By Helen Ellis

"What interest Kills...cracks open the area of higher East aspect prep-schoolers and actually turns it wild, bringing jointly the easiest components of Gossip lady, Twilight, and Buffy The Vampire Slayer... humorous, fierce, and entire of surprises."
-Hannah Tinti, ALA Alex Award-winning auth or of the nice Thief no one can recognize your secret.
Nobody can be aware of your power.
But if no one understands who you're to start with...what's preventing you?

I whisper, "What's so distinctive approximately me all of a sudden?"

Nick says, "The Turning."

Mary feels varied, yet can't clarify why. The fainting, the unusual cravings...and worse, the issues she's spotted approximately her body.

Mary doesn't comprehend the place to show. If she tells her mom and dad or her sister, she'll probability wasting every thing. She has no different kinfolk, no approach of realizing if what she's facing is basic. all people she's ever recognized and enjoyed may reject her...

"Helen Ellis is the type of author that makes the pages fly and the type of pal readers will want they'd starting to be up."
-Hannah Tinti, ALA Alex Award-winning auth or of the great Thief

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Extra resources for What Curiosity Kills (The Turning, Book 1)

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She does not rustle pages placing free from poorly glued spines of what i am guessing are atlases and maps of bodies, ourselves. She springs to the next shelf at the case to the fitting, this time touchdown on a publication jutting out. The cabinets get messier the better she is going. extra poultry than cat, Mrs. Wrinkles flies from shelf to shelf, spiraling up and up and up. Mr. Charles says, "My girl understands each inch of her apartment, is familiar with the place to discover whatever inquiring minds need to know. " The sphynx seems down and meows. The sound echoes down the shaft. She's so excessive that her head is a postage stamp. Octavia gazes up and colours her eyes as though this can support her concentration. Mrs. Wrinkles geese out of sight. I pay attention her claws sink into books as she climbs up the move slowly area among the case and curved wall. Silence. She's stopped. Specks of airborne dirt and dust glisten within the sun as they glide down 3 tales. A e-book nudges towards a shelf lip as Mrs. Wrinkles head-butts and paws at it from at the back of. Octavia marvels, "I've continuously puzzled, if she relatively was once actual, how she does it. you allow a question for her—" "—and whilst the library closes," Mr. Charles finishes her notion, "Mrs. Wrinkles is going to paintings. This morning, we chanced on your debate books laid out at the ground in most cases Cellar room. My girl can ferret out whatever, at any place, regardless of how small or how hidden. " Octavia says, "She's a hunter. " "For knowledge," says Mr. Charles. Octavia nods, and even if Mr. Charles cannot see her, i feel he senses a puncture within the air. i believe it. considering we came, Octavia's worry has clogged this good like a fog. all of us breathe more uncomplicated simply because Octavia is just a little much less afraid. She sees a little bit herself in Mrs. Wrinkles: a wise lady who unearths convenience within the fact. Books subsequent to the single the sphynx has selected for us jostle and threaten to fall. I duck and canopy. Octavia presses her again opposed to the cabinets. Mr. Charles does not uncross his legs. His entrance foot retains on bob-bob-bobbing alongside. Mrs. Wrinkles's e-book flaps because it falls 3 tales all by means of its lonesome. Mr. Charles stands proud his hand, as lengthy and slender as his shoe, and catches it. it is a miniature—the measurement of 1 of these moving-image caricature books you turn via to monitor a stick determine slip on a banana peel. Mr. Charles holds it out to us among his index and writing palms. Octavia accepts it, opens it, and we peer inside of. as well as the book's disguise being torn off, the name web page and desk of contents were ripped out. My sister turns the booklet over. The index is undamaged, however the phrases are made of horseshoes, triangles, and pitchforks. "It's in Greek," says Octavia. She snaps the booklet close. The shadow of one other cat's head drifts over the skylight like a hurricane cloud. The shadow is enormous, enforcing. One ear is lacking a bit. whilst the pinnacle turns to profile, a gaping mouth exhibits off shadowy dogs so long as my fingers. The room grows chilly. we're eclipsed. worry drapes my sister's face like a funeral veil. Mr. Charles says, "Damn that tomcat continually coming round!

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