The Stars Never Rise
There’s no turning back…In the town of New Temperance, souls are in short supply and Nina should be worrying about protecting hers. Yet she’s too busy trying to keep her sister Mellie safe.When Nina discovers that Mellie is keeping a secret that threatens their existence, she’ll do anything to protect her. Because in New Temperance, sins are prosecuted as crimes by the brutal church.To keep them both alive, Nina will need to trust Finn, a mysterious fugitive who has already saved her life once. Wanted by the church and hunted by dark forces, Nina knows she needs Finn and his group of rogue friends.But what do they need from her in return?‘Haunting, unsettling and eerily beautiful’ – Rachel Caine
Читать The Stars Never Rise онлайн беплатно
Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author
RACHEL
VINCENT
‘I liked the character and loved the action. I look
forward to reading the next book in the series.’ Charlaine Harris
‘Vincent is a welcome addition to the genre!’
Kelley Armstrong
‘Compelling and edgy, dark and evocative, Stray is a must read! I loved it from beginning to end.’ Gena Showalter
‘I had trouble putting this book down. Every time
I said I was going to read just one more chapter, I’d find myself three chapters later.’ Bitten by Books on Stray
‘Vincent continues to impress with the freshness of her
approach and voice. Action and intrigue abound.’ RT Book Reviews
RACHEL VINCENT is the New York Times bestselling author of many books for adults and for teens, including the Shifters, Unbound, and Soul Screamer series. A resident of Oklahoma, she has two teenagers, two cats and a BA in English, each of which contributes in some way to every book she writes. When she’s not working, Rachel can be found curled up with a book or watching movies and playing video games with her husband.
Visit Rachel online at
Follow Rachel Vincent on
To my husband, who helped me brainstorm this project in various versions for two full years before I even told my agent about it. Thanks for all the plotting sessions, for the sketches you drew of my concepts and for your endless patience. You’re the best. No, really.
Thanks to my amazing agent, Merrilee Heifetz, who makes things happen.
Thanks to my new editor, Wendy Loggia at Delacorte Press, who championed this book all the way into print.
Thanks, as always, to my critique partner, Rinda Elliott, who saw several versions of the beginning of this book, only a few passages of which made it into the final text. Your input is invaluable.
Many thanks to the awesome Rachel Clarke for a critical early read.
A big thank-you to Jennifer Lynn Barnes, for Panera writing days, company and advice. There is no scene that cannot be conquered with a little caffeine and a bowl of soup.
And finally, thanks to everyone at Random House who has worked on The Stars Never Rise. Your dedication and experience are greatly appreciated.
And finally, thanks to everyone who has worked on The Stars Never Rise. Your dedication and experience are greatly appreciated. Thanks so much to Angharad Kowal, my UK agent, and to Anna Baggaley and Mira Ink, for making The Stars Never Rise available in the UK.
Table of Contents
Praise
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
There’s never a good time of day to cross town with a bag full of stolen goods, but of all the possibilities, five a.m. was the hour best suited to that particular sin.
Five a.m. and I were well acquainted.
“Nina, hurry!” Marta whispered, glancing over my shoulder at the cold, dark backyard, but she probably couldn’t see much of the neat lawn beyond the rectangle of light shining through the open screen door. “Mrs. Turner’s already up.” She wiped flour from one hand with a rag, then flipped the lock and pushed the door open slowly so it wouldn’t squeal and give us away.
“Sorry. Mr. Howard locked his back gate, so I had to go the long way.” My teeth still chattering, I stepped into the Turners’ warm kitchen and handed Marta the garment bag I’d carried folded over my right arm. The plastic was freezing from my predawn trek. Marta would have to hang the uniforms near a heater vent, or Sarah Turner would figure out that her school clothes hadn’t spent the night in her warm house, and I’d be out of a job. Again.
I couldn’t afford to lose this one.
Marta set her rag on the butcher-block kitchen island, where she’d been cutting out homemade biscuits, then hooked the hangers—I’d bundled them just like the dry cleaner would have—over the door to a formal dining room half the size of my house. I’d been in there once. The Turners’ cloth napkins probably cost more than my whole wardrobe.
Mr. Turner owned the factory that made the Church cassocks—official robes—for most of the region. I found that ironic, considering the illicit work I was doing on his daughter’s clothes, but I refused to feel guilty. The Turners’ monthly tithe would feed my whole family for a year.
“They’re all here?” Marta unzipped the garment bag to inspect my work.
“Same as always. Five blouses, five pairs of slacks, all starched and pressed. That raspberry stain came out too.” I picked up the sleeve of the first blouse to show her the bright white cuff, and when she bent to study the material, I took a can of beef stew from the shelf at my back and slid it into the pocket of my oversized jacket.
“Good. Here’s next week’s batch.” Marta straightened and gestured to a bulging brown paper bag sitting on the tile countertop. “Sarah cut herself and bled on one of them….” She opened the bag and lifted the stained tail of a blouse at the top of the pile. “I told her blood won’t come out of white cotton, so she’s already replaced it, which means you’re welcome to keep this one. The stain’ll never show with it tucked in.”
