“From the Forest,” I say. “The Forest of Hands and Teeth.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I've always wondered if there were folks in there,” he says. “Though I've never heard it called by that name. Apt, though, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, I grew up here. On the edge of that forest. And everyone always says there ain't nothin' but Mudo past that river, beyond the fences. That's why they took out all those fenced paths that led from the forest to the town when my grandpa was a child. Too many kids thought the path led somewhere special and got into trouble. The bridge is still there, over the top of the falls, but there's a gate at the end and nothing beyond.” I think of our gate, of how the rain masked the sound of the waterfall until we were right up on it. Of how dark the night was, how impossible it was to see past your own body. How we were so focused on the Unconsecrated and escape. I shudder to think that we were that close.

That there had once been a path but that we had fallen off track in the slippery darkness.

“Folks don't like to talk about those things,” he says. He holds a hand over his eyes as he looks out over the water, surveying the world around us.

“Maybe they're right,” I tell him. I think about Cass and Harry and Jacob and how there must be a way to rescue them from the Forest of Hands and Teeth. I think about Argos and the way he dreamed of happier times, feet twitching and tail thumping in the morning, one ear flopped up. I think about Jed and the way he smiled at me the night before. The way his eyes shone as he talked about the possibility of life and a future.

And then I remember Travis pulling me against him and telling me about hope. His voice in my mind is soft, just out of reach like a spent echo. I wonder if these memories are worth holding on to. Are worth the burden. I wonder what purpose they serve.

Already the ocean is washing around the Unconsecrated on the beach, pulling them back into the water, reclaiming them. For a while I stand and watch, until the beach is clear and the man takes my hand and leads me to the lighthouse.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people say that writing is an isolating profession. I have been phenomenally lucky to have found wonderful support and friends through the process of writing, and I am grateful to everyone who has cheered me on, offered advice and listened to my meanderings.

I owe a very special thanks to my agent, the thoughtful and hilarious Jim McCarthy, for taking a chance on me and pulling The Forest of Hands and Teeth from the slush pile. Also to my genius editor, Krista Marino, whose enthusiasm and dedication are astounding. Many thanks to the fantastic team at Delacorte Press, who work tirelessly to make sure every detail is correct; to Vikki Sheatsley and Jonathan Barkat for their vision, and to Beverly Horowitz, Orly Henry, and Colleen Fellingham for all of their time spent with Mary.