Sparrow Hill Road
Seanan McGuire
Language: English
Pages: 223
ISBN: 0756409616
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Rose Marshall died in 1952 in Buckley Township, Michigan, run off the road by a man named Bobby Cross—a man who had sold his soul to live forever, and intended to use her death to pay the price of his immortality. Trouble was, he didn’t ask Rose what she thought of the idea.
It’s been more than sixty years since that night, and she’s still sixteen, and she’s still running.
They have names for her all over the country: the Girl in the Diner. The Phantom Prom Date. The Girl in the Green Silk Gown. Mostly she just goes by “Rose,” a hitchhiking ghost girl with her thumb out and her eyes fixed on the horizon, trying to outrace a man who never sleeps, never stops, and never gives up on the idea of claiming what’s his. She’s the angel of the overpass, she’s the darling of the truck stops, and she’s going to figure out a way to win her freedom. After all, it’s not like it can kill her.
Paths Not Taken (Nightside, Book 5)
Wrong Side of Dead (Dreg City, Book 4)
One Salt Sea (October Daye, Book 5)
right?” “Got it in one, Aunt Rose,” says Bethany. She smiles, and for a moment—just a moment—she’s a normal teenage girl, unchanged, innocent. The girl she might have been, if she’d never fallen prey to Bobby Cross. The moment passes, and the eyes she turns on Bobby are filled with shadows too deep and too dark to have ever been human. “I am here because you are ours, and your actions here endanger more than you have the right to damage. Because we were . . . acquainted . . . while I lived, I
There’s a secret language written across the length and breadth of North America, etched out in highways and embellished in side roads. It sweeps from the top of Canada all the way to the bottom of Mexico, telling a story too big and too old for any living soul who isn’t an ambulomancer to understand. There just isn’t room in a mortal lifetime. You’d need to ride those roads for fifty years or more, just listening, just learning, before you’d start to have a clue. Even then, you wouldn’t really
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‘Are you doing this to them?’” “Rose—” “And she looked at him, and she said, so sadly that it just about broke his heart, ‘No. I’ve never killed anyone. I just want to make sure that somebody’s there to see that they make it all the way home.’” This time his voice is just a whisper; this time, he understands. “Rose.” I offer him a smile as sad as a Sunday in September. “I came to you for a reason, Larry. I’m just here to make sure you find the right roads. I’m only here to get you
from my generation still wandering the ghostroads. When I move on, if I move on, that dead little town will fade away. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, because this is the real Buckley, this changing, increasingly strange place, and it deserves to be fresher in my mind than its own time-locked reflection. I’m lost deep enough in my own thoughts that I don’t realize that I’ve managed to walk halfway to the school until the car pulls up next to me, blinker flashing in the brief staccato
