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- KurzbeschreibungJennifer Niven, New York Times bestselling author of All the Bright Places says "I am utterly addicted to Adriana Mather's electric debut . It keeps you on the edge of your seat, twisting and turning with ghosts, witches, an ancient curse, and-- sigh-- romance. It's beautiful. Haunting. The characters are vivid and real. I. Could. Not. Put. It. Down."<br>For fans of Conversion and Mean Girls, comes a debut novel from one of the descendants of Cotton Mather, where the trials of high school start to feel like a modern day witch hunt for a teen with all the wrong connections to Salem's past.<br>Salem, Massachusetts is the site of the infamous witch trials and the new home of Samantha Mather. Recently transplanted from New York City, Sam and her stepmother are not exactly welcomed with open arms. Sam is the descendant of Cotton Mather, one of the men responsible for those trials and almost immediately, she becomes the enemy of a group of girls who call themselves The Descendants. And guess who their ancestors were?<br>If dealing with that weren't enough, Sam also comes face to face with a real live (well technically dead) ghost. A handsome, angry ghost who wants Sam to stop touching his stuff. But soon Sam discovers she is at the center of a centuries old curse affecting anyone with ties to the trials. Sam must come to terms with the ghost and find a way to work with the Descendants to stop a deadly cycle that has been going on since the first accused witch was hanged. If any town should have learned its lesson, it's Salem. But history may be about to repeat itself.<br>From the Hardcover edition.
- AutorAdriana Mather
- VerlagRandom House LCC US
- Seiten368 Seiten
- Gewicht370 g
- LeseprobeChapter One<br>Too Confident<br>Like most fast- talking, opinionated New Yorkers, I have an affinity for sarcasm. At fifteen, though, it's hard to convince anyone that sarcasm's a cultural thing and not a bad attitude. Especially when your stepmother can't drive, 'cause she's also from New York, and spills your coffee with maniacal brake pounding.<br>I wipe a dribble of hazelnut latte off my chin. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I love wearing my coffee."<br>Vivian keeps her hand poised over the horn, like a cat waiting to pounce. "All your clothes have holes in them. Coffee isn't your problem."<br>If it's possible for someone to never have an awkward moment, socially or otherwise, then that someone is my stepmother. When I was little, I admired her ability to charm roomfuls of people. Maybe I thought it would rub off on me- an idea I've since given up on. She's perfectly put together in a way I'll never be, and my vegan leather jacket and torn black jeans drive her crazy. So now I just take joy in wearing them to her dinner parties. Gotta have something, right?<br>"My problem is, I don't know when I'll see my dad," I say, staring out at the well- worn New England homes, with their widow's walks and dark shutters.<br>Vivian's lips tighten. "We've been through this a hundred times. They'll transfer him to Mass General sometime this week."<br>"Which is still an hour from Salem." This is the sentence I've repeated since I found out three weeks ago that we had to sell our New York apartment, the apartment I've spent my entire life in.<br>"Would you rather live in New York and not be able to pay your father's medical bills? We have no idea how long he'll be in a coma."<br>Three months, twenty- one days, and ten hours. That's how long it's already been. We pass a row of witch- themed shops with dried herbs and brooms filling their windows.<br>"They really love their witches here," I say, ignoring Vivian's last question.<br>"This is one of the most important historical towns in America. Your relatives played a major role in that history."<br>"My relatives hanged witches in the sixteen hundreds. Not exactly something to be proud of."<br>But in truth, I'm super curious about this place, with its cobblestone alleys and eerie black houses. We pass a police car with a witch logo on the side. As a kid, I tried every tactic to get my dad to take me here, but he wouldn't hear of it. He'd say that nothing good ever happens in Salem and the conversation would end. There's no pushing my dad.<br>A bus with a ghost- tour ad pulls in front of us. Vivian jerks to a stop and then tailgates. She nods at the ad. "There's a nice provincial job for you."<br>I crack a smile. "I don't believe in ghosts
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