When the nineteenth century ghost of Maria de Silva wakes her up in the middle of the night, Suze knows this is no ordinary visitation and not just from the knife at her throat, either. In life, Maria was the fiancee of Jesse - the same Jesse who was murdered a hundred and fifty years before. The same Jesse Suze is in love with.
Maria threatens Suze: The backyard construction must cease. Suze has a pretty good idea what ' or rather, who ' Maria doesn't want found. But in solving Jesse's murder, will Suze end up losing him forever
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January 01, 2005
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Excerpt from Mediator 4: Darkest Hour by Meg Cabot
Summer. Season of long, slow days and short, hot nights.
Back in Brooklyn, where I spent my first fifteen of them, summer -- when it hadn't meant camp -- had meant hanging out on the stoop with my best friend, Gina, and her brothers, waiting for the ice-cream truck to come by. When it wasn't too hot, we played a game called War, dividing into teams with the other kids in the neighborhood and shooting each other with imaginary guns.
When we got older, of course, we quit playing War. Gina and I also started laying off the ice cream.
Not that it mattered. None of the neighborhood guys, the ones we used to play with, wanted anything to do with us. Well, with me, anyway. I don't think they'd have minded renewing acquaintances with Gina, but by the time they finally noticed what a babe she'd grown into, she'd set her sights way higher than guys from the 'hood.
I don't know what I expected from my sixteenth summer, my first since moving to California to live with my mom and her new husband . . . and, oh, yeah, his sons. I guess I envisioned the same long, slow days. Only these, in my mind, would be spent at the beach rather than on an apartment building's front stoop.
And as for those short, hot nights, well, I had plans for those, as well. All I needed was a boyfriend.
But as it happened, neither the beach nor the boyfriend materialized, the latter because the guy I liked? Yeah, he so wasn't interested. At least, as far as I could tell. And the former because . . .
Well, because I was forced to get a job.
That's right: A job.