. I’d been dodging Des lately because I knew if I told her what I was planning to do she’d try to stop me or, worse, get hurt trying to help me. So I’d been spending a lot of time avoiding her because that was better than lying to her. We didn’t lie to each other, me and Des. And I wasn’t lying, not exactly. But I sure wasn’t being open and honest, either. The familiar sounds of my aunt getting ready for bed drifted into my room. Then eventually nothing but the noises old houses make after a long day. By eleven o’clock, I knew Des had probably been asleep for an hour. It was time. Sitting up, I pulled on my black All Stars, slipped my backpack over my shoulder, and walked softly across the room to my dresser. The only light in my bedroom came from a small, moon-shaped night-light plugged in low on one wall. It was enough—I knew exactly where the Nighthouse Keeper’s necklace was: third dresser drawer, back right corner. The brass chain was cold on the back of my neck as I slipped it on over my head. The black, stone, rectangular pendant—half the size of a playing card—hung heavy, just like I remembered. It had been a miracle I’d even managed to get the necklace—I’d thought I’d only managed to grab Portia’s long, greasy hair as she’d leapt through the window, chasing her own soul as it disapp