Born without a trace of magic, Tamsin Lark is no match for the sorceresses and Hollowers who populate the magical underground of Boston.
We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from YA Arthurian fantasy Silver in the Bone by Alexandra Bracken, out from Knopf Books for Young Readers on April 4th.
Born without a trace of magic, Tamsin Lark is no match for the sorceresses and Hollowers who populate the magical underground of Boston. But when the only parent she’s ever known disappears without so much as a goodbye, she has no choice but to join in their cutthroat pursuit of enchanted relics to keep herself—and her brother, Cabell—alive.
Ten years later, rumors are swirling that her guardian found a powerful ring from Arthurian legend just before he vanished. A run-in with her rival Emrys ignites Tamsin’s hope that the ring could free Cabell from a curse that threatens both of them. But they aren’t the only ones who covet the ring.
As word spreads, greedy Hollowers start circling, and many would kill to have it for themselves. While Emrys is the last person Tamsin would choose to partner with, she needs all the help she can get to edge out her competitors in the race for the ring. Together, they dive headfirst into a vipers’ nest of dark magic, exposing a deadly secret with the power to awaken ghosts of the past and shatter her last hope of saving her brother…
No matter what they say, or how much they lie to themselves, people don’t want the truth.
They want the story already living inside them, buried deep as marrow in the bone. The hope written across their faces in a subtle language few know how to read.
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Silver in the Bone
Luckily for me, I did.
The trick, of course, was to make them feel like I hadn’t seen anything at all. That I couldn’t guess who was heartsick for a lost love or desperate for a windfall of money, or who wanted to break free from an illness they’d never escape. It all came down to a simple desire, as predictable as it was achingly human: to hear their wish spoken by someone outside themselves—as if that somehow had the power to make it all come true.
Magic.
But wishes were nothing more than wasted breath fading into the air, and magic always took more than it gave.
No one wanted to hear the truth, and that was fine by me. The lies paid better; the bald-faced realities, as my boss Myrtle—the Mystic Maven of Mystic Maven Tarot—once pointed out, only got me raging internet reviews.
I rubbed my arms beneath Myrtle’s crochet shawl, eyes darting to the digital timer to my right: 0:30… 0:29… 0:28…
“I’m sensing… yes, I’m sensing you have another question, Franklin,” I said, pressing two fingers against my forehead. “One that’s your real reason for coming here.”
The glowing essential oil diffuser gurgled contentedly behind me. Its steady stream of patchouli and rosemary was powerless against the smell of deep-fried calamari drifting up through the old floorboards and the rancid stench of the dumpsters out back. The cramped, dark room circled in tighter around me as I breathed through my mouth.
Mystic Maven had occupied its room above Boston’s Faneuil Hall Marketplace for decades, bearing witness to the succession of tacky seafood restaurants that cycled in and out of the building’s ground level. Including, most recently, the particularly malodorous Lobster Larry’s.
“I mean…,” my client began, looking around at the peeling strips of floral wallpaper, the small statues of Buddha and Isis, then back down to the spread of cards I’d placed on the table between us. “Well…”
“Anything?” I tried again. “How you’ll do on your finals? Future career? Hurricane season? If your apartment is haunted?”
My phone came to the end of the playlist of harmonic rain and wind chimes. I reached down to restart it. In the silence that followed, the dusty battery-powered candles flickered on the shelves around us. The darkness gathered between them hid just how dingy the room was.
Come on, I thought, half desperate.
It had been six long hours of listening to chanting-monk tracks and mindlessly rearranging crystals on the nearby shelves between what few customers had come in. Cabell had to have the key by now, and after finishing up with this reading, I’d be able to leave for my real gig.
“I just don’t understand what she sees in him—” Franklin began, only to be cut off by the digital wail of my timer.
Before I could react, the door swung open and a girl barreled inside.
“Finally!” she said, parting the cheap beaded curtain with a dramatic sweep of her hands. “My turn!”
Franklin turned to gawk at her, his expression shifting as he assessed her with clear interest—the way she all but vibrated with excited energy made it difficult to look anywhere else. Her dark brown skin was dusted with a faint shimmer, likely from whatever cream she used, which smelled like honey and vanilla. Her braids were twisted back into two high buns on her head, and she’d painted her lips a deep purple.
After giving Franklin a quick once-over in return, she quirked her lips in my direction. In her hand was her ever-present portable CD player and foam-covered earphones, relics of simpler technological yesteryears. As someone incapable of throwing anything away, I was begrudgingly charmed by them.
But the charm quickly faded as she turned her belt around and tucked both into what appeared to be a pink fanny pack. One with fluorescent cats and the words i’m meow-gical emblazoned across it in glow-in-the-dark green.
“Neve.” I tried not to sigh. “I didn’t realize we had an appointment today.”
Her smile was blinding as she read the painted message on the door. “Walk-ins Welcome!”
“I was going to ask when Olivia and I are getting back together—” Franklin protested.
“We have to save something for the next time, don’t we?” I said sweetly.
He grabbed his backpack with an uncertain look. “You… you’re not going to tell anyone I came, are you?”
I gestured to the sign over my right shoulder, all readings are confidential, then to the one directly below it, we are not liable for any decisions you make based on these readings, which had been added three minor lawsuits too late.
“See you next time,” I said with a little wave that I hoped didn’t look half as threatening as it felt.
Neve swept into his seat, propping her elbows on the table. She rested her chin on her palm with an expectant look.
“So,” she said. “How’s it going, girl? Any interesting jobs lately? Any nefaaaarious curses you’ve untangled?”
I shot a horrified look at the door, but Franklin was already out of earshot.
“What question would you like answered by the cards today?” I asked pointedly.
I’d accidentally left my work gloves—made from a distinctly reptilian hide called dragonscale—hanging out of my bag two weeks ago, and Neve had recognized them and made the unfortunate connection about my real job. Her knowledge of Hollowers and magic meant she was likely one of the Cunningfolk, a catchall term for people with a magic gift. Although I’d never seen her around the usual haunts.
She reached into the pocket of her shaggy black fur coat and pressed a rumpled twenty-dollar bill onto the table between us. Enough for fifteen minutes.
I could do fifteen more minutes.
“Your life is so exciting,” Neve said with a happy sigh, as if imagining herself in my place. “I was just reading about the Sorceress Hilde the other day—did she really sharpen her teeth like a cat’s? That seems painful. How do you eat without constantly biting the inside of your mouth?”
I tried not to bristle as I leaned back against my chair and set the timer. Fifteen minutes. Just fifteen.
“Your question?” I pressed, wrapping Myrtle’s crochet shawl tighter around my shoulders.
In truth, being a Hollower was 98 percent boring research, 2 percent deadly misadventures trying to open sorceresses’ vaults. Reducing it to light, glorified gossip prickled every nerve in my being.
Neve tugged at her black shirt, distorting the image of the pink rib cage that covered it. Her jeans were ripped in places, the tears revealing the shock of purple tights beneath. “Not very talkative, are you, Tamsin Lark? Okay, fine. I have the same question I always have: Am I going to find what I’m looking for?”
I glared at the cards as I shuffled, focusing on the feeling of them fluttering between my fingers, and not the intensity of her stare. For all the bounce in her step and the cheeriness of her words, her eyes were dark pools, always threatening to draw you in deeper with their ribbons of gold. They reminded me of my brother’s tiger’s-eye crystals, and made me wonder if they were connected to her magic gift—not that I’d ever cared enough to ask.
After seven shuffles, I started to draw the first card, only for her hand to catch mine.
“Can I pick today?” she asked.
“I mean… if you want to,” I said, fanning them out facedown on the table. “Choose three.”
She took her time in selecting them, humming a soft song I didn’t recognize. “What do you think people would do if they found out about sorceresses?”
“What they always do when they suspect witches,” I said dryly.
“Here’s the thing.” Neve hovered her fingers over each card in turn. “I think they would try to use their power for their own ends. Sorceresses have spells that predict the future more accurately than tarot, right? And find things…”
And curses that kill things, I thought to myself, glancing at the timer. The part of me stirred that suspected all these visits might be a ruse to size me up for a potential recovery job. Most of the work Cabell and I did as Hollowers was for-hire; we went into vaults looking for lost or stolen family heirlooms and the like.
Neve laid two rows of three cards out on the table, then sat back with a satisfied nod.
“I only need one row,” I protested, then stopped. It didn’t matter. Anything to kill these last ten minutes. I gathered the remaining cards into a neat pile. “Go ahead and flip them.”
Neve turned over the bottom row. Wheel of Fortune reversed, Five of Wands, Three of Swords. Her face scrunched up in annoyance.
“I read the three positions as situation, action, and outcome,” I explained, though I suspected she knew all this. “Here, the Wheel of Fortune reversed is saying you’ve been drawn into a situation that is beyond your control, and you’ll have to work harder to see your search through. Five of Wands advises you to wait out the situation and not jump into things if you don’t have to. And the outcome, with Three of Swords, is usually a disappointment, so I’m going with, you won’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, through no fault of your own.”
I turned over the pile of cards in my hand. “Bottom of the deck—the root of the situation—is Page of Wands reversed.”
I almost laughed. It was the card that always came up in her readings, signaling impatience and naïveté. If I actually believed in this tripe, it’d be pretty clear the universe was trying to send her a message.
“Well, that’s just the cards’ opinion,” Neve said. “Doesn’t mean it’s true. And besides, life wouldn’t be half as fun if we couldn’t prove people wrong.”
“Sure,” I agreed. The question was on the tip of my tongue. What exactly are you looking for?
“Now let’s do you,” Neve said, turning over the second row of cards. “And see the answer to whatever’s been on your mind.”
“No,” I protested, “really, that’s—”
She was already laying cards out: the Fool, the Tower, and the Seven of Swords.
“Oooh,” she said, all drama as she took my hands in hers. “An unforeseen event will liberate you to explore a new path, but you must watch out for a person who seeks to betray you! What question has been on your mind, hmm?”
“No question,” I said, extracting myself from her grip. “Except what I’m having for dinner.”
Neve laughed, pushing her chair back. I looked down at the timer.
“You still have another five minutes,” I told her.
“That’s all right, I got what I needed.” She freed her CD player from her atrocious fanny pack, hooking the earphones around her neck. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Money was money. Resigned, I reached for the leather-bound book beside me. “I’ll put you down for an appointment. What time?”
“No, I mean to hang out.” Seeing my blank look, Neve added, “To hang out, a phrase commonly used to suggest that people grab a meal together, or see a movie, or literally do anything that involves enjoyment.”
I froze. Maybe I’d read this situation completely wrong. My words were as awkward as they were stilted when I finally managed to get them out. “Oh… I’m sorry… I’m not into girls.”
Neve’s laugh was like chiming bells. “Tragic for you, but you’re not my type. I meant as friends.”
My hands curled under the velvet tablecloth. “I’m not allowed to be friends with clients.”
Her smile faded for a moment, and I knew she’d recognized the lie for what it was. “Okay, no problem.”
She lifted her old foam headphones over her ears as she turned to go. They did nothing to stop the reverberating bass and distorted whine of melancholic guitars from leaking out. A woman’s cosmic wailing flooded into the room, backed by a shuddering drumbeat that made me feel anxious just hearing it.
“What in thundering hell are you listening to?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Cocteau Twins,” Neve said, pushing up her headphones. Her eyes glittered with excitement. “Have you heard of them? They’re amazing—every song is like a dream.”
“They can’t be that amazing if I’ve never heard of them,” I said. “You should turn it down before you lose your hearing.”
She ignored me.
“Their songs are like different worlds.” Neve wound the headphone cord around the bulky device. “I know it seems silly, but when I listen to them, it pushes everything else away. Nothing else matters. You don’t have to feel anything but the music. Sorry, you probably don’t care.”
I didn’t, but guilt welled in me all the same. Neve made her way to the door just as Cabell opened it. He blinked at the sight of her before she brushed past.
“Bye!” Neve called, hurrying down the stairs. “Until we meet again, Oracle!”
“Another satisfied customer?” My brother lingered in the doorway, brows raised as he ran a hand through his shoulder-length black hair.
“But of course,” I said, throwing Myrtle’s shawl down. After scraping my tangled hair back into a ponytail, I gathered up the cards, neatening them into a pile. I reached for the small velvet bag I used to store them, only to stop when I saw what was at the top of the deck.
I had never liked the Moon card. It wasn’t anything I could explain, and that only made me hate it more. Every time I looked at it, it was like trying to tow a sinking memory back to the front of my mind, which had never forgotten anything before.
I drew the card closer, studying the image. It was impossible to tell if the moon’s luminous face was sleeping or merely contemplating the long path below. In the distance, misty blue hills waited, guarded by two stone towers, silent sentinels to whatever truth lay beyond the horizon.
A wolf and a hound, brothers in fear, one wild, the other tame, howled up at the glowing orb in the sky. Near their feet, a crayfish crawled from the edge of a pool.
My gaze drifted to the dark hound again, my stomach tightening.
“How did it go today?” Cabell asked, drawing my attention back to him.
After taking my cut of the day’s earnings and locking the rest in the safe, I held up two hundred-dollar bills.
“Hey, hey. Look who’s buying dinner tonight,” he said. “I await the fabled Lobster Larry’s Unlimited Seafood Tower.”
My brother was all lanky height and had little meat on his bones, but he looked perfectly comfortable in what I’d come to think of as the tried-and-true uniform of Hollowers: loose brown slacks and a belt laden with the tools of the trade, including a hand axe, crystals, and vials of fast-acting poison and antivenom.
All of which were needed if you wanted to empty the sorceress’s vault of the treasures she’d hoarded over the centuries and keep both life and limb.
“Why not just eat garbage from the dumpster out back instead?” I said. “You’ll get the same dining experience.”
“I take that to mean you want to stop by the library and try to drop in on some potential clients before we order pizza for the tenth night in a row,” he said.
“What happened with the key for the Sorceress Gaia’s job?” I asked, reaching for my bag. “Was there a match in the library’s collection, or did you have to go to the Bonecutter after all?”
To open a sealed Vein, one of the magic pathways the sorceresses created for themselves, we needed bone and blood from the one who created it, or her kin. The Bonecutter sourced and procured them.
“Had to ask the Bonecutter,” he said, passing the key to me to examine. It looked like two finger bones welded with a seam of gold. “We’re all set to open the tomb this weekend.”
“God’s teeth,” I muttered. “What did the key cost us?”
“Just the usual,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “A favor.”
“We can’t keep handing out favors,” I said tightly, making quick work of switching off the music and the battery-powered candles.
“Why not?” He leaned a hip against the doorframe.
The small movement—that careless tone of voice—brought me up short. He’d never reminded me more of Nash, the crook of a man who had reluctantly raised us and drawn us into his profession, only to abandon us to it before either of us had passed our first decade of life.
Cabell cast a quick look around my Mystic Maven setup. “You’ll have to ditch this bullshit gig if you want to be able to pay the Bonecutter with actual coin next time.”
Somehow we’d arrived at my least-favorite conversation yet again. “This ‘bullshit gig’ buys us groceries and pays for the roof over our heads. You could ask for more shifts at the tattoo parlor.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” Cabell let out an irritating hum. “If we just went after a legendary relic—”
“If we just found a unicorn,” I interrupted. “If we just uncovered a lost trove of pirates’ treasure. If we just caught a falling star and put it in our pockets…”
“All right,” Cabell said, his smile falling. “Enough. You’ve made your point.”
We weren’t like the other Hollowers and Nash, who chased mist and dreams. Sure, selling a legendary object on the black market could make you thousands, if not millions, but the cost was years of searching for an ever-dwindling number of relics. The magic users of other parts of the world had secured their treasures, leaving only Europe’s up for grabs. And, besides, we’d never had the right resources for a big get.
“Real money comes from real jobs,” I reminded him. And whether I liked it or not, Mystic Maven was a real job, one with flexible hours and fair wages graciously paid under the table. We needed it to supplement the for-hire work we took from the guild library’s job board, especially as the number of those postings thinned and clients cheaped out on the finder’s fees.
Mystic Maven may have been a tourist trap built on incense and fish-stick-scented woo-woo nonsense, but it had given us the one thing we’d never had before. Stability.
Nash had never enrolled us in school. He had never forged identity paperwork for either of us, the two orphans he’d collected from different sides of the world like two more of his stupid trinkets. What we had was this world of Hollowers and sorceresses, unknown and unseen by nearly everyone else. We’d been raised at the knee of jealousy, fed by the hand of envy, and sheltered under the roof of greed.
The truth was, Nash hadn’t just forced both of us into this world—he had trapped us in it.
I liked the life we had carved out for ourselves, and the small measure of stability we’d scrounged now that we were older and could fend for ourselves.
Unfortunately, Cabell wanted what Nash had: the potential, the glory, the high of a find.
His lips compressed as he scratched at his wrist. “Nash always said—”
“Do not,” I warned, “quote Nash at me.”
Cabell flinched, and for once, I didn’t care.
“Why do you always do that?” he asked. “Shut down any mention of him—”
“Because he doesn’t deserve the breath it takes to say his name,” I snapped.
Draping my leather satchel over my shoulder, I forced a tight smile onto my face. “Come on, we’ll check the library’s job board and then stop by the Sorceress Madrigal’s to give her the brooch.”
Cabell shuddered at the mention of the sorceress’s name. I patted his shoulder. In all fairness, she’d fixated on him at the consultation with an intensity that had alarmed both of us, even before she decided to lick a drop of sweat from his cheek.
I locked up and followed Cabell down the creaking staircase and out into the boisterous night. Tourists milled around us, merry and pink-cheeked from the crisp early-autumn air.
I narrowly avoided colliding with several of them as they craned their heads to gawk at the Quincy Market building. The sight of them leaning in for photos in front of restaurants, eating apple cider donuts, pushing strollers with sleepy kids up the cobblestones toward their hotels.
It was a vision of a life I’d never known, and never would.
Excerpted from Silver in the Bone, copyright © 2023 by Alexandra Bracken.
