The Girl from Everywhere
Heidi Heilig
Language: English
Pages: 464
ISBN: 0062380753
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Heidi Heilig's debut teen fantasy sweeps from modern-day New York City, to nineteenth-century Hawaii, to places of myth and legend. Sixteen-year-old Nix has sailed across the globe and through centuries aboard her time-traveling father's ship. But when he gambles with her very existence, it all may be about to end. The Girl from Everywhere, the first of two books, blends fantasy, history, and a modern sensibility. Its witty, fast-paced dialogue, breathless adventure, multicultural cast, and enchanting romance will dazzle readers of Sabaa Tahir, Rae Carson, and Rachel Hartman.
Nix's life began in Honolulu in 1868. Since then she has traveled to mythic Scandinavia, a land from the tales of One Thousand and One Nights, modern-day New York City, and many more places both real and imagined. As long as he has a map, Nix's father can sail his ship, The Temptation, to any place, any time. But now he's uncovered the one map he's always sought—1868 Honolulu, before Nix's mother died in childbirth. Nix's life—her entire existence—is at stake. No one knows what will happen if her father changes the past. It could erase Nix's future, her dreams, her adventures . . . her connection with the charming Persian thief, Kash, who's been part of their crew for two years. If Nix helps her father reunite with the love of his life, it will cost her her own.
Ragtime in Simla (Joe Sandilands, Book 2)
The Wild Adventure of Jasper Renn (The Steampunk Chronicles, Book 2.75)
The Girl with the Windup Heart (The Steampunk Chronicles, Book 4)
“Would you like some tea?” I declined the tea, but I did end up with the map, and at one third her starting price, but four times my own. She was an excellent bargainer, but she seemed proud of my effort. In fact, if the map was genuine, she had let me off lightly. As for the other map she’d brokered, I might as well ask, though I might not trust her answers. “The map my father wants,” I said as I counted out the coins. “The one of the Happy House.” “Hapai Hale,” she corrected. “What of it?”
breeze like banshees through the streets. A few of yesterday’s leis came drifting back in on the afternoon tide, limp with salt, beside mangrove seeds and coconuts that had been floating who knows how long in search of a favorable shore on which to set down roots. The few locals in the streets were somber, burdened by a shared loss, respect for which quieted even us sailors in port. I contemplated it all from my hammock, apart from it, and not a part of it, as the sun rose and then fell,
drawing room—was also shut. I filed away that side door, an extra entrance to tell Kashmir about later. The walls were a deep hunter green above the wainscot, and there was a large desk with bird’s-eye grain, on which sat a cut-crystal decanter, a smooth round stone the size of a fist . . . and a black leather artist’s portfolio tied with a red ribbon. The captain’s eyes were drawn to it like iron to a lodestone. The man behind the desk stood to greet us. He was flushed, or sunburned, and he
wax; they must have been mirrors of my own. I saw the question in their eyes—how did a ship’s captain attain such wealth? But I knew better. He hadn’t had more than a few hundred in the bank. “Think about it,” Slate urged. “There would be no risk to any of you. You could spend the money however you want, as soon as you want, without worrying that anyone might put two and two together.” How on earth could he manage that sum without robbing the treasury in the first place? I would bet double
of the fire. “Ah.” A thick black line demarcated the outline of the destruction of the blaze, and near the center, someone had inked an X in red. “Where did you get this?” “From your father, fifteen years ago. He asked me to tell his fortune. This map was his payment.” “What does the X mark?” “X marks buried treasure.” She went back to the counter, dragging the box behind her. “A note. An elixir for my condition. Money. A map of 1841. Everything I’ll need for a new life.” Hope, she’d said,