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Informationen zum Autor Kika Hatzopoulou Klappentext In a world where the children of the gods inherit their powers, a descendant of the Greek Fates must solve a series of impossible murders to save her sisters, her soulmate, and her city. In the sunken city of Alante, the gods’ powers have been passed down through the generations. As descendants of the three Greek Fates, Io Ora and her two sisters have always been able to see and manipulate people’s threads—the invisible lines that connect people to the things they love and to life itself. As the youngest, Io is the cutter, able to sever a thread with a simple gesture. She uses her abilities as a private investigator in the Silts, the crime-ridden slums of the city. But while on a routine case, she witnesses a murder committed by a woman whose life-thread is severed, but who is still—impossibly—alive. Io survives the attack, but soon finds herself entangled in an investigation that reaches from the depths of the Silts to the heights of City Plaza. And the conspiracy she uncovers involves the mob boss of the Silts, the idealistic new city commissioner, the most powerful group of women in the city, Io’s own sisters, and even Io’s fate-thread—the boy with whom she shares a thread linking them as soulmates. To stop the murders, Io will have to figure out who created the wraiths and who commanded them to kill, before her city—or her sisters—collapse under the wraiths’ attacks. Leseprobe In the apartment building across from the theater, the light in the far-left window of the third floor flickered on. Io tore her gaze away from the moon and put her spectacles on. Sure enough, it was the very apartment she had been hired to watch. A figure moved inside—maybe two? She slid down and grounded her palms on the splintered wood of the balcony. Before you slip into the Quilt, make sure you’re safe , Thais used to instruct. We don’t want you walking off a rooftop, do we? Io blinked and the Quilt appeared, a jumble of threads laid over the physical world. Only moira-born, descendants of the goddesses of Fate, could see the lines of silver that sprouted from every person, connecting them to the things they loved most in the world. Io focused on the apartment on the third floor. In the Quilt, she saw beyond brick and wood, straight to the two people in the apartment. Dozens of threads emerged from their bodies, linking them to the many different places, things, and people they loved. One of the brightest threads connected the two figures together, pulsing vividly, the kind of luster that consumed everything. The singular brilliance of a love-thread , in Ava’s moonstruck words. The singular tedium of a pain in the neck, more likely. A sigh escaped Io’s lips. Why was it always cheating? Why couldn’t it be a weird hobby or a late-night class for once, something that wouldn’t crush her clients’ souls? Io could picture it clearly: tomorrow, her client, Isidora Magnussen, would sit at the table farthest back in the café on Sage Street, her coat wrung like a dish towel in her hands, and Io would have to tell her, Yes, your husband did go to the apartment he supposedly sold three weeks ago. Yes, he had company. Then the hardest part would come: Does he love her? Any other private detective could shrug and say, How would I know? But Io was different. Io was moira-born. It was why clients chose her; they didn’t just want to know if their loved ones were cheating or gambling or drinking. They wanted to know the secrets that only the Quilt could reveal: if their spouses loved cheating and gambling and drinking more than they loved them . And Io would have to tell her. I’m sorry, Mrs. Magnussen. Their thread is so bright I couldn’t stand to look at it for more than two seconds. It means your husband’s in love with his mistress. It means I want to slip throu...
