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Informationen zum Autor Elizabeth Miles lives in Portland, Maine, and writes for an alternative newsweekly. Visit her online at ElizabethMilesBooks.com, at Facebook.com/ElizabethMilesWrites, and follow her on Twitter at @MilesBooks. Klappentext Secrets and revenge make for desperate measures and fateful choices in this gripping conclusion to the Fury trilogy. The weather is mild in Ascension...but beneath the surface, everything is burning up. The nightmare Emily Winters has been living through for months shows no sign of ending, as the Furies stay on the peripheral, slowly driving her crazy. Em feels...different. She's angry, and never cold, and too strong. It's only a matter of time before she turns into the thing she hates the most. Em needs to take her fate into her own hands, but without Drea's help, or anyone to turn to, Em is quickly running out of options. Crow's involvement with Em has grown more complicated. His visions are taking shape—and it doesn't look good for Em. But Crow has a plan, and he will do anything to save her. Anything. JD misses the Em he used to know...and love. She doesn't seem like herself; it's like she's hiding something. When JD begins to learn the truth, he is as scared as he is determined to help her. And Em's survival may be dependent on his actions. The Furies love to play games, but this time they're deadly serious...and they hate to lose.Eternity CHAPTER ONE It happened so quickly. The socket sent out a small shower of sparks. JD jerked his hand away but not fast enough; pain surged in his fingers, and he could feel heat-induced goose bumps ripple down his arm. Damn it. He blew on his fingers, shaking them in front of his chest. That’s gonna leave a mark. JD stared down into the space between the hood and the headlight, noting the way he’d have to twist his hand in order to place the new bulb exactly right—without burning off his fingerprints, ideally. These lights were delicate; you didn’t want to handle them too much before they went into their sockets, otherwise they’d flame out in a matter of days. It was hard for him to be careful lately—he felt like he would squeeze and crack anything he touched. This morning was especially bad. He’d been leaning over the old Mustang for an hour, fiddling under the hood with this knob and that piece of wire . . . but in reality he’d just been enjoying the metallic silence. His arms were bare against the damp spring morning and his jeans were covered in black smears of oil and dirt. He’d have to go inside and change soon; he knew that. You couldn’t show up to a funeral covered in grease. But he was putting it off as long as he could. “JD? JD, honey, don’t you think it’s time to come in?” His mother’s voice—gentle, tentative—floated out to the driveway. He looked down and realized that he’d had a death-grip on the screwdriver for who knows how long. He threw it forcefully into the metal toolbox, where it landed with a clang. As he flexed and unflexed his hand, he headed toward the house. Apparently he couldn’t put it off any longer. For the first time maybe ever, JD regretted his clothes: too many colors, too many patterns. Not one nice button-down, not one tie that didn’t feature sunglasses or turtles or something funny. Did he really own nothing he could wear to Drea Feiffer’s memorial service? He’d have to swipe something from his dad’s closet. His dad was a lot bigger, and JD would look like a kid playing dress-up, but he already felt like he was playing dress-up—trying on someone else’s life, maybe. At least sometimes he wished he was. At any second he expected he might wake up and find that the past week, since Spring Fling and the fire that had consumed Ascension High School’s g...
