Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow

The point is—as far as the Society is concerned—if you are not honest, and determined, and brave, then it doesn’t matter how talented you are.

Fenestra was silent for a while, and Morrigan thought she’d fallen asleep standing up. Then she felt something warm, wet, and sandpapery lick the entire right side of her face. She sniffled again, and Fen’s big gray head rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “Thanks, Fen,” Morrigan said quietly. She heard Fenestra padding softly to the door. “Fen?” “Mmm?” “Your saliva smells like sardines.” “Yeah, well. I’m a cat.” “Now my face smells like sardines.” “I don’t care. I’m a cat.” “Night, Fen.

Ginger was an understatement, Morrigan thought, trying to hide her astonishment as the hat came off. Ginger of the Year or King Ginger or Big Gingery President of the Ginger Foundation for the Incurably Ginger would have been more accurate. His mane of bright copper waves could probably have won awards.

And whatever you do, don’t close your eyes.' 'What happens if I close my eyes?' 'You miss the fun.

The night was uncommon and crowded with possibility.

Death is boring. Life is much more fun. Things happen in life all the time. Unexpected things. Things you couldn’t possibly expect because they’re so very… unexpected.

Hmm. It's a scary shadow, you say?" "They're all scary. Even if you make a nice one, like a kitten, it'll turn into a man-eating tiger or something. It's like they're trying to be scary." "That makes sense." Morrigan was surprised. "Does it?" "Shadows are shadows, Miss Crow." His eyes reflected the moonlight. "They want to be dark.

We have danced, we have dined, we have drunk our fill. We have bid a tender and triumphant farewell to the Olden Age, and now we must step boldly into the new. May it be a good and happy one. May it bring unexpected adventures.

Morrigan was startled to realize that he was blinking back tears. She'd never known someone could feel so strongly about his friends. Probably because she'd never had a friend. Not a real one. (Emmett the stuffed rabbit didn't really count.) An instant family. Brothers and sisters for life. It made sense to her now. Jupiter carried himself like a king, like he was surrounded by an invisible bubble that protected him from all the bad things in life. He knew there were people in the world--somewhere out there--who loved him. Who would always love him. No matter what. That was what he was offering her.

They took a carriage home, and there was silence for most of the journey. Finally, as they turned onto Humdinger Avenue, Jupiter spoke. “You made a friend.” “I think so.” “Anything else of interest?” Morrigan thought for a moment. “I think I made an enemy too.” “I didn’t make my first proper enemy until I was twelve.” He sounded impressed. “Maybe that’s my knack?” Jupiter chuckled.

Morrigan's night held only one possibility. Like every other child born precisely eleven years ago on the last Eventide, when the clock struck midnight she would die-the eleven short years of her doomed life complete; her curse finally fulfilled.

Like an inkpot in the sky. Like a black hole,

So nobody wins?” Morrigan asked. She couldn’t help feeling a little shortchanged. “You must be joking. Presents and snow?” said Jack, laughing as he threw a snowball at Jupiter’s back. “Everybody wins.

I have a knack for seeing things.” “What sort of things?” “True things.” He shrugged. “Things that have happened, things that are happening right now. Feelings. Danger. Things that live in the Gossamer.

the Queen of Diamonds was out in the park one day, walking her dog, Jack of Diamonds. She met the King of Hearts and they fell in love. They were married six (of hearts) weeks later and had three (of diamonds) children and lived happily ever after.

Your saliva smells like sardines.” “Yeah, well. I’m a cat.” “Now my face smells like sardines.” “I don’t care. I’m a cat.

There are… events and moments in the past that attach themselves to people and things, and cling to them through time simply because they have nowhere else to go. Maybe they eventually fade or get torn away or just die. But some things never die—the especially good memories or the especially bad ones can hang around forever.

When she found his body in the weak winter morning light, Morrigan crouched down beside him in the dirt, a frown creasing her forehead. She stroked his black pelt from the top of his head to the tip of his bushy tail. ‘Sorry, kitchen cat,’ she murmured.

My sweetheart is a garroter, my sweetheart loves to strangle. Her hands are wrapped around my throat, but my heart is in a tangle…

You forget it," he said. "You forget it, from this moment on. Do you understand? You are not a curse." "Yeah, okay." Morrigan roller her eyes and tried to turn away, but Jupiter took her face in his hands and held on fast. "No, listen to me." His wide blue eyes burned into her black ones. Righteous anger rolled off him like heat from the sidewalk in summer. "You asked me if your talent is being cursed? If you have a knack for ruining things? Her me when I tell you this: You are not a curse on anyone, Morrigan Crow. You never have been. And I think you've know that all along.

Dear Jackalfax Jam Society, Sorry but don't you think there are worse things in life than bad marmalade?

Okay, don’t—don’t panic!” Morrigan shouted. “We’ll climb down and help you.” Hawthorne pulled her aside, whispering anxiously, “I’m no expert, but do you reckon maybe if you hear a voice from the sewer asking you to climb down inside, you should consider… not climbing down inside?

I liked that thing you did too. You know, ‘consider your next words carefully’ and all that,” he said, mimicking her low, angry voice. “But I reckon the only language some people understand is the language of the surprise dessert attack.

Dancing on the deck of a boat with a beautiful woman and, for some reason, a meerkat.

Then he and Nan Dawson had to rush off to a dragonrider training session, and I had to pretend not to be completely jealous of an eleven-year-old boy who gets to ride dragons. So, did you, er… did you get through?” he asked casually.

I’d love to be a Witness.” “I’m not sure you would,” said Jupiter, wincing. “Seeing all those hidden things? All the time? Every time somebody lies, it’s there on their face like a black smudge. Every time somebody’s miserable, it hangs around them like flies on a corpse. Pain, anger, betrayal—it’s all there, everywhere around us, all the time. Most Witnesses can’t ever live in a place like this; it would drive them to insanity.

And I’ll tell you this: Your stepmother was wrong.” “Wrong about what?” asked Morrigan, but she knew the answer. Her stomach did a little flip. “She said you were a curse.” Jupiter swallowed and shook his head. “She said it in anger. She didn’t mean it.” “Of course she meant it.” He paused, considering that. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it true. It doesn’t make her right.

The kitchen car was dead, and Morrigan was to blame. She didn't know how it had happened, or when. She thought perhaps he'd eaten something poisonous overnight. There were no injuries to suggest a fox or dog attack. Apart from a bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth, he looked like he was sleeping, but he was cold and stiff.

Promise you’ll think about it?” “Only if you promise you’ll stop thinking about not getting into the Society.” “But if I don’t get in—” “We’ll blow up that bridge when we come to it.