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Informationen zum Autor Holly Black is the #1 New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of speculative and fantasy novels, short stories, and comics. She has been a finalist for an Eisner and a Lodestar Award, and the recipient of the Mythopoeic and Nebula Awards and a Newbery Honor. She has sold over twenty-six million books worldwide, and her work has been translated into over thirty languages and adapted for film. She currently lives in New England with her husband and son in a house with a secret library. Visit her at BlackHolly.com. Klappentext In book three of the Curse Workers series, “the perfect end to this gem of a trilogy” ( Kirkus Reviews , starred review), trust is a priceless commodity and the lines between right and wrong become dangerously blurred.Cassel Sharpe knows he’s been used as an assassin, but he’s trying to put all that behind him. He’s trying to be good, even though he grew up in a family of con artists and cheating comes as easily as breathing to him. He’s trying to do the right thing. And he’s trying to convince himself that working for the government is the right choice, even though he’s been raised to believe they are the enemy of all curse workers. But with a mother on the lam, the girl he loves about to take her place in the Mob, and all new secrets coming to light, what’s right and what’s wrong become increasingly hard to tell apart. When the Feds ask him to do the one thing he said he would never do again, he starts to wonder if they really are the good guys, or if it’s all a con. And if it is, Cassel may have to make his biggest gamble yet—on love. Love is dangerous and trust is priceless in Holly Black’s “powerful, edgy, dark” fantasy series ( Publishers Weekly ).Black Heart CHAPTER ONE MY BROTHER BARRON sits next to me, sucking the last dregs of milk tea slush noisily through a wide yellow straw. He’s got the seat of my Benz pushed all the way back and his feet up on the dash, the heels of his pointy black shoes scratching the plastic. With his hair slicked back and his mirrored sunglasses covering his eyes, he looks like a study in villainy. He’s actually a junior federal agent, still in training, sure, but with a key card and an ID badge and everything. To be fair, he’s also a villain. I tap my gloved fingers impatiently against the curve of the wheel and bring a pair of binoculars to my eyes for about the millionth time. All I see is a boarded-up building on the wrong side of Queens. “What is she doing in there? It’s been forty minutes.” “What do you think?” he asks me. “Bad things. That’s her after-school job now. Taking care of shady business so Zacharov’s gloves stay clean.” “Her dad won’t put her in any real danger,” I say, but the tone of my voice makes it pretty obvious I’m trying to convince myself more than I’m trying to convince my brother. Barron snorts. “She’s a new soldier. Got to prove herself. Zacharov couldn’t keep her out of danger if he tried—and he’s not going to be trying real hard. The other laborers are watching, waiting for her to be weak. Waiting for her to screw up. He knows that. So should you.” I think of her at twelve, a skinny girl with eyes too large for her face and a nimbus of tangled blond hair. In my memory she’s sitting on the branch of a tree, eating a rope of red licorice. Her lips are sticky with it. Her flip-flops are hanging off her toes. She’s cutting her initials into the bark, high up, so her cousin can’t claim she’s lying when she tells him she got higher than he ever will. Boys never believe I can beat them, she told me back then. But I always win in the end. “Maybe she spotted the car and went out the back,” I say finally. “No way she made us.” He sucks on the straw again. It makes ...
