Hallowed: An Unearthly Novel

Hallowed: An Unearthly Novel

Cynthia Hand

Language: English

Pages: 432

ISBN: 006199619X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


For months part-angel Clara Gardner trained to face the fire from her visions, but she wasn't prepared for the choice she had to make that day. Now, torn between her love for Tucker and her complicated feelings about the roles she and Christian seem destined to play in a world that is both dangerous and beautiful, Clara struggles with a shocking revelation: Someone she loves will die in a matter of months. With her future uncertain, the only thing Clara knows for sure is that the fire was just the beginning.

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His pack slips from his shoulder. Mom grins, a tired but triumphant gloaty expression, and steps aside to let Angela and me pass through so we can see what they’re looking at. Then we stop too, our mouths dropping open, our own packs dropping to the ground. “Holy . . . ,” breathes Jeffrey. Yep. That’s the right word. It’s some sort of meadow, a vast, flat stretch of land surrounded on two sides by mountains, the third edge a beautiful shining lake that’s clear enough that you can see the

behind me. Then she turns back to her computer and shuts it down. “Angela?” she asks. “Who cares how we know?” I say, and my voice sounds sharp in my ears, shrill. “Is it true?” “Come in here,” she says. “Sit down.” I sit on one of her comfy leather chairs. She turns to Jeffrey, who folds his arms over his broad chest and holds his ground in the doorway. “So you’re dying,” he says in a total monotone. “Yes.” His face goes slack with dismay, his arms dropping to his sides. I think he

off, mostly. Jeffrey’s wings are still gray. Dove gray, I would call it. And there are a couple of feathers on the back of one wing that are the color of tar. “Your feathers . . .” I lean in closer to look at them. He chooses that moment to remember how to retract his wings. I fall on him clumsily, then scramble off. He laughs. “You are in such deep trouble,” I say furiously. He rolls over on his back and looks at me with an expression that’s so mean it literally sends shivers down my spine.

“You have to learn to block him,” she says when I ask her. “It would be a good idea to learn how to block your empathy completely, because there are times you’re going to need to.” “How?” “It’s like closing a door,” she answers. “You erect a spiritual barrier between you.” “A spiritual barrier?” “You close yourself off from the force that connects us to each other. It’s not good for you, in the long run. It will make you numb if you do it all the time, but it might be the best solution for

her. Then I go ahead and say the next thing that pops into my head. “Mom, are you ever going to tell me about your purpose?” She pulls back, looks at me thoughtfully. “My purpose is you.” That night she tells me another story, a different version of the one she told Jeffrey and me earlier, about the day of the earthquake. What she didn’t mention before. That when she saw Dad, when he lifted her out of the rubble that had been her bedroom, when he carried her off to heaven, she recognized

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