All Faculty Excerpts
Raven, Rising
The following is an excerpt from Christine Hartman Derr's middle grade novel, Raven, Rising.
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No Going Back
We didn’t set out to become the witches of Bear Creek Falls. They molded us into them with every whisper, paper threats slicing away until we succumbed to who we needed to become. It wasn’t meant to be this way. We weren’t meant to be this way. But the stakes are too high. It’s time for a change.
The door creaks as I start to open it. I wince, glancing over my shoulder into the dark house. I let silence settle around me before slipping out the small opening, my hand slowing the door’s weight as it pushes closed again. The soft click of the latch echoes.
I set off down the street, a cold wind in my face. Just last night, boisterous trick-or-treaters paraded through the streets. Tonight, silence. A new moon leaves only the stars to shine, pinpricks of light peeking through the thin clouds stretched across the sky like a threadbare blanket. I raise my eyes, my chin high, no longer afraid.
Damp leaves carpet the sidewalk, hushing my steps. I bleed into the shadows.
Tonight, the witches of Bear Creek Falls will put an end to this reign of terror.
Chapter 1
Four Weeks Earlier
There are times the world seems to conspire to keep you safe. A neighbor calls out to you when you’re running late, slowing you down so you miss the car that runs a red light. A train is delayed. A flight canceled. Other times, the world seems determined to confuse you. A surprise snowstorm strands you away from home, avoiding a gas leak but not the lives it shatters. It’s hard to know when you’re being protected and when Murphy’s Law is ruining everything.
Which category does starting school a day after you move to a new town fall into? Personally, I didn’t think I should have to go to school only a day after we arrived. I expected to be able to settle in, unpack. Of course, it’s hard to unpack when the truck with all your worldly possessions falls behind schedule and doesn’t show. Shouldn’t barely having any clean clothes left—and the fact that your life has just been turned upside down (again)—get you at least one day off school?
Apparently, no. Aunt Coral was determined I would go, despite all this.
“We have to get you back on a routine, Raven. It’ll help.” Her voice was gentle.
Gentle wasn’t a word I would’ve used to describe Aunt Coral a year ago. The aunt who took me on surprise road trips, on sunrise beach walks to watch sea turtle eggs hatch, to late-night outings to see my favorite movie, dubbed in Cherokee—gentle took a back seat to spontaneous, adventurous, fun. But she’s changed, on the inside at least. On the outside, Aunt Coral still looks like she’s stepped out of a fairy tale. Her hair is soft, deep brown with golden strands. Her clothes are a mix of concert tees and ethereal vibes, which she somehow makes work.
Meanwhile, my straight black hair and pale skin make me the personification of a campfire ghost story. Aunt Coral and Dad had the same coloring—all dark hair, light brown skin, sparkling eyes. Dad liked to joke that Mom’s English-Scotch heritage must have won the genetic tug-of-war against his Cherokee genes, but I’m grateful I look like both my parents—even if it does combine in a spooky way.
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Reprinted with permission from HarperCollins (Heartdrum). You can learn more about Christine's book here.
