Killing November

by Adriana Mather Narrated by Cassandra Morris

Overview

From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of How to Hang a Witch comes a thriller set at a secretive boarding school where students are trained to carry on family legacies that have built--and toppled--empires. Think Umbrella Academy with teenage assassins.

November is as good as dead. She just doesn't know it yet.

At the international Academy Absconditi, there's no electricity, no internet, and an archaic eye-for-an-eye punishment system. Classes range from knife throwing and poisons to the art of deception. And the students? All silver-spoon descendants of the world's most elite strategists--training to become assassins, spies, and master impersonators.
One is a virtuoso of accents--and never to be trusted. Another is a vicious fighter determined to exploit November's weaknesses. And then there's the boy with the mesmerizing eyes and a secret agenda.
November doesn't know how an ordinary girl like her fits into the school's complicated legacy. But when a student is murdered, she'll need to separate her enemies from her allies before the crime gets pinned on her . . . or she becomes the killer's next victim.

From New York Times bestselling author Adriana Mather comes the first book in a thrilling new series that will leave you breathless.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"Full of danger and intrigue, this series opener establishes a fascinating premise with an international cast of tenuous allies and ambiguous adversaries that will keep our heroine, and her readers, on a knife’s edge." —The Bulletin

"Anything is possible in this world of cloaks and daggers. A strong beginning that will leave readers hungry for more." —Kirkus Reviews 

School Library Journal

03/01/2019

Gr 7 Up—November Adley has lived a sheltered life, growing up in a quiet New England town with her widowed father. One day he abruptly informs her that she needs to leave her familiar home for an exclusive boarding school for her protection while he deals with threats against their family. Instead of a traditional boarding school, as discussed, she finds herself in an isolated castle. There is no electricity and no means of communicating with the outside world, and the students are the children of elite strategists who have been maneuvering and influencing the world for thousands of years. Curricula includes knife throwing, poison, and deception. Secrets abound, and November is vulnerable, traversing unknown alliances and unfamiliar traditions. Tensions escalate quickly, and a classmate is found murdered. November must determine whom she can trust and how to protect her family. While the premise is absurd and most plot points could easily be resolved by a few honest conversations, the mystery is compelling. November is smart and loyal and has some depth. The mystery and action take the focus, while romance adds a light touch to the intense plot. VERDICT An entertaining read that teens will eat up.—Amanda Foust, Douglas County Libraries, CO

Product Details

BN ID:	2940171820985
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	03/26/2019
Edition description:	Unabridged
Age Range:	10 - 13 Years

Read an Excerpt

My name is November Adley and I was born in August. The way my dad tells it, the Connecticut nights were unusually cool that summer, and the day I arrived our maple burst with color reminiscent of late fall—­hence my name. He claims the leaves shone so brightly in the morning sun that it looked like our front lawn was on fire. Dad also says that’s part of the reason I’m obsessed with the woods. I’m not sure there’s any connection, but I enjoy the comfort of that story—­a reminder of a time when the world was safe and so was my family.

The most disorienting thing about safety—­my own in ­particular—­is that it never crossed my mind before. My ex-­CIA, now–financial manager dad often tells me I’m too trusting, all the while shaking his head like he’s shocked that we’re related. Which I, of course, remind him is one hundred percent his fault, since I’ve lived my entire life in the same small town with the same friendly people, who pose about as much threat as a basket of sleeping kittens. Dad argues that I want to believe people are good and that while that’s admirable, it’s also not realistic. To which I ask him how it helps anyone to believe that people are bad. He claims that having a healthy sense of suspicion prepares you for every possible danger. But until now, it was all just a theory. And if I’m being honest, even yesterday, with Dad insisting there was an imminent threat to our family, I still wasn’t convinced. Nope, there was absolutely nothing indicative of danger in my life until a few minutes ago, when I woke up in this medieval-­looking . . . parlor?

I frown. A man I’m assuming is a guard stands against the wall next to me. He’s staring forward, blatantly ignoring me, as I consider the door. I push as hard as I can on the wrought-­iron latch and even throw my shoulder into the dark wood, but it doesn’t budge. I let out a huff from the effort and scan the room. There’s a roaring fire in the fireplace and maroon velvet furniture that probably costs more than my entire house. But there are no windows and the door in front of me is the only exit.

“I know you hear me,” I say to the guard, who so far hasn’t answered a single one of my questions. He’s dressed all in black, with a leather belt and leather armbands that put to shame the Roman gladiator costume I wore last year for Halloween. I toy with the idea of snapping my fingers in front of his face, but he’s a good foot taller than me and his arms are more muscular than my legs.

He remains silent.

I try another angle. “You know I’m a minor, right? That you can’t keep me locked up in this . . . Well, I’m assuming this is my new boarding school. But what kind of a school locks up their students?” Dad told me this place would be different, but I have a hard time believing he meant I’d be trapped in a window­less room.

Just then I hear a key slide into the door and it swings outward. My shoulders drop and my hands unclench. Another guard, dressed identically to the first, gestures for me to follow him. I don’t waste a second. Unfortunately, the room guard comes, too, and walking between them, I feel almost as confined as I did in that room.

The guard in front pulls a lit torch off the gray stone wall and I take inventory of my surroundings—­the lack of electricity, the arched ceilings, the heavy wooden doors that use latches instead of knobs. There’s no way I’m still in the United States. This place looks like something out of a documentary I once streamed about medieval Irish castles. However, I find it nearly impossible to believe Dad would send me all the way to Europe, not to mention be able to pay for it. We almost never leave Pembrook, much less the state of Connecticut.

As we continue to walk, I notice impressive hanging tapestries depicting knights, royal courts, and bloody battles. It’s also dead quiet, no sounds of people chatting or cars driving by.

The hall has a distinct chill, and I pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my fingers for warmth. I have no idea what happened to the coat, gloves, and scarf I wore onto the plane; they weren’t in the room with me when I woke up. We pass under an archway and ascend a staircase with worn, uneven stone steps. I count two landings and three flights before we come to a stop in front of a door patterned with iron rivets. The lead guard unlatches it and warm air billows out.

The antiquated office reminds me of a somber scene in a movie about Mary, Queen of Scots. The only light in the room comes from an abundance of candles set in silver candelabras and in sconces on the stone walls. The windows are covered with heavy curtains and a fire blazes inside the fireplace, filling the air with the scent of woodsmoke.

A tall, thin woman stands behind a seemingly ancient desk. Her brown hair is pulled into a high bun so tight that it gives me a headache just looking at it. She’s probably around Dad’s age, but her severity makes her seem older.

She does a poor impression of a smile. “Welcome to Academy Absconditi. I’m Headmaster Blackwood. I trust your trip was agreeable?” Her voice and demeanor command obedience.

“I don’t remember my trip,” I say, feeling uneasy under her gaze as I pull a piece of fuzz off my jeans. The rant I was working up downstairs feels inappropriate in this formal setting. “I passed out on the plane and woke up on a couch in the . . . To be honest, I’m confused how—­”

“Teachers’ lounge,” she says, and gestures for me to sit in an armchair in front of her desk. The frills of a white blouse spill out from the edges of her black blazer. The contradiction makes me wonder which one she is—­uptight and trying to appear approachable, or soft and trying to look stern. “You were out for some time.”

“I was locked up down there,” I say, expecting shock, but it doesn’t come. I turn and look behind me. Both guards are still with us, one on either side of the now-­closed door. Whether they’re protecting her or preventing me from leaving is unclear. Maybe both.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Killing November"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Adriana Mather.
Excerpted by permission of Random House Children's Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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