CamCat Books - Summer 2023 YA Sampler

SUMMER 2023 SAMPLER •

YOUNG ADULT TITLES • “BOOKS TO LIVE IN”

THESE ARE UNCORRECTED PROOFS. PLEASE DO NOT QUOTE FOR PUBLICATION UNTIL YOU CHECK YOUR COPY AGAINST THE FINISHED BOOK.

Excerpt from Our Vengeful Souls © 2023 by Kristi McManus Young Adult Fantasy Excerpt from Vaulting Through Time © 2023 by Nancy McCabe Young Adult Science Fiction Excerpt from Summer People © 2023 by Sara Hosey Young Adult Thriller Excerpt from New Eden © 2023 by Ruth Fox Young Adult Science Fiction

All rights reserved. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 1281 E. Magnolia St., #D1032, Fort Collins, CO 80524.

Distributed by Independent Publishers Group.

To order, visit: camcatbooks.com/Bookstore-and-Library-Orders.

INTRODUCTION. CamCat Publishing, LLC, opened for business in 2019. Our founder, Sue Arroyo, launched the company for the love of story, those tales that bewitch and dazzle you, grab hold of you and won’t let go. She calls them Books to Live In. ’Cause that’s what she did when growing up. She was a bookworm who lived and breathed stories the way her friends would live and breathe the cool kid on the block or the latest rock star.

To her, the characters in her books were the cool kids and rock stars. Who needs awkward teenage parties when you can live epic adventures, find romance, and save the day right there in your mind as you read that favorite book? You know, the one with the creased edges.

Sue is a self-proclaimed entrepreneur. CamCat Publishing is her seventh company. In early 2019, she sold her interest in her most successful business, Trident Technologies, and was able to turn her substantial business skills towards her life-long passion for books.

That’s not a surprise. Growing up, the books Sue read taught her that anything is possible. Anything. And precisely this belief motivated and sustained her as a female entrepreneur pushing that glass ceiling time and again. It was only a matter of time until she’d put her mind and heart and business acumen back to books.

Sue brings a fresh perspective to publishing, a strong desire to establish long-term relationships with both authors and readers, and a passion for a great story.

Therefore, CamCat Publishing is more than a publisher. CamCat Publishing is the sum of its readers and writers . . . and then some. We facilitate and engage in communication between readers and writers because that’s where the magic happens.

We involve our authors and readers every step of the way—in the process of choosing the books we publish, the formats in which we offer them, even the way we advertise and publicize them.

But in all this, there’s one thing we never forget. Yes, books are products to sell, but they are something else, too. They are the expression of an author’s creativity and the touchstone for a reader’s imagination. When the two meet, something extraordinary happens. We walk in other people’s shoes and see the world anew.

We appreciate your time and the opportunity to earn that spot on your shelf.

SUMMER 2023 SAMPLER •

YOUNG ADULT TITLES • “BOOKS TO LIVE IN”

Our Vengeful Souls ....................................................................1

by Kristi McManus Vaulting Through Time ..............................................................25

by Nancy McCabe Summer People .......................................................................47

by Sara Hosey New Eden .................................................................................65

by Ruth Fox

It all started with a curse.

When mermaid Sereia overshadows her brother and the kingdom’s rightful heir, Triton, the position of next ruler of the sea is in question. Determined to keep his throne, Triton banishes Sereia with a warning: if you ever return, you will become a monster.

Left for dead, Sereia washes up on the shores of Atlantis, where she is rescued by a kind merchant with a tragic past.

He earns her trust, but Atlanteans fear magic and Sereia must conceal her true identity as her feelings for her savior deepen.

Her skill with a blade finds her a place within the Atlantean army, and Sereia soon wavers between the pull of revenge and the possibility of love on land, but when a friend’s fate is at risk, she must make the hardest decision of all: expose who she truly is and be burned at the stake as a witch, or return to the sea a monster.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744308914 | $19.99 | Releases 6/6/2023 Kristi McManus is a registered nurse by trade, but has been an avid reader and enthusiastic book lover all her life. Her writing experience began in the online and social media realms, penning various popular stories on Wattpad. Apart from writing she enjoys photography and art, and considers napping to be a form of cardio.

UR O ENGEFUL V OULS S I T A L L STA R T E D W I T H A C U R S E

KriSTi McMaNUS

UR O ENGEFUL V OULS S KriSTi McMaNUS

UR O ENGEFUL V OULS S KriSTi McMaNUS

CamCat Publishing, LLC Brentwood, Tennessee 37027 camcatpublishing.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © 2023 by Kristi McManus All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744308914 Paperback ISBN 9780744308938 Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744308952 eBook ISBN 9780744308976 Audiobook ISBN 9780744308990 Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available upon request Book and cover design by Maryann Appel Map illustration by Kristi McManus 5

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FOR CRAIG

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CHAPTER ONE

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ur swords collide with a deafening crash, sparks sizzling before dying off in the water as the blades strain against each other. The moment they touch, they break apart again, like opposing magnets never able to resist each other yet never able to truly connect.

I pivot quickly, narrowly missing Triton’s next strike as the blade swings by my cheek. The disturbed water brushes softly against my skin like a caress, but a warning sings in my veins of how close he came to spilling my blood.

Spinning to face him again, I clutch my weapon with both hands, fingers tightening along the hilt while eyeing my prey. His tail is curved, coiled like an eel preparing to strike as he takes inventory of me, just as I am of him. His cerulean blue eyes are narrowed, lips parted, muscles tense. His chest heaves, panting breath escaping through clenched teeth, evidence that he is winded. The longer we face off, the angrier he becomes. Not at me, necessarily, but at himself for the effort it’s taking to defeat me.

We’ve been at this for hours, barely allowed a moment to rest.

Not that either of us would admit to needing one. To require rest

Kristi McManus

would be to admit weakness. That the other is skilled enough to push us to our limits. Such a concession is unacceptable. Beyond our teachings of strength and focus and our endless hours in this ring, our pride is the strongest factor in our stamina.

We never back down from each other.

He surges forward through the water without warning, blade poised overhead in his iron grip, ready to hand out a match ending strike. But I am faster, lithe and swift, bringing my sword up to block the impact inches from my face.

Rather than retreat again and continue our dance, he remains poised above me, his superior height blocking the few rays of light piercing through the water until he is little more than a silhouette before my eyes. His blade presses against my own, metal grinding in protest, neither of us relenting.

My muscles quiver at the effort it takes to keep him at bay. They burn with an exquisite pain, reminding me that I am alive, that I am powerful. My teeth grind, lips curling back as I stand my ground. I see a glint of light reflect off the steel in my hands, shaking as I resist the possibility of defeat.

His full lips curve into a grin, teeth grinding despite the playful, goading expression. Golden hair spills from the tie at the nape of his neck, dancing around his face, attracting the light from the surface.

The sharp jaw and angular features that cause the other mermaids to swoon are tense from the effort of our fight.

“Tired, Sister?” he asks coolly. Despite his attempt to appear indifferent, the lines of his face are hard, his jaw tight. He is struggling.

Weakening. The realization causes my lips to quirk into a smile to match his own.

“Not at all, dear brother.” Bringing my face closer to his, and in turn, closer to our connected blades, magic prickles beneath my skin. Strands of my white-blonde hair wave around me like a crown under the influence of the sea, my green eyes burning into his. “I  12 

will endure as long as you require. I wouldn’t want to bow down too soon, thus not giving our precious heir a suitable sparring partner.”

My taunt does as I hope. His teeth snap as a growl erupts deep in the back of his throat. The moment I feel the pressure of his sword weaken, I strike, swiping my tail outward and knocking him off balance. He collides to the sea floor with a thunderous impact, sand and stone billowing out from around his prone form. Pride tingles through my muscles, burning away the exhaustion. Putting Triton to the ground never ceases to thrill me, no matter how many times I best him.

A gasp ripples from those around us; the select few permitted to watch us train. Several of the maids present, hovering in the corner to gawk and swoon at my brother, cover their mouths in horror. His muscular frame lies sprawled across the floor, hair once smooth and controlled, now wild and loose in the gentle current. No longer does he look as perfect now that I have cracked his confidence.

Beyond the coral halls and glistening stone floors of the living quarters, banquet halls, and meeting rooms, rests the arena in which we barter our worth. Sand floors and towering stone walls breaking into an oculus ceiling high above allow the remaining reach of the days sun to breach to our depth. There is an expanse of weapons edging every wall, blades and staffs, all with the singular purpose of training the royals.

Casting a glance to the edge of the hall, I find my parents lingering in the shadows. Their scales glitter, catching the light like precious gems, brighter than those around them. Even without their crowns, they exude regal poise.

Something I have yet to master.

Looking their way is a mistake, of course. A weakness I repeatedly chastise myself for, as it never provides the assurance I hope. And yet, every time I force Triton to his knees, I cannot help but look for a sign of approval.  13 

Kristi McManus

My mother watches our battle with keen green eyes, the kind of look that makes you feel as though she is cutting right through your soul. Her hair, the same white-blonde as my own, plaited down her back is contrasted against the deep greens of her sea lace top. Long sleeves adorned with pearls cling to her slender, enviable frame, the neck high to her jaw. Her skin shimmers like diamonds are embedded in her skin, a symbol of our kind, luminous and beckoning. She is stunning, her mere presence demanding attention and respect.

And her hypnotizing gaze is locked on me, a proud smile toying with the corner of her coral lips.

Against my better judgment, I allow myself to glance at my father. He is as I expect to find him; lips curled in disgust, his deep blue eyes locked on the shape of his eldest son and heir pushing up from the ground. Displeasure radiates off his form, causing the water around him to ripple against his power. When his eyes turn to me, I do not see pride. I see fury, barely concealed.

He isn’t proud that his daughter is a skilled fighter. No more than he is proud that my magic exceeds that of my brother’s. He is angry that I dare embarrass him by putting Triton on his back.

My confidence wavers under his stare, grip weakening on the hilt of my sword.

The momentary distraction is all Triton needs. I feel the water move before I see him from the corner of my eye. By the time I tighten my hands around my sword, steady my stance, he collides with me, knocking the air from my lungs. His massive weight knocks me back, forcing me to drop my blade. I twist out of the fall before I hit the ground, coiled and ready to respond to his next attack, but he doesn’t retreat or pause his pursuit, satisfied with disarming me.

Instead, his large hand grips my throat, and he throws my body to the floor painfully, poising his blade above my heart. Breath knocks from my lungs at the impact of the ground at my back, bones aching in protest and muscles burning.  14 

My hands grapple with his arms, body writhing against the weight pinning me, but it is no use. He has won.

A smile curves his lips as he loosens his hold on my neck. “Always so easily distracted,” he taunts, running the blade along my cheek like a lover’s touch. “Well done, baby Sister.”

I growl, unable to form words, as he releases me and pushes up. Soft applause fills the hall as he swims away, arms raised above his head, relishing his victory, the muscles of his back flexing with each flick of his tail. The maids in the corner of the arena titter as he comes their way, running their fingers through their hair, their tails swaying seductively.

I lay on the floor a moment longer, my eyes trained skyward, looking through the oculus to where the sun dances beyond the surface of the water. Its brightness is muted at this depth, battling against the power of the sea. The sand is soft at my back, like a gentle touch consoling my loss.

From where I lay, staring through the open ceiling of the arena, the ombre blues of the ocean leading to a world beyond this one, I can almost pretend I am somewhere else.

Rubbing my face with my hands, I exhale a long breath before pushing up and accepting my defeat.

I don’t look their way, but in my peripheral vision I can see my father patting Triton on the back, congratulating him for his win.

My jaw clicks against the force of my teeth biting together. It doesn’t matter that I had him on the ground or that I could have ended the match in my favor more than once. All that matters is, in the end, Triton was victorious.

That is all that ever matters to him.

Swimming off the floor, I head toward the exit, desperate to make it back to my quarters. All I want now is quiet, solace, to collect myself and my pride. Fury ignites the spark within me as my magic simmers under my skin. Flexing my fingers, my magic crackles as  15 

Kristi McManus

it comes alive, whispering consolations and reminders of where my true power lies.

Before I can escape, I am met by my mother at the edge of the hall.

“You did wonderfully, Sereia.” Her hands reach out to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. She usually scolds me for allowing my hair to be loose, reminding me of the expectation of our position that it be tied and tamed rather than left wild and free. Today it would seem she recognizes the dent in my pride and holds her tongue.

“I lost, Mother.” The words are bitter on my tongue. I run my fingers over the scales of my tail, feeling each ridge, watching the iridescent colors merge from blue to green to purple. I lose myself in the tactile sensation, grounding myself and my body.

I am powerful, I remind myself silently, a chanting prayer to sooth my honor. I am strong. I have magic beyond his wildest dreams.

“Only because you allowed yourself to be distracted,” Mother says gently, pulling me from my thoughts. “You lost focus, allowing Triton to take advantage. If you had remained in the ring, both mind and body, I have no doubt—” “No doubt that Father would have continued the match until I was weakened, exhausted, and breathless so Triton could use his strength to win.”

Her lips curve downward, the green of her eyes darkening. “Never allow yourself to dwell, Sereia. Whether Triton is meant to be victorious is irrelevant. It does not diminish your skill or your worth.”

Looking up from under my lashes, I find my brother and father conversing with a member of the council. No doubt already deep in conversation about kingdom matters. Things that my sister and I are not privy to.

I cannot help but wonder what my father would have done if I had been the first born. If rather than a son born in his likeness, a  16 

daughter bright and powerful were his heir. Would he still dismiss me? Think me nothing more than breeding stock to his line?

Following my gaze, my mother’s lips purse.

“Your brother may be superior in strength, my daughter,” her voice breaks me away from the sight, “but you harness the most potent magic of us all. While he excels in the ring, you strike fear and power through your gifts in a way no one else in our history ever has.

Never doubt yourself, Sereia.”

I nod in silent agreement, ready to change the subject as my eyes skim the room.

“Where is Asherah?” I ask, pulling my shoulders back to straighten my spine. I refuse to appear defeated, for others to see me cower, even if my soul wishes to escape and lick my wounds.

Mother’s lips twitch. “Off on another adventure, I’m sure.”

A single laugh escapes me. “If Triton or I ran off so frequently, we would have been dealt the whip,” I remind her with a quirked brow.

Mother waves her hand dismissively. “You seem to forget all the trouble your brother and you got into when you were her age. Just because you are of age now, don’t fool yourself to think you were never as tenacious as she is. You were hardly obedient or cautious.”

I snort in response but don’t bother arguing. Memories of breaching the boundaries of the kingdom, venturing into the darkest depths of the sea, are still fresh in my mind. With Triton at my side, I was fearless. Unshakeable. Just as he stood taller knowing I had his back, that nothing could defeat us when we were together.

It feels like a century ago. When our childhood was still filled with freedom and possibility and the expectations of our birthrights felt like far-off dreams. Before we were pitted against each other; the heir versus the girl who grudgingly held the position of spare.

“You let her run wild like a hellion,” I point out gently, earning myself a soft look of warning. I smile innocently but continue. “She’s still a princess. Anything could happen—”  17 

Kristi McManus

My words are cut off by a flurry of raised voices, the swishing of tails in the corner of the arena. Breaking my gaze from my mother, I watch as a group of guards approach my father, their faces hard.

Their golden armor catches the dying rays of sun from the surface, the dark obsidian scales of their tails, marking their rank, imposing in contrast.

General Aenon, the leader of the guard, reaches my father first, removing his helmet in respect. His face is all sharp angles and rough skin, a scar leading from the corner of his lip to his eye. An unfortunate encounter with a human hook as a child that marred him for life but added a sense of strength when coupled with his rank. With a small, almost imperceptible, bow, he brings his lips to Father’s ear, whispering rapidly. From where I stand, I cannot hear their words, but I don’t need to. I can read my father’s face like the pages of a book, and as his eyes widen and skin flushes, I know there’s trouble.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, my voice barely audible despite the deathly silence of the room.

“I don’t know,” Mother replies, taking my hand and pulling me toward the group.

My initial instinct is to pull away, to remind her that I have no place in their gathering. Despite my blood, as second born and female, I am still excluded from all forms of kingdom matters. But my mother’s grip is firm, whether in fear or assurance, I cannot tell. I do not refuse her, hoping if nothing else, my presence gives her strength.

Drawing up to Triton’s flank, I wait silently.

“I told her not to go there,” Father growls, the ground quivering against his rising rage. The walls of the arena shake, groaning in protest against his power. Sand and stone fall, dripping from the walls like blood. “I swear, the girl is careless.”

“We have sent a group after her,” General Aenon replies, assuring him as he casts a glance to my mother’s worried face. “You have my word, Your Majesty. We will bring Asherah home.”  18 

With a nod, the general turns to his troops, quiet mutterings of plans and tactics already spilling from his lips.

“What happened?” my mother asks, her hands falling on my father’s thick forearm.

For as harsh and cold as he is to me, he is soft and loving to her.

The way he looks at her, cherishes her, is the source of legend throughout our land. It is the only proof to me that he has a heart at all.

“Asherah,” he sighs, shaking his head, “she escaped her guard detail. Again. They’ve gone after her along the edge of the Blue Hole, since she tends to frequent the places she is forbidden.” He pauses, his eyes turning soft, and I know he is considering holding the next statement back. But he never refuses my mother and knows she will ask if he does not offer everything he knows. “They saw humans in the area. Several ships, poaching from our waters without limit or remorse.”

A gasp catches in my mother’s throat, her delicate hand coming to her lips. “Poseidon—” Turning away from the court, from the guards, and even from my brother, he brings his hands to her arms. In this moment, I know no one else is present to him. He sees only her. My heart aches at the unwavering adoration in his gaze.

“We will bring her home, Amphitrite. I swear to you, I will bring our daughter home.”

As he pulls my mother against his broad chest, tears burn at my eyes. Fear for my sister grapples against the jealousy I fight to ignore, the pain of the affection he has never shown me, like powerful seahorses pulling me in two directions at once, threatening to tear me in two.

My father releases her before turning to Triton, all softness fading like the dying light of day. “Be ready to leave in five minutes,” he barks, calm leached from his voice. “We will need all the help we can get to find her.”  19 

Kristi McManus

Triton nods once, pulling his shoulders back in pride. This is the first time my father has allowed him to take part in such tasks, and the thrill of the opportunity flickers through the deep azure of his eyes. The chance to prove himself worthy of the throne and the trident which would amplify his power and solidify the right to rule.

The trident is all Triton has thought about since first truly understanding what his birthright entailed. Of the power, the amplified magic it would bestow upon him, unmatched by any other weapon remaining in the world since its twin disappeared more than a millennia ago. Where the lost trident has faded to legend and myth, the remaining is all my brother now covets.

Before they can step away, my mother reaches out, grasping my father’s arm.

“Wait.” She clutches my hand, pulling me forward. “Take Sereia with you.”

Shock and disgust drips over my father’s features, making my stomach turn. The way his eyes widen in surprise before narrowing in defiance at the mere suggestion causes my eyes to fall to the floor.

His lips pull back, revealing his white teeth.

“Amphitrite, this is not a training exercise. We—” My mother cuts him off with an angry glare, her voice as sharp as coral. “Sereia is the most powerful weapon we have, and you know it. If you wish to control the sea, to prevent the humans escape if they dare have Asherah, she is the only one strong enough. This is not a game. This is our daughter’s life!”

Tension pours from my brother like lava escaping an underwater volcano, heating the water around us. I don’t look his way. I don’t dare. I am not foolish enough to miss the insult thrown his way as Mother reminds everyone around us of my power.

A level of power my brother does not possess.

Swallowing a bitter retort, my father lifts his chin. “Very well.”  20 

OUR VENGEFUL SOULS

Turning to me, his eyes harden. “Keep up. If you fall behind, we will not wait for you, nor will we go in search of you if you become lost. Don’t embarrass me by becoming a liability.”

I am not given a chance to respond before he spins away, tail thrashing through the water toward the armory. The guards follow without a word or glance, churning the water violently in their haste.

My mother’s beautiful face comes into my eye line. Reaching a hand to my cheek, she swipes her thumb along the skin under my eye. Her silent way of wishing me well before she retreats toward her chambers to wait. Her mermaids in waiting follow, each with heads bowed, until I am alone with my brother.

The water is heavy all around me, crushing me under its weight the longer neither of us speak. The heat of his gaze scorches the side of my face, his knuckles cracking as his fists clench. In this moment, I am certain he wishes he had plunged that blade through my heart while he had the chance.

Ignoring the frantic beating of my heart, the uncertainty coursing through my veins like ichor, I take a deep breath. The corner of my lip threatens to turn upward, but I refuse it. A smile now would be asking for a fight. But I cannot ignore the pride that runs through me, erasing the fear and shame.

Finally, I can show my father what I can do. If I succeed, he can no longer ignore me, casting me to the side.

Slowly wiggling my fingers, magic courses through me like a silent predator.

I am powerful. I am the master of waves and swells. I am descended from the gods.

Risking a glance toward Triton, I find him staring at me.

Fire licks behind his eyes, sparks igniting at his fingertips. I wait for him to speak, whether to assure me that we will save our sister or to damn me for daring to intrude on his moment to prove himself,  21 

Kristi McManus

but he says nothing. He merely glares at me, his silence almost as bad as any harsh word or scathing insult.

Our father returns, an army at his back, and neither Triton nor I have moved. Hovering at the entrance to the hall, he is adorned in steel and gold armor, an ornate helmet taming his long golden hair.

The family crest—a trident overlaid upon a triangle—is embossed on his chest, marking him as King. The trident is in his grip, shining and terrifying.

While he shouts for both of us, he only looks to Triton.

“Come, we need to move. Now!”

 22 

M O RE YO U N G ADU LT READS FRO M C A MC AT BOOKS

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KrisTi McManus

hen mermaid Sereia overshadows her brother and the kingdom’s rightful heir, Triton, the position of next ruler of the sea is in question. Determined to keep his throne, Triton banishes Sereia with a warning: if you ever return, you will become a monster.

Left for dead, Sereia washes up on the shores of Atlantis, where she is rescued by a kind merchant with a tragic past. He earns her trust, but Atlanteans fear magic and Sereia must conceal her true identity as her feelings for her savior deepen.

Her skill with a blade finds her a place within the Atlantean army, and Sereia soon wavers between the pull of revenge and the possibility of love on land, but when a friend’s fate is at risk, she must make the hardest decision of all: expose who she truly is and be burned at the stake as a witch, or return to the sea a monster.

OUr VENGEFUL sOUls

It all started with a curse.

O V S

UR ENGEFUL OULS

I T A L L STA R T E D W I T H A C U R S E

KriSTi McMaNUS

Can she perform the vault of her life to save her loved ones— and herself?

Sixteen-year-old gymnast Elizabeth Arlington doesn’t care that her mother is older than the other girls’ moms or that she doesn’t look anything like her parents. She has too much other stuff to worry about: an embarrassing crush on her exbest-friend Zach, and changes in her body that affect her center of gravity and make vaulting and tumbling more terrifying than they used to be. But when she makes a discovery that throws her entire identity into question, she turns to Zach, who suggests a way for her to find the answers her mother won’t give her: a time machine they found in an abandoned house.

As Elizabeth catapults through time, she encounters a mysterious abandoned child, an elite gymnast preparing for Olympic Trials, and an enigmatic woman who seems to know more than she’s revealing. Then when a thief makes off with an identical time machine, Elizabeth finds herself on a race to stop the thief before the world as she knows it—and her own future—are destroyed.

“Vaulting Through Time is clever, suspenseful, and big-hearted.”

—Beth Ann Bauman, author of Jersey Angel and Rosie and Skate Hardcover ISBN 9780744309362 | $19.99 | Releases 7/25/2023 An adoptive parent and former longtime gymnastics mom, Nancy McCabe is the author of six books for adults and has published articles in Newsweek, Salon, Writer’s Digest, The Brevity Blog, and the Los Angeles Review of Books, among many others. She’s a Pushcart winner and her work has been recognized nine times on Best American Notable Lists. She directs the writing program at the University of Pittsburgh at Bradford and teaches in the graduate program at the Naslund-Mann School of Writing at Spalding University.

VAULTING THROUGH

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NANCY McCABE

VAULTING THROUGH

TIME

VAULTING THROUGH

TIME NANCY McCABE

CamCat Publishing, LLC Brentwood, Tennessee 37027 camcatpublishing.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © 2023 by Nancy McCabe All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744309362 Paperback ISBN 9780744309379 Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744309386 eBook ISBN 9780744309409 Audiobook ISBN 9780744309423 Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available upon request Book and cover design by Maryann Appel 5 3 1 2 4

F O R S O P H I E , A S A LWAY S

PART 1 PRE-FLIGHT

1

B r a dfor d, PA , N ove m ber 9 , 2 0 1 8 4 : 3 0 p. m .

Y

ou know those dreams where you’re flying? Suddenly your feet are no longer touching the ground. You’re rising, weightless, airy and astonished. By force of will, you aim your body toward the sky and find yourself floating and soaring, amazed at your new skill. Why haven’t you been doing this your whole life? It’s as easy as walking or running. You’ve beaten gravity.

Your spirits lift. You feel euphoric, no longer tethered to earth—or obligations, responsibilities, or expectations.

I’ve always been proud that I can fly without dreaming. I’m airborne when I swing from the high bar, flip across a spring floor, or launch into my beam dismount. It used to be that if I was in a funk, a fog, feeling blah, gymnastics could lift me right out of that, show me the world from new angles until I landed somewhere different from where I’d started.

Lately, not so much.

Lots of girls quit by the time they’re sixteen, but not me. I’m one of the oldest girls on the team. Eventually, Coach Amy once said sadly, a gymnast’s body starts developing. Eventually a gymnast’s center of gravity changes.

Nancy McCabe

Eventually she gets distracted by hormones and life. I’m stubborn. Up till now I’ve stayed the course. But lately—secretly—I’ve begun to falter. After breaking my foot on a vault landing last year, I’m more nervous about throwing my body backward. And I’ve become even more distracted as I constantly chase thoughts out of my head of the boy I’m crushing on who is totally wrong for me.

It’s a stormy Friday afternoon and I’m waiting for my turn on the bars.

It’s one of those nonstop late fall showers that brutalizes the last leaves, beating them off the trees. Then the rain turns to snow and all of the branches are bare and it’s suddenly winter.

The downpour batters the gym roof as if someone is emptying jarfuls of pennies onto it. The sound nearly drowns out the level-4 compulsory floor music. Otherworldly strains reach my ears, my thoughts looping with the monotonous instrumental music that plays over and over. Warming up, little girls pitch forward, kicking over in unison, leaving behind one struggling teammate, legs flailing in the air.

Distracted and restless, I wish I could astrally project myself somewhere else. I keep feeling this way lately, like there’s an old me and a new me in parallel universes. There’s the disciplined one who still loves gymnastics, and there’s the free-floating one who daydreams and follows whims.

The daydreamy me cuts intricate patterns down the sides of my T-shirts and watches YouTube tutorials on how to weave my curly hair into fancy French braid variations. Who stays home in a cozy bathrobe editing selfies so that I’m wearing butterfly wings or floating among the stars.

Zach thinks I’m just a headstrong, driven athlete. I imagine proving to him that I can be geeky and creative and inventive too.

My thoughts are always floating involuntarily in that direction lately, the same way whenever I’m home my gaze drifts toward his bedroom window across the driveway from mine. Why do I care what my ex-best friend, a judgy guy with big, clumsy hands and big, stinky feet, thinks of me, anyway?

Zach and I have known each other all our lives. His family moved here when we were three. We used to make faces at each other across the driveway, 9 37 0

VAULTING THROUGH TIME

our bedroom windows only a few feet apart. When we were eight, we rigged up a tin-can telephone between those windows. When we were ten, we entered the district science fair together with a project on sound waves. We won a blue ribbon.

Now I order my stomach to stop flip-flopping when I think about him.

I mean, ick. He’s like a brother to me. And also, he’s boring—always talking about stuff like comic books and parallel universes and time travel and quantum physics.

I absolutely refuse to crush on Zach O’Mara.

Besides, I haven’t spoken to him in months and I have no intention of resuming now. !!

“Have you thought about getting a straightening iron?” asks Molly, the girl waiting in line behind me. Her tone implies that she’s making a helpful suggestion. But then, in the same overly earnest tone, she adds, “Maybe that would make your hair less witchy.”

Molly has blond hair pulled up into a perky ponytail. It looks like the swirl on the top of an ice-cream cone, like something frothy and sweet, but she is anything but. I am darker than most of the other girls, tanning easily in the summer. Sometimes they make comments. “Are you sure you’re not an Indian?” they ask.

“I think the term is Native American or Indigenous, but no,” I answer, proving that I am totally my mother’s daughter, because that’s what she’d say. I do my best to ignore the way the other girls make faces and laugh at me.

Behind Molly, Callie, who wears her long, light hair in a tight French braid, giggles at Molly’s jab about my hair. That hurts. Molly and Callie are both a year younger than I am, but I thought that Callie and I were friends.

Coach Amy strides across the floor toward us. “Hey,” she says to all of us, but her gaze lingers on me. “I’m taking the top two from each optional level to the USAG meet next month. What do you think?”

9 38 0

Nancy McCabe

“Sounds fun,” I say, even though my first reaction is dread. As a YMCA gymnast, I should have been nothing but excited for the rare chance to compete with girls from private clubs, USA Gymnastics girls preparing to go elite and even compete internationally.

“You don’t think you’re going to be picked, do you?” Molly mutters after Coach Amy moves on to the group waiting for the beams. “You’re such a baby about tumbling. I’m way better than you are.”

Molly is fearless about throwing herself into back tucks and layouts.

Fearless but sloppy. She and Callie have both surpassed my skills on everything but bars, though their technique, all bent legs and loose movements, pulls down their scores. Molly’s constant deductions make her even more pissed off at me. During warm-ups, she tries to psych me out by “accidentally” crashing into me.

“If you’re so much better than me, then do better than me,” I toss back at her now, as if her words don’t sting. She’s not wrong. I am a baby about tumbling backward. And around Molly, I feel like I’m stuck back in middle school, not a junior in high school.

I turn my back on Molly’s eye roll and the other girls’ smirks as I step up to the bars. I close my eyes, shut out everything. My irritation, reservations, errant thoughts, the floor music, Molly’s smug expression, the other bars groaning as a teammate swings into a handstand, the beam thudding as another teammate lands out of her split leap. All I have to do is score in the level-7 top two at the meet this weekend. Piece of cake. I’m almost always first or second all-around.

So what if I’ve been questioning the wisdom of blindly hurling my body backward? So what if I keep throwing in elements to avoid back tucks on floor and back walkovers on beam? I’m a stickler for technique, so my scores haven’t suffered too much. And all gymnasts have fear issues, especially after an injury. Well, maybe except for Molly. Maybe if I try hard enough I can will my fear away the same way I can will away any inappropriate feelings I have for Zach. New energy sizzles through me as I springboard to the low bar, rising from my squat on to a high-bar kip, swinging continuously and big, 9 39 0

VAULTING THROUGH TIME

casting to handstand and toppling into a back giant, arms and legs straight, toes pointed, no hesitation or extra swings. I defy gravity, flinging myself into a series of rotations and twirling into a flyaway dismount before I slam to the ground.

“You’re on fire!” Coach Amy high-fives me. “Bring your birth certificate tomorrow and we’ll get you registered.” !!

I anticipate telling Mom about the USA Gymnastics meet as Callie’s mom drives me home. We pass under street lights that bow over the streets, water cascading from them so they look like showerheads. Callie keeps her head turned toward the passenger-side window, making no attempt at conversation, like she’s afraid if she’s nice Molly will find out and turn on her. Whatever. I’m going to beat out her and Molly and go to the USAG meet. When Zach hears about it, he’ll have to be impressed. It’s a win-win.

As soon as I get home, I call Mom at the library, where she’s working late. “I need my birth certificate,” I tell her breathlessly. “Where is it?”

“I thought it was in the secretary downstairs, but last time I looked, it wasn’t there. That’s okay. There’s another copy—” She stops abruptly, and then there’s a long silence. “I’ll find it when I get home.” Her voice sounds funny.

I expect her to ask more questions. I expect her to be excited for me. Instead, she changes the subject, brushing me off. “Don’t you need to submit your English research proposal online by tonight?”

“But—” She ignores me. “I read it over. It’s good. But look at the first paragraph.

Where do you need a comma?”

I don’t want to talk about my stupid English assignment. “Up your butt,” I answer.

I hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

So maybe I’ve gone too far. I brace myself.

9 40 0

Nancy McCabe

But all she says, after a long pause, is, “No. That’s a colon.”

It takes me a second, but then I hoot despite myself. Mom starts to laugh too, and it takes us a few seconds to catch our breaths.

My teammates think Mom must be stodgy because she’s so much older than their moms, so old they’re always mistaking her for my grandmother.

They think it’s weird that we look nothing alike, and I guess I think so too: She’s pale and I have a natural light tan even in winter; she has blue eyes and mine are brown; she had blond hair before she let it go gray, in contrast to my thick curls that people describe as black but are really dark brown—the darkest, richest-possible brown. I’m proud of my hair. Mom’s always said that I take after my dad, but when I’ve asked to see pictures, she reminds me that they were all destroyed when our basement flooded. “Don’t you remember that? We had to throw out so much stuff. That’s why we got the sump pump,” she says. Lately this explanation has nagged at me. I’ve suddenly started to wonder why she would have kept photos in the basement.

More and more things have been getting to me. Like whenever I have a fight with Mom, my teammates say, “Too bad you don’t know your real mom,” even though she is my real mom. Not to mention, no one says that to them when they have fights with their moms.

But they seem to think that conflict is different, less damaging somehow, if you look like your mom. Their moms are small and lithe, former high-school cheerleaders and track stars who now play on company sports teams and run marathons. They all have bodies genetically programmed to produce little gymnasts.

Mom never played any sports and claims she peaked at the cartwheel.

We still have all of her old photos, like the school pictures where she’s in the back row, towering over the other kids. When she wants me to think that she relates to me, she describes the back shoulder roll she did in her school’s eighth-grade operetta.

But when we have moments like this, laughing so hard that she makes a honking noise and I have to wipe tears from my eyes, I’m sure she’s my mom.

I would never admit it aloud, but I think of Mom as my safe space, my reality 9 41 0

VAULTING THROUGH TIME

check, the one who’ll be supportive of whatever I do but won’t hesitate to steer me back on track when I veer off.

Still, the doubts have been crowding in, so much so that I decided to do one of those genetic tests where you spit in a vial and send it to some lab. I had the hardest time working up enough spit. Finally I dripped some lemon juice in my mouth, and that made me salivate big time. I’m pretty sure my genetic results are going to come back any day now saying that I’m 99 percent lemon.

I feel a little guilty, going behind Mom’s back, forging her signature. But I just want reassurance that we’re really related. !!

“I’ll be home late,” Mom says. “I’ll email my comments. Get your assignment done and get to bed so you’ll be fresh for tomorrow. Also, I think your competition leotard is in the wash.”

Idly, I click onto my email. “I put some of my leos in the dryer yesterday,” I answer absently. “I think it’s there.” My heart jumps. The email arrived with my genetic test results while I was at practice.

“Is the copy of my birth certificate in the attic?” I click open the email.

My eyes rove down the column showing my genetic heritage. I’m 70 percent Northwestern European, with strands of British and Irish, French, and German. No surprises there. Then my eyes stop on the last line.

“I’ll find it when I get home.” Mom’s voice is tight and tense. “Don’t get all impulsive the way you do and go rifling through papers and messing up my files.”

“But what about—” I start before I realize that she’s hung up.

By then I’m too distracted to even consider calling her back as I stare at that last line, which has to be a mistake. It says I’m 30 percent Han Chinese.

Or maybe Mom neglected to tell me the whole story of my dad’s ethnic heritage?

Maybe my dad was part Chinese and somehow didn’t know it?

9 42 0

Nancy McCabe

Though Mom pays bills at the secretary in the living room, she periodically carries a new pile of insurance policies and bank statements up to the file cabinets in the finished attic room. I can’t imagine anywhere else she’d keep documents like my birth certificate, and maybe it will be with other records that will make this make sense.

I close up my laptop and charge up the stairs, even more impatient to see what I can find.

9 43 0

M O RE SC I EN CE FIC TIO N ADVEN TURES FROM C AMC AT BOOKS

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ixteen-year-old gymnast Elizabeth Arlington doesn’t care that her mother is older than the other girls’ moms or that she doesn’t look anything like her parents. She has too much to worry about like her

body changing and how all of a sudden the balance beam is not as easy as it used to be. But when she makes a discovery that throws her entire identity into question, she turns to her ex-best friend Zach, who suggests a way for her to find the answers her mother won’t give her: a time machine they found in an abandoned house.

As Elizabeth catapults through time, she encounters a mysterious

VAULTING THROUGH TIME

CAN SHE PERFORM THE VAULT OF HER LIFE TO SAVE HER LOVED ONES— AND HERSELF?

abandoned child, an elite gymnast preparing for Olympic Trials, and an

VAULTING THROUGH

TIME

Young Adult / Science Fiction USD$16.99 CAD$21.99 GBP£13.99

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no v

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her future—are destroyed.

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herself on a race to stop the thief before the world as she knows it—and

NANCY McCABE

when a thief makes off with an identical time machine, Elizabeth finds

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enigmatic woman who seems to know more than she’s revealing. Then

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NANCY McCABE

Christmas thought her ADHD was a liability. Turns out, it’s a superpower.

Seventeen-year-old Christmas Miller is looking forward to a summer of sunbathing and waterskiing at her home in Sweet Lake with Lexi, the one friend who gets her completely, ADHD and all. But the day of Lexi's arrival, the girls have an almostargument and worse, that night, they discover another friend, Lemy, floating face down in the lake. Though reeling from her rift with Lexi, Christmas is determined to find out who attacked Lemy, even if it means she must confront her own mother’s possible involvement in the crime.

Christmas would do anything to protect her beloved Sweet Lake community, but when the lake becomes polluted and people around her start getting hurt, Christmas must face the profound problems in Sweet Lake—and in her own family.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744302509 | $19.99 | Releases 8/8/2023 Sara Hosey is the author of two young adult novels, Iphigenia Murphy and Imagining Elsewhere, as well as a novella, Great Expectations, and a short story collection, which is coming out in 2024. Sara is a community college professor, a parent, and a tree enthusiast. When she’s not writing or teaching, she likes spending time with her family and pets in upstate New York.

SUMMER PEOPLE SARA HOSEY

SUMMER PEOPLE SARA HOSEY

SUMMER PEOPLE SARA HOSEY

CamCat Publishing, LLC Brentwood, Tennessee 37027 camcatpublishing.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © 2023 by Sara Hosey All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744302509 Paperback ISBN 9780744302516 Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744302530 eBook ISBN 9780744302547 Audiobook ISBN 9780744302561 Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available upon request Book and cover design by Maryann Appel

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he day christmas miller and lexi reyes found a body floating

facedown in the lake hadn’t started off weird and terrifying. In fact, it had been a happy enough day.

Christmas had been anxious, but she’d also been hopeful and excited. Her best friend, Lexi, a “summer person” from Pennsylvania, was finally arriving in Sweet Lake, New York, that afternoon.

Graduation, just ten days earlier, already felt like the distant past.

To kill time as she waited, Christmas raked algae from the lake.

Only June and it was worse than she’d ever seen it, the algae a scum on the top of the water in the shallow areas and growing in puffy, slimy clouds in the deeper water. The absolute center of the lake was the only place you could escape it.

She frowned, imagining Lexi’s reaction, and worked harder, pulling out the blue-green substance in clumps, the algae clinging to the tines of the rake like mermaid’s hair or long wisps of alien matter—or like a toxic mucous, the green snot indicating the Earth’s fever. She dragged the algae toward the shore and then heaved it up and dumped it on land, where it would bake dry in the sun, turning into hard, matte-colored mounds that dotted the Millers’ shoreline

Sara Hosey

for the rest of the summer. At this rate, the lake might be unswimmable by August. Or, if you did go in, you’d come out with burning eyes or a rash, as Christmas’s father did one year.

When they were kids, Lexi and Christmas had spent all day in the lake, reading aloud to each other from waterlogged paperbacks as they floated in tubes, diving in to cool down (“here, hold the book for a minute”). Hours swimming and playing, treading water while they talked about everything, as though being in the water together dissolved the barrier between their minds, making them permeable to each other.

But last summer, Lexi had refused to swim in the lake at all. She was disgusted by the algae and would only go in from her grandfather’s boat, in the middle of the lake, and then only to water ski.

If she could have skied without getting wet at all, she would have.

She told Christmas that she wanted to have children some day and that she didn’t want them to have fins. “I hear they’re expensive to remove,” she’d deadpanned.

Christmas raked harder. It was almost as if she took its presence personally, or as if Lexi’s disgust somehow extended to the entire community and even to Christmas herself. Lexi had teased her in the past about being too attached to the town, but back then it had been okay because Lexi had seemed to share Christmas’s love of Sweet Lake. In the past few years, Lexi’s stays had started getting shorter—and one year she spent only two weeks total at Sweet Lake. But this year she was staying for two whole months. Christmas had set up jobs for them at a community day camp, working Mondays through Thursdays in the basement of the new town hall complex—the same complex at which a meeting was to take place that evening, a meeting to discuss the algae blooms.

Christmas channeled her fear and frustration into the physical labor. The movement-with-a-purpose allowed her brain to disengage a bit, to quiet, to be in the moment and not skittering over  57 

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today, yesterday, tomorrow. And it helped to keep her from checking her phone every two minutes to see if Lexi had arrived yet.

She was so involved in her raking and thinking that the roaring vehicle was almost upon her by the time she saw it. Of course, it was Cash Ford on his fluorescent yellow Jet Ski whose zipping around she’d pretended to ignore earlier. But now she looked up to see him careening into the shallow water, coming to a dramatic, splashy stop about twenty feet away. He called out, “What the hell are you doing?”

Christmas stood in the churning water, the waves from Cash’s Jet Ski lapping her ankles. “Hi, Cash,” she said. Cash, naturally, was not wearing a life jacket; his tan chest and arms bulged with muscles. She suspected he was flexing, showing off, and she involuntarily rolled her eyes. “Trying to get rid of some of this algae,” she said, her voice a bit squeaky, she thought.

Cash hooted. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. You think that’s gonna make a difference?”

“Well,” Christmas spluttered, finding herself, as she often did, at a loss when faced with her former classmate’s combination of swagger, rudeness, and, sometimes, surprising insight. “Maybe if everyone did this at their lakefront . . . maybe it would help a little.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.

Cash smirked. “Stop wasting your time and come for a ride with me.”

Christmas shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Aw, come on, Chrissy,” he said. “You know you want to.”

Christmas’s phone, which she’d left on the dock, vibrated. She waded over quickly to retrieve it. Her eyes on her phone, she said to Cash, “I have plans.”

Just got in, Lexi had texted Christmas.

Christmas texted back: Yay! I am waiting on the dock!

When Christmas looked up again, Cash had unceremoniously zoomed off. She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to be inconsiderate;  58 

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she’d simply been distracted by Lexi’s text. Although even if Lexi wasn’t heading over, there was no way Christmas would have gone Jet Skiing with Cash Ford.

She’d known Cash since they were kids and had a clear memory of first encountering him at a summer library program, when he’d refused to read aloud, refused the ice-cream sandwich he was offered as a treat, and told the librarian that she had a fat ass and shouldn’t have one either. The librarian had scowled and told Cash to put his head down, that she’d have his mother come pick him up if he was going to be so miserable, but Cash didn’t even do that; he stalked out across the parking lot and sat defiantly on top of a big rock.

Christmas remembered her relief when he left. She’d felt bad for the librarian, who Christmas could see was fighting back tears.

And, more generally, having Cash around made Christmas nervous, made any situation suddenly unpredictable. Later, when Christmas’s family relocated to Sweet Lake full time (at ten, she became “summer people” no more), she and Cash were put in the Resource Room together, and Christmas learned that he, too, had a learning disability. As a result, and to Christmas’s chagrin, she and Cash were placed in the same class every year, and often had “extra help” together. That they had this difference in common might have inclined Christmas to be a bit more generous toward Cash, but it didn’t. Instead, it only made her want to further distance herself from him.

Cash probably felt the same way, Christmas reasoned. She assumed that Cash thought she was a kiss-ass, a nerd, a prude. She had to admit, though, that he was usually pretty nice to her, always inviting her to his bonfires (there were many alcohol-fueled parties in a nearby field his dad owned), and once giving her a lift home when he saw her out jogging in a dangerous thunderstorm. And there’d been kind of a thing between them, recently, after the prom.  59 

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But still. They were like oil and water, Christmas thought, at that moment noticing a rainbow-colored slick on the surface of the lake.

Probably left behind by Cash’s stupid Jet Ski. Christmas looked out at the reflection of the cloudless sky in the water. With the exception of Cash at the far end, the lake was serene, with only one fishing boat floating in the center and an orange kayak over by a small inlet that she recognized as belonging to her friends Curly, so-called because he was totally bald, and his husband, Lemuel “Lemy” Kang-LaSalle.

Climbing up the onto the shore, Christmas grabbed the plump pink duffel—packed earlier with a change of clothes and her ADHD meds—that waited for her on the sloping, clover-filled lawn. She’d been wearing her swimsuit all day and she was ready to go.

Christmas’s earliness, her inability to concentrate on anything else when she knew she had something coming up, this, she had learned, was one of her “ADHD things,” and discovering that it was—if not a symptom, a related condition—was somewhat comforting. Because she had ADHD, she had trouble gauging time and how long things would take. And because she was a people pleaser, because she had anxiety and hated disappointing anyone, she had developed a compulsion for earliness as an overcompensation for what would probably have otherwise been chronic lateness.

Medication helped. A bit.

Christmas stowed her phone in the bag and waited.

And then she’d heard the sputtering of a speedboat come to life, the sound distorted by the flat water as the vehicle backed up from the dock, a buzz as Lexi’s grandfather put the boat in gear and pointed it west, toward Christmas’s house. She skipped down to the end of the dock and waved, her arms wide and joyful, as though they didn’t know exactly where she was, as though the boat was an airplane landing in the fog, as though Lexi was a long-lost traveler at last returned home.  60 

M O RE GRE AT YO U N G ADU LT READS FRO M C AMC AT BOOKS

Available now, wherever books are sold.

S

eventeen-year-old Christmas Miller is looking forward to a summer of sunbathing and waterskiing at her home in Sweet Lake with Lexi, the one friend who gets her completely, ADHD and all. But the day of Lexi’s arrival,

the girls have an almost-argument and worse, that night, they discover another friend, Lemy, floating face down in the lake. Though reeling from her rift with Lexi, Christmas is determined to find out who attacked Lemy, even if it means she must confront her own mother’s possible involvement in the crime.

Christmas would do anything to protect her beloved Sweet Lake community, but when the lake becomes polluted and people around her start getting hurt, Christmas must face the profound problems in Sweet Lake—and in her own family.

“The day they found a body floating face down in the lake had started off inauspiciously enough.”

Young Adult / Mystery USD$16.99 CAD$21.99 GBP£13.99

Cover Design: Maryann Appel Illustration: Grandfailure BE THE FIRST TO HEAR about new CamCat titles, author events, and exclusive content! Sign up at camcatbooks.com for the CamCat Publishing newsletter.

SUMMER PEOPLE SARA HOSEY

CHRISTMAS THOUGHT HER ADHD WAS A LIABILITY. TURNS OUT, IT’S A SUPERPOWER.

SUMMER PEOPLE SARA HOSEY

The fight for the future of the whales has just begun.

Kim Teng is committed to escorting Earth’s last whales to the paradise planet of New Eden. But as Seiiki draws closer to New Eden, Kim must learn to split her role of Caretaker with another, navigate her new relationship with Wren, and deal with the suffocating guilt of having misled her crewmates for so long.

With tensions rising back on Earth, it is even more important for the whales to reach New Eden quickly and safely. But as the contingent comes out of hyperspace, an unexpected computer error sends Seiiki crashing into their new home planet. Which is not the peaceful paradise they expected.

When strange creatures start howling in the night and people begin disappearing from their basecamp, Kim and her friends soon realize that while someone didn’t want them to ever arrive at New Eden, someone—or something—else wanted to make sure they did.

“Fox’s whale space opera is both action-packed and thoughtprovoking.”

—Publishers Weekly, Starred Review for Under the Heavens Hardcover ISBN 9780744305586 | $19.99 | Releases 8/9/2022 The Ark Trilogy Book #2 Ruth Fox is the author of many books, including Under the Heavens (CamCat 2022) and award-winning Monster-boy: Lair of the Grelgoroth. She has a Bachelor of Arts/Diploma of Arts in Professional Writing and Editing, and loves to read science fiction, fantasy, romance, and everything in between. She currently lives with her husband, two cats and three very adventurous sons (who also love books) in Victoria, Australia.

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CamCat Publishing, LLC Brentwood, Tennessee 37027 camcatpublishing.com This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © 2023 by Ruth Fox All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, address CamCat Publishing, 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

Hardcover ISBN 9780744309706 Paperback ISBN 9780744309720 Large-Print Paperback ISBN 9780744309744 eBook ISBN 9780744309751 Audiobook ISBN 9780744309768 Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data available upon request Book and cover design by Maryann Appel 5 3 1 2 4

For Rydyr, Quinn and Whitley

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he darkness of space filled with the sudden, menacing presence of a comet. A brilliant trail of fire drifted behind it, transforming it into a small, fierce needle headed directly for their shuttle. Somewhere to her left, an alarm began to blare. Kim gripped the armrests of her chair. “Adonai . . .”

“I think I’ve got it.” He tapped at the holo controls hovering above the shuttle’s main console, quickly drawing a kanji against his palm before his hands moved, impossibly fast, back to the steering controls. The shuttle lifted its nose. The comet was still some distance—5.7 miles. 5.6, 5.5—but Kim wasn’t sure their current speed would be enough to move them out of its trajectory.

“Adonai! We need more—” The last word stuck in her throat as the small shuttle made a sudden turn.

The inertial dampeners compensated, but on a ship this small, that compensation was limited. Kim felt herself being pushed into her copilot’s chair. The thrust was enough to shoot them straight out of the path of the comet—but it was also enough for Kim to feel like her brain was being squished through

Ruth Fox

a sieve. Gray spots danced at the edges of her vision, and she breathed deeply, knowing her body needed oxygen.

“I apologize, Kim,” the droid said as the shuttle evened out.

“It’s okay. This is only our fourth time out, Adonai. But I need you to anticipate a bit more. If an object is on your scanners, the computer will do some of the work for you—but it can’t do everything.”

“I understand.”

Kim breathed a sigh, trying to bring her heartrate back down to an acceptable level and reminding herself that the comet had only been a hologram concocted by the shuttle’s systems and nothing about the simulation had actually put them in any danger. Taking Adonai out on these runs in the shuttle had taken some convincing—Lieutenant Grand wasn’t exactly Kim’s biggest fan—and after the first one, where he’d almost accelerated them straight into Seiiki’s starboard hull, it had been tricky to get him to agree to more sessions. If Kim wasn’t so sure that Adonai needed these sessions, she would have abandoned the idea altogether. If it was just that Adonai enjoyed learning to pilot, she could have passed the idea off as frivolous and not something she needed to add to her already bulging workload. But it was more than that. These sessions gave him—she was coming to understand—a meaningful place on the ship. The ability to perform a function that was vital to the success of the Ark Project.

“Transfer controls back to me, please.”

“Transferring now,” Adonai said. He looked out at the cool blackness of space. They could see nothing from here. Seiiki and the two Earth United scoutships that were now accompanying her on the mission were behind them. There was no nearby solar system or nebula to break the monotony of the endless field of stars, just distant impressions of gaseous formations in the far distance and so much space between. They were traveling at a fraction of the speed of light—one of the half-day slowdowns that was scheduled—giving them time to run a ship-wide system’s check. They’d need to dock soon so that Seiiki and her companions could return to hyper speed and resume the journey to New Eden. $ 75 |

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“Daedalus to Shuttle Two. I need you to return to Seiiki to take a communication from Lieutenant Grand. Sorry to interrupt your flight time, Adonai.”

The interruption was Airman Cabes’s voice coming through the comms.

Kim sighed.

“Acknowledged,” she replied. “Shuttle Two out.” Turning back to Adonai, she shrugged an apology, then turned the shuttle 180 degrees to bring Seiiki back into view. The ship was a curious mix of military bulkiness and sleek cruise liner that Kim found oddly appealing. The scoutships that were hovering off her port bow were another matter. Painted bright white with their call signs emblazoned in red, they were stark and functional without adornment. Kim averted her gaze from the reminder than the Ark Project was no longer wholly under the control of Near Horizon. The adjustment had been a rocky one for her, but at least they had outfitted Seiiki with a few extra perks, courtesy of Earth United, including the shuttle they now piloted. One of the cargo bays had been converted into a docking bay. Kim swung the shuttle around and bought it in through the doors, landing with a thump as the huge airlock doors closed behind them. She powered down and sat up from her chair, picking up her toolbelt from the storage locker at the rear of the shuttle and buckling it on as she followed Adonai out of the shuttle and into the familiar hallways of Seiiki.

“Do you think we’ll have time for more lessons before we arrive?”

Adonai asked her.

“I hope so,” Kim told him. “I can’t guarantee it. Things are going to get pretty busy soon. We’re getting closer to the Eschol System. But I’ll definitely try.”

“Maybe when we get to Eschol—after we’ve landed and put the whales into the water—I could fly between the planets.”

Kim had to smile at the childlike eagerness. “I’m not sure, Adonai. It’s a pretty dense system. There are twelve planets orbiting the sun, and most of them are close to one another. There’s also the Hebron Belt—a belt of asteroids that orbits between New Eden and the next planet out. Piloting $ 76 |

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might be tricky, and that’s before you take into account the possibility of Eschol Thirteen.”

“I’ve read about Eschol Thirteen,” Adonai said. His words always came more quickly when he was excited. “It’s a . . . a gravitational anomaly? One that hasn’t been imaged by any telescopes or radars. But Kim, why can’t anyone see it?”

Kim smiled. She had raised the theory of Eschol Thirteen during their training and had won major points from their tutor by doing so. Ever since she’d first heard about it, the theory had fascinated her. “It’s something that used to happen all the time in Earth-based astronomy. You couldn’t always get a visual on what was causing the unusual orbit of a planet or star, so you’d have to make assumptions based on what you could observe. It basically never happens these days since we have much better telemetry or can use computer extrapolation or can send out probes to discover what’s causing it. In the case of Eschol Thirteen . . . well, no one really knows if it’s a planet or not.”

“It seems like there are lots of things that humans aren’t sure about, but you are able to believe the theories you develop anyway.” He was quiet for a moment. “Kim, what is Heaven?”

Kim looked back at Adonai, tilting her head. “That’s an interesting question. Maybe you should ask the computer to help you search on the net?”

“I did. I would like to hear your answer.”

They rounded a curving corner of the rampway. “I guess Heaven has a different meaning for a lot of people, but most of them agree that it’s a place you go when you die where good actions you’ve taken during your life can be . . . rewarded.”

“Where is it?”

“I guess it’s the ‘highest place.’ Kind of . . . beyond the clouds?”

“In space?”

Kim laughed. “Not really.” An autobot scurried past, beeping softly. “It’s not an actual place in this world. Think of it as an alternate dimension.”

“Do you believe in Heaven?” $ 77 |

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Kim thought about that for a moment. “I think I do. I’d like to.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be sure,” she admitted. “Remember what I said about it being a reward for the good things you’ve done? I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, Adonai.”

“But you would still go to Heaven,” Adonai replied with certainty. “Because you are a good person, Kim.” “I like that you think that,” she replied with a laugh.

99 Kim left Adonai in the Aquarium, where he liked to spend time sitting on the catwalks and watching the whales. Even if he couldn’t talk to them, being surrounded by the watery world seemed to bring him a lot of peace.

She took the maglift to Deck One, and when the door opened, she found Wren sitting tilted back in one of the chairs on the outer consoles, feet up on the console while a lush green field scrolled under him. His hands were encased in haptic gloves, and his eyes were covered with a set of goggles.

They were translucent, but even though Kim could see his eyes, he didn’t notice her. Flashing data patterns rotated and scrolled, dilating his pupils as his eyes absorbed what they were seeing.

“Wren,” she said.

Wren’s fingers jerked and twitched. “Crap,” he mumbled. “Ray, get the one on the left flank. Hurry up about it, too. He’s been on my tail for six minutes, and I’m out in the open here.”

“Wren,” Kim repeated louder.

“Are you kidding me?” Wren growled. “I’m not falling for that. I’m coming for you.” His hands lifted as he pulled imaginary triggers. Kim might have rolled her eyes if she weren’t so jealous of his ability to fire a gun in any kind of productive manner—even if the environment was only virtual.

Instead, she picked up a memory card that was lying on the central comm desk and threw it at him. $ 78 |

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“Wren!”

The card clacked against his goggles. “Ah!” he shouted as he scrambled upright, ripping the shades from his face. “What the heck?”

“What, too haptic for you?” Kim said with a laugh. She swung herself into the chair behind the comms console. “I’ve got to check in. Don’t want you getting in trouble again.”

Wren gave a rueful wince. “I don’t see why they’ve got a problem with it.

It’s not like I’m on duty. This isn’t even a military ship.”

Kim shrugged. “This is why,” she reminded him glibly, “you didn’t make it in the Ark Project.”

Wren sighed. “I didn’t make it in the Ark Project because some little Aussie chick kicked my arse.”

Kim grinned from ear to ear as she kicked her own boots up onto the edge of the console.

Wren brushed his hands along her shoulders as he passed her on the way out. “Don’t let them keep you too long, okay? I’m making dinner tonight.

Just us.” His voice was soft, gentle. Kim felt a thrill deep in her stomach.

Deck One was hers alone, save for a maintenance bot that was beeping sporadically, one of its arms extending into an open panel in the bulkhead, welding a new circuit in place. She drew the kanji for speak, and the comm system booted up in a string of Japo-English script.

“Kim.” A holographic image of Lieutenant Ben Grand’s head appeared above the console. He looked harried, and his quick response made Kim uneasy. Had something gone wrong? “Are you alone?”

Kim’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes. Why?” “Lock down, please,” Grand continued.

Puzzled, Kim sketched the kanji for secret in the air. The Manta Protocol, ironically enough, was a leftover piece of code written by the traitor Zane.

An analysis had found the code even stronger than the ones currently used by the military, so Grand had had it modified so it couldn’t be co-opted by the Crusaders and installed the new version in Seiiki’s computer as well as the scoutships’. $ 79 |

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“Right.” Grand looked over his shoulder. There was no one visible in the background, and Kim could see blurred shapes of a desk and chair and what could be a bunk bed. Was he in his private quarters? “I want to keep this out of both Mr. Keene’s and Ms. Raymond’s earshot, okay? We’ve been noticing some oddities with Seiiki’s systems. Nothing alarming,” he added when she saw her face. “And nothing that threatens your safety. Or that of the whales.

However, there seems to be a slowdown of your computer’s responses and overall processing abilities.”

“This sounds like a conversation you should be having with Wren,” Kim said, frowning.

“At the moment, I’d rather it was kept between you and I,” Grand replied.

“And to make it clear, Admiral Mbewe has conveyed that you’re under orders not to mention it outside of this room.”

Kim felt her heart sink. “I don’t like that at all, Lieutenant. And I’m not military. You can’t order me to do anything.”

“For the safety of this mission, Kim, I can. Yesterday, Near Horizon signed a contract with Morosini. Earth United now has control over the mission to New Eden.” He held up a hand as Kim opened her mouth to protest. “Daedalus and Minotaur are here to protect Seiiki from the Crusaders and make sure she reaches New Eden unharmed. That’s all I’m interested in.

We now have reason to believe that the Crusaders might be planning something, and in that respect, you’re the only one we can trust.”

“You suspect Wren? He helped me disarm those explosives!”

“As I said, until we know what’s going on, we need this under wraps, and that includes Wren, Yoshi, and Adonai. The increase in data output can’t be correlated to any of the ship’s systems or normal functions, but we’re also limited as to what we can access from the scoutships. I’d be willing to dock but that would require all three ships dropping out of hyper, and at this point, we can’t lose that much time and fuel. We’ll need you to run a few diagnostics to see if you can work out what’s going on.”

“Right. Fine.” She paused. “Do you think it’s the work of Zane? Private Getty? Whatever his name really is.” $ 80 |

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“He had no direct access to Seiiki’s computer following the incident at Edgeward. Security was increased ten-fold during her time in the docks.

Quantum technology is new to us, and these computers tend to run a little . . . oddly at times. It may be nothing—a quirk of the computer’s minor functions—but a slowdown generally means—” “—the available memory is being allocated elsewhere. I know that much.”

“Good. I’m sending across a few files containing instructions on how to run the diagnostics. You’ll need to access the computer’s core for this.”

“All without letting anyone know. Sure. It’s Wren’s favorite place on this ship—he’d eat and sleep there if he could—but that’s just fine. Leave it to me.”

“I appreciate it, Kim, sarcasm and all.” He gave her a brief smile.

Kim sat back in her chair. She didn’t just not like this. She hated this. The idea of not telling Wren filled her with a horrible feeling. They were learning to trust one another. Their conversations had begun to deepen. She’d opened up more to him than she had to anyone else in her life—even Constantin, her old mentor. The vulnerability terrified her, but at the same time, it made her feel safe. Nothing she’d told Wren yet had sent him running for the escape pods. But . . . if he found out he’d been suspected of being a spy and she had known and kept it from him?

Kim met Grand’s holographic eyes. There was one final question she really needed an answer to.

“Why are you so sure you can trust me?”

“Like I said, we need someone on board who’s aware of the situation.

And you’re the best candidate. You’ve got experience with . . .”

“Lying?”

“Confidentiality,” Grand corrected her. “We know you’re capable of doing the mission and keeping up appearances simultaneously. We need you to keep it up. People are shaken after the near miss on Edgeward. The Crusaders have accomplished that much, even if their actual mission was a failure.

There’s a lot of vitriol out there. Not just against the Crusaders, either.

The $ 81 |

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Adherants are pushing their own message about how humans shouldn’t be using space travel using the Edgeward incident as an example. Even Earth United is on edge; a scientist working on a military project has gone AWOL. The best way to keep the media away from the fear-mongering they do so well is to give them something else to focus on. Namely . . . you. And the whales.”

Kim lifted her chin and met the lieutenant’s holographic eyes with an even stare. “Of course I can do it.”

Grand gave her a brisk nod before he cut the connection.

99 Kim took a moment to swing past her quarters and wash her face and hands —both of which felt grimy after a day of work and weapons training with Yoshi—then headed to the combined galley and mess hall where Wren was waiting.

He was in the middle of frying some egg-replacement with dried bacon strips. The smell made Kim salivate—and so, she had to admit, did the sight of him working over the hot pan, brow furrowed in concentration. His shoulder-length black hair brushed the collar of his jumpsuit, and she could glimpse the lean muscles beneath the blue fabric. God, he was gorgeous.

The past few weeks had done nothing to make her feel less attracted to him. In fact, their time spent on Seiiki so far had made her realize how much they actually had in common outside of physical attraction. She wasn’t huge on net gaming, but he’d convinced her, on a few occasions, to leave her endless list of tasks and join him. Spending time alongside him in the virtual world was actually a lot of fun; they’d stormed a medieval castle together, swum in the lakes of Mars, and climbed one of the highest mountains on Orion Six. It was oddly relaxing to take time away from everyday tasks.

But even though these things were fun, she much preferred the time they’d spent watching holo-movies. The movie was irrelevant. Just being with him, sitting near him, was something special. It was new, this feeling of $ 82 |

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being completely at ease while having someone else in her physical space.

She hadn’t expected to like it so much, but it had quickly become an addiction.

“Hey,” Wren said, breaking into her reverie. “Sorry, it’s not a gourmet meal like Adonai would prepare, but I bribed him to stay out of the kitchen for a while so we could have some time to ourselves. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, sitting down at the table so she could watch him. He noticed her doing so and smiled mischievously.

Wren pulled two dishes from the auto-washer and flipped an even amount of the yellow-and-pink mess onto each. It should have looked unappetizing, but Wren had managed to crisp the edges to a golden brown, and Kim’s expectations for food had never been particularly high before Adonai had started cooking.

“Remember the restaurant in San Francisco?”

She smiled as she took the plate he handed to her. “Of course.”

“You threw a wine glass at those media drones that followed us inside.

And called that reporter a—” “I remember,” Kim said, cutting him off and ducking her head, embarrassed.

Wren sat down. “I think I fell in love with you that night.”

Kim felt a twist in her stomach. She did remember that night. Every second of it. She’d drunk enough rosé to be tipsy and had taken a bathroom break, during which she’d snuck through a back door onto a landing where she’d updated Zane on her progress. And then she’d kissed him as traffic buzzed six hundred and fifty feet below and the sky turned from pale pink to lavender. She’d returned to her friends giddy and elated, not just with her success in the program but with the knowledge that she was fighting for the greatest cause she’d ever known.

“You . . . fell in love with me?”

Wren’s smile was small, dimpling one scruffy-bearded cheek but not the other. She’d come to be able to read him so well by now that she knew he was self-conscious. “Is it too soon to be talking like this?” $ 83 |

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“Not if it’s the truth.” Kim weighed up her answer. Could she return the sentiment? She wasn’t sure. She’d thought she’d been in love before, and it had ended in disaster. Was she uncertain because she was afraid of falling in love again?

“You don’t have to say anything,” Wren said with a smile.

“I want to,” Kim replied honestly.

“I know,” Wren replied, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Take your time.”

$ 84 |

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K

im Teng is committed to escorting Earth’s last whales to the paradise planet of New Eden. But as Seiiki draws closer to New Eden, Kim must learn to split her role of Caretaker with another, navigate her new relationship with Wren, and deal with the suffocating guilt of having misled her crewmates for so long.

With tensions rising back on Earth, it is even more important for the whales to reach New Eden quickly and safely. But as the contingent comes out of hyperspace, an unexpected computer error sends Seiiki crashing into their new home planet. Which is not the peaceful paradise they expected.

When strange creatures start howling in the night and people begin disappearing from their basecamp, Kim and her friends soon realize that while someone didn’t want them to ever arrive at New Eden, someone— or something—else wanted to make sure they did.

“ They peered into the darkness. There was nothing there, just trees moving in the wind. And then . . . there . . . ” Young Adult / Science Fiction USD$17.99 CAD$22.99 GBP£14.99

Cover Design: Maryann Appel Illustration: Mark Zelmer BE THE FIRST TO HEAR about new CamCat titles, author events, and exclusive content! Sign up at camcatbooks.com for the CamCat Publishing newsletter.

RUTH FOX

9

NEW EDEN

THE FIGHT FOR THE FUTURE OF THE WHALES HAS JUST BEGUN.

NEW EDEN T

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RUTH FOX

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