“Welcome to Everlost,” the angel said as they crossed the field toward the silver blimp-thing. My name is Mary.”

“Are there other kids like me in your balloon?” the girl asked.

“Just a couple,” said Mary, “but there are lots more out there—and we’ll find them all, won’t we!”

The girl nodded. “Yes—before the Chocolate Ogre does.”

Together they climbed into the silver airship, and rose into the Everlost sky.

Acknowledgments

Everlost would have been ever lost, had it not been for the tireless efforts of those who helped me find my way to the light.

First and foremost, my deepest thanks to David Gale and Alexandra Cooper for their insightful editorial work, and everyone else at Simon & Schuster for being so supportive every step of the way.

Many thanks, the Fictionaires: the writing group from heaven, who continue to hold me up and keep me from sinking to the center of the Earth. Thanks to Barbara Rattigan, for her research on ghost ships, razed hotels, demolished piers, and other such oddities. Thanks to my parents for their unending support, and for always being there whenever I need them, as well as Patricia McFall, my “big sis” in every way that matters.

Thanks to Andrea Brown, agent/goddess, as well as Danny Greenberg, Shep Rosenman, Steve Katz, Trevor Engelson, Nick Osborn, and Will Lowery, all of whom have given a career to a guy who just thinks weird stuff and writes it down.

My gratitude, also, to kids in schools across the country who listened to bits and pieces of the story, and voted on the title. Your enthusiasm gives me the motivation I need to write every book! And finally, a very special thanks to my children—Joelle and Erin, who are my muses, and Brendan and Jarrod, whose thoughtful comments on early drafts of Everlost were crucial to shaping the book.

Everlost has been a labor of love, and without all of you, I would have never have gotten where I was going!

Here’s a sneak peek at

From

1 · Connor

“There are places you can go,” Ariana tells him, “and a guy as smart as you has a decent chance of surviving to eighteen.”

Connor isn’t so sure, but looking into Ariana’s eyes makes his doubts go away, if only for a moment. Her eyes are sweet violet with streaks of gray. She’s such a slave to fashion—always getting the newest pigment injection the second it’s in style. Connor was never into that. He’s always kept his eyes the color they came in. Brown. He never even got tattoos, like so many kids get these days when they’re little. The only color on his skin is the tan it takes during the summer, but now, in November, that tan has long faded. He tries not to think about the fact that he’ll never see the summer again. At least not as Connor Lassiter. He still can’t believe that his life is being stolen from him at sixteen.