Praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
RACHEL VINCENT
âTwilight fans will love it.â âKirkus Reviewson My Soul to Take
âA high-octane plot with characters you can really care
about. Vincent is a welcome addition to this genre!â Kelley Armstrong on Stray
âI liked the character and loved the action. I look
forward to reading the next book in the series.â Charlaine Harris on Stray
âFans of those vampires will enjoy this new
crop of otherworldly beings.â âBooklist
âMy Soul to Take grabs you from the very beginning.â âSci-Fi Guy
âWonderfully written characters ⦠A fast-paced,
engrossing read that you wonât want to put down. A story that I wouldnât mind sharing with my pre-teen ⦠A book like this is one of the reasons that I add authors to my auto-buy list. This is definitely a keeper.â âTeensReadToo.com
Thanks, as always, to my critique partner Rinda Elliot, who listens (and believes me) every time I swear that this one is the BEST ONE YET!!!
Thanks to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for unwavering enthusiasm for the Soul Screamers series, and for never even flinching at what Iâve put Kaylee and her friends through.
Thanks to Natashya Wilson, for input and encouragement.
Thanks to everyone behind the scenes at Harlequin Teen. Youâve made this possible. Kaylee and I thank you.
And, of course, thanks to #1, who puts up with me and with the multitude of fictional characters who take up most of my time and attention. Someday, more of both will be yours. I swear.
I used to think death was the worst thing that could happen to a person. I also used to think it was the last thing that could happen. But if Iâve learned anything from surrounding myself with reapers, and living nightmares, and my fellow bean sidhes, itâs this: I was wrong on both countsâ¦.
âWhat are you doing here before the warning bell?â I asked, sliding into my seat in first period algebra II with four minutes to spare. âIsnât that one of the signs of an impending apocalypse?â
âIf so, this is how I want to go out.â Emma Marshall sighed, digging the textbook from the bag on her lap. âEnjoying the view.â
I followed my best friendâs gaze to the front of the class, where Mr. Beckâhired in the wake of Mr. Wesnerâs untimely demiseâwas writing math problems on the white board with green ink. His numbers were blockish and completely vertical; he had the best handwriting of any teacher at Eastlake. But Emmaâs focus was several feet below his numbers, where the jeans encouraged by the new âSpirit Fridaysâ policy proved that Mr. Beck was much more dedicated to physical fitness than the average high school faculty member.
âAnd I suppose your sudden interest in math is purely academic, right?â
Her grin widened as she set the book on her desk, and it fell open to the place marked with a fat, purple-print emery board. âI donât know if âpureâ is totally accurate, but I havenât figured out how to entirely avoid academia in the school setting. I think the most we can hope for is something pretty to look at, to distract us from the inherent pain of the educational process.â
I laughed. âSpoken like a true underachiever.â
Emma could have been a straight-A student, but she was satisfied coasting by on effortless Bs, except in French and math, the only subjects that didnât seem to come naturally for her. And the hot new math teacher had done nothing to improve her grades. Thanks to the aesthetic distraction, she was less inclined than ever to pay attention to what was written on the board and in the book.
Not that I could blame her. Mr. Beck was undeniably yummy, from his dark, tousled hair to his bright green eyes and the scuffed sneakers he always wore, even with slacks.
âHeâs only twenty-two,â Em said, when she caught me looking. âLess than a year out of college. I bet this is his first teaching job.â
âHow do you know that?â I asked, as Mr. Beck set his marker down and dug through his desk drawer for something.
âHeard it from Danica Sussman. Heâs been tutoring her after school, to keep her eligible for softball.â
âWhere is Danica?â I asked, on the tail end of the late bell. Sheâd been out sick for a couple of days, but sheâd never missed on a game day beforeâDanica was supposed to pitch that afternoon.
âStill sick, I guess,â Em whispered, as Mr. Beck started taking roll. She unfolded a half-blank sheet of notebook paper. âDid you do the homework?â
I rolled my eyes and pulled out my own work. âWhat happened to your new interest in math?â
âIt doesnât extend to homework.â
âKaylee Cavanaugh?â Mr. Beck called from the front of the room, and I glanced up, startled, certain weâd been caught cheating. But Beck was just standing there with his roll book in hand, waiting for my answer.