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Noel Kalicharan is the author of Data Structures in C 4. Every once in a while, he caught a glimpse of the girl who bunked in the room next to his. Always only a mere second or two, eyes meeting just as his or her door closed.

To him, the placard on that door had become synonymous with her name, Teresa. He desperately wanted to talk to her. His life was one of immeasurable boredom, his scant free time filled with old vids and books. A lot of books.

That was the one thing they al- lowed him to peruse freely. The huge collection to which they allowed him access was the lifeline that probably saved him from insanity. Thomas took in his new companions.

They both wore official-looking black uniforms over bulging armor, and their guns were huge. Thomas had never seen that before.

But the only response he got was a quick wink and the barest trace of a smile, then a hard stare. Two hard stares. After so long inter- acting with only adults, Thomas had grown much braver, sometimes even bold in the things he said, but it was clear these two had no intention of con- versing, so he sat down in the chair next to the door.

He pondered the word. It had to be Why would someone, a guard, have such a word printed across his very official uni- form? It had Thomas at a loss. Thomas turned to see a middle-aged man, his dark hair turning to gray and storm cloud-colored bags underneath his tired brown eyes.

Something about him made Thomas think he was younger than he looked, though. Thomas stood, feeling awkward. Stepping to one side, he swept an arm in front of him as if revealing a prize. We have a lot to talk about.

He went straight for the closest chair and sat down before taking a quick look around. He desperately wanted to see what parts of Mr. Besides a few gadgets and chairs and a workstation built into the desk, the room was pretty much empty. The chancellor swooped into the room and took his seat on the other side of the desk. A long silence filled the room as the man studied Thomas, making him even more uncomfortable.

It filled him with a sadness so sharp that every breath actually hurt like a spiky rock laid atop his chest. For a split second, he thought he smelled pine, tasted spicy cider on the back of his tongue. Religious or not, everyone celeb- rates Christmas in one way or another. Except the Apocalyptics, anyway. Thomas had no idea what point the guy was trying to make, other than to depress the poor kid sitting in front of him.

Anderson suddenly sprang to life again, lean- ing forward on his desk with hands folded in front of him. And presents! He refused to answer such a mean question, whether it had been inten- ded that way or not. Shiny and green. The lights from the tree sparkled in the new paint.

Magic, Thomas. Nothing like that can ever be duplicated for the rest of your life, especially when you get to be a crotchety old man like me. And yeah, I did get a bike, but I had to leave it when you took me. Why are we talk- ing about this? Are you trying to rub it in? He put his hands flat on the desk, and a shadow descen- ded over his eyes.

To find a cure for this sick- ness, no matter the cost. No matter.. The silence that stretched out from that moment was a long one, so awkward that Thomas wondered more than once if he should get up and leave. At one point he even worried that maybe Chancellor Anderson had died— that he was sit- ting frozen in death, eyes open, glazed over.

Thomas actually found himself feeling sorry for him. It was simple, and true— and, he knew, impossible. It was as if the chancellor had forgotten that Thomas was sitting there. Thomas shrugged. Is that really the name of this place?

We want our name to remind people of why we exist, what we plan to accom- plish, and how we intend to do it. Our objective is to save humanity. And he was really creeped out by the word killzone. What could it possibly mean? It seemed even worse than the word right before it, catastrophe. And here he was, with even more questions. He was tired, angry, and confused— all he wanted was to go back to his room and be alone. Complete more and more testing to see which of our sub— which of our students will rise to the top.

Being immune to the Flare holds power, but it will take more than simple biology to succeed here. And we have such magnificent structures to build, bio- mechanical labs to construct And all of this will ultimately lead to map- ping out the killzone. I am sure of it. Thomas sat still, doing his best to remain calm. Anderson was getting a little scary.

We think very highly of you, and I felt it was time that we meet face to face. Does that sound good to you? Because, well, it did sound good. He sometimes felt like he lived in a prison, and he wanted out. Plain and simple.

Maybe the path had just been laid before him. I guess I assumed you knew. Where it eventually, well, ends the life of those who are infected. The killzone. The chancellor tapped a finger on the desk a couple of times.

Then go on back to your room and get some rest. Big times ahead. Right before she closed the door, he stuck his hand in the gap to stop it. Chancellor Ander- son, he said something about big times ahead.

Are there many others like me? Are they all kids? Will I finally get to meet some of them? She nodded. I know you must be lonely. But maybe it helps to know that everyone is in the same boat. Things will get better soon, though.

I promise. Not much longer. Maybe a year. He ran over and crumpled onto the bed, trying to hold in his tears. A year. A knock on his door, early morning. It had be- come as routine as clockwork. Same time, but not always the same face. By a long shot. Unfortunately, it usually wasn't her. But when he opened the door today, there she stood.

Guess what? And to you only. What do you think of that? Our horizon. She motioned toward the rolling tray at her hip. Usually one of her assistants did the deed, but every once in a while she took care of it herself. Like today. Paige looked up. You never tell me anything. Am I still immune? Is my information helping you? Am I healthy?

The more we can learn about how your body, your health.. Where to focus our efforts on finding a cure. Every one of you. You should be proud. See how quickly we can get your heart rate over one fifty. Landon— a small, mousy lady with per- fect teeth— was describing the cultural impact of cellular technology when Thomas raised his hand to get her attention.


He was desperately bored. Everyone knew the cultural impact of cellular technology. Anyway, it just seems a little more interesting than.. Landon folded her arms. He liked this lady, no matter how boring she got.

Denton had the patience of a snail. Thomas had been analyzing the forty odd-shaped blocks on the table in front of him for over thirty minutes. Instead, he gazed at each separate piece in turn, trying to build a blueprint in his mind.

Trying to approach the puzzle the way his teacher had taught him. Denton shook her head. Even over several days. Seems like it works my brain more than any of my other classes.

Now, off to Mr. See you later. Sample after sample. Class after class. Puzzle after puzzle. Day after day. The knock on the door came precisely at the cor- rect time, maybe a few seconds off. Thomas opened it to find a stranger staring at him.

Maybe not very happy to be alive. He had puffy red eyes and a frown that seemed to be reflected in every wrinkle on his wilting face. As much as he sometimes hated the routine, disrupting it made him uncomfortable.

His voice had none of the warmth of Dr. The stranger rolled the food cart past him and up to the small desk. Make sure to speak with kindness and re- spect to your elders at all times. His eyes never left Thomas, a dark, unnatural gaze.

You can call me Dr. He had zero ap- petite. He sat down and ate anyway. It seemed as though Dr. Leavitt banged on the door far harder than he needed to, right on sched- ule. Thomas had finished his breakfast in plenty of time, only wishing he could have another hour. Another half a day. He might as well wish for a month. If Dr. How many times had he seen that plaque on the door, wishing he could open it and meet the girl on the other side?

How could Dr. Paige be a part of such a thing? What could possibly have this guy so stressed out? Leavitt grunted more than said. They got in the elevator and the doctor pressed the button for a floor Thomas had never visited before.

For some reason, that had an ominous feel to it. The ninth floor. Would it have felt so haunting if Dr. Paige were standing next to him?

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He had no idea. Leavitt exited to the left. Thomas followed, quickly taking in a desk in front of glass parti- tions. Beyond that he could see the blinking lights of monitors and instruments. This floor was some kind of hospital unit, by the looks of it. Maybe something had happened to Dr. Paige— maybe they were going to visit her. Thomas tried to sound as nice and as at ease as possible.

Thomas followed Leavitt past the front desk and beyond the glass. They continued down the hallway, passing door after door, but aside from the medical monitors outside each room, none gave up any clues.

The doors were all numbered, but they were closed, and the walls of frosted glass were obscured with floor-to-ceiling curtains, firmly drawn. Thomas could swear he heard voices coming from inside one room, and jumped at a sharp cry that left no doubt. Thomas stopped and spun around to take a look. Leavitt directed. You have to trust me. They stopped in front of a door identical to all the others, an electronic chart next to it with a bunch of information too small for Thomas to see from where he stood.

Leavitt studied it for a mo- ment, then reached to open the door. Thomas turned to see a door open, and a boy dressed in a hospital gown, his head bandaged, stumbled out, two nurses supporting him. He then struggled back to his feet, fight- ing off the two people who had been helping him moments before.

Thomas was frozen, staring at the boy as he fell again, then drunkenly clambered to his feet and attempted to run away, swerving from side to side as he headed straight for Thomas.

He had dark hair, Asian features, was maybe a year older than Thomas. Thomas watched in stunned disbelief. Then suddenly Dr. Leavitt was standing between Tho- mas and the oncoming boy. Now Thomas knew at least two other names. The boy slammed into Dr. He spoke louder. It does! Thomas turned to Leavitt. Nothing to worry about. He thought about it the whole time he watched Leavitt open the door, as he followed him inside the room, as he heard the door close behind him.

It definitely looked like a hospital room. There were two beds, both with privacy curtains. The one to the left was open, revealing a newly made bed. The one to the right had the curtains drawn, hiding whoever lay there— Thomas could see the shadowy figure of a body through the thin material.

Leavitt already stood at one of the displays, perusing a screen of charts and entering information. Thomas returned his attention to the closed curtain, the bed behind it. To his left, Leavitt leaned closer to the screen, reading something in small print. Thomas went for it. He crept toward the closed curtain to the right and pulled it to the side, stepped around it, rushed to the bed. Another boy lay there, blond hair cropped short, eyes closed, covers pulled up to his chin.

Leavitt was across the room in a second, fumbling with the curtain. He grabbed Thomas by the arm, yanking him away from the bed. Thomas had seen the boy, though. First, just like the boy named Minho, this kid had a bandage above his ears, a bright red spot of blood seeping through on one side.

And second, he saw the name on the monitors. Three now. He guided Thomas across the room to the empty bed. There are germs. Surely you know about germs? Is that understood? I need to start prepping you. He opened a drawer and pulled out a linen gown. And again, Minho was just hav- ing a reaction to the medicine we gave him— it happens only rarely.

You also know that the human race is in serious trouble. Am I right? Do you know all this? You are immune. He looked down, turning the gown in his hands. I give you my word that everything will be just fine. Maybe a headache for a couple of days. And we have pills for that. He looked at Leavitt, who met his eyes. Thomas did. He was at the door in an instant.

He threw it open and practically jumped into the hall, feeling Leavitt right on his tail. Just a few dozen feet away, a familiar scene played out in front of him. Two nurses— a man and a woman— were dragging a girl with brown hair down the hallway, and she was kicking and screaming the whole way. It was her.

The girl from room 31K. There was no sense in what Thomas did next. He ran after her. The anguish on her face and the fear in her eyes had finally burst that bubble of panic swelling inside him.

The nurses turned to look at Thomas and stopped, curiosity crossing their faces, maybe even a hint of amusement. That just angered him all the more. He picked up speed, already realiz- ing that the entire thing was a lost cause. At least he would show Teresa that he tried. Sharp pain ignited along his cheek and ear as his world turned upside down and he landed hard on the ground; his nose banged into the wall just hard enough to stun him.

He rolled over and looked up. Even Teresa had stopped struggling, though her face expressed something completely different: Could that be almost a smile? Thomas suddenly felt on top of the world. Leavitt appeared, looming over him, a syr- inge in his hand. Before he passed out, Thomas looked at Teresa again, their eyes meeting for just a few pre- cious seconds. Flying through the air with some kind of ma- chine strapped to his back, watching the world be- low him, scorched and ruined and lifeless.

He saw small figures running across the sand, and then they grew, getting closer to him. He saw wings, then hideous faces, then arms outstretched, mon- sters reaching for him. Luckily that one ended before he got ripped apart. The next one was much more pleasant. Thomas, his mom, his dad. A picnic. By a river. It created an ache in his chest that he thought might linger for a very long time.

At some point he dreamed about Teresa. He clung to those words. Saw her say them over and over in his dreams. There was something so tough about them, so.. He liked her for saying them. In his dream, he and Teresa were both sitting in the same room— his room, he on the bed, she in a chair. He wanted a friend so des- perately that he wished the surgery would go on forever, leave him in this dream.

On some level, he knew what was happening, and his heart melted in sadness. The harder he tried to hold on to the counterfeit moment, the more quickly it faded. Soon there was only darkness and the re- peated sound of his name. Time to wake up. A woman stared down at him. No way. Just lie there and relax, enjoy the medicine. Thomas did feel floaty, peaceful. The whole incident with Teresa seemed almost funny now.

He could only imagine what those nurses had thought at seeing this little kid charging down the hallway, leaping into the air like Superman.

That he was brave. He sighed happily. I said not to speak. Paige turned to face him, then sat down on the bed. The shifting of the mattress hurt something somewhere on his body.

But it was a dull, distant ache. It sounds horrible. Putting something inside you. We can measure your killzone activity so much faster and more efficiently now. What she said made sense.

He just wondered why Minho and Teresa had freaked out so much. Time for you to let those drugs pull you back to sleep. En- joy the rest. He caught the words surprise and special. Then he heard footsteps and the soft thump of the door as it shut behind her. Soon he was back in his own room, attending classes as if nothing had changed. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Sometimes, as he walked down the hall toward his classes, he heard voices. It made him wonder what was wrong with him that others were allowed to interact so much. When was it go- ing to be his turn? He wondered about it every day.

At times he could explain it away as part of the experiments. Maybe some kids were together and some were alone. Sometimes he got a deep, resounding ache inside his skull, as if a magical hand had reached in there and squeezed. Whenever he asked Dr. That was something he did appreciate. Paige constantly reassured him that there were reasons he was so isolated for now, that they wanted to take good care of him, keep him safe.

The outside world was a scary, scary place, radi- ation and Cranks everywhere. And she said they needed to understand the disease better before Thomas interacted with others, that his was a spe- cial case— though she never went into much de- tail. She always made him feel better about his strange life. It took every last ounce of his willpower to get up and slog through the morning routine.

The movement brought another wave of pain crashing through his head. His heart sank when he saw Dr. Leavitt standing in the hallway, the lights shining off his bald head.

Any change in his daily schedule was welcome. Leavitt had an odd, nervous smile. How does that sound? Would you like to meet her and spend some time with her?

Maybe things will go a little better than your first, uh, unofficial meeting. It had been a long, long time since Thomas had felt anything like what burned inside him at that moment. He wanted to meet Teresa more than anything else in the world. The man guided him into a small office on his floor, the only furniture a desk with nothing on it, a couple of chairs on either side.

The girl named Teresa was already sitting in one of the chairs, and she gave Thomas a very shy smile. The feeling hit him even stronger than be- fore, almost making him stumble. Everything about the episode— the room, Teresa, the light- ing-felt so familiar that it seemed impossible that it was happening for the first time.

Confusion clouded his mind. Thomas tried to compose himself. He sat, and the man stepped back out into the hallway, pulling the door almost completely shut.

There was another strong wave of familiarity. Finally he shifted in his chair, forcing his gaze to flick to her, and found that she was staring at him. Their eyes met. She gave another shy smile. He mo- tioned around him. They wanted us to meet and talk, I guess. How old are you? He figured that was close enough. You just seem older is all. The same was true for him— the more they spoke, the more that disorienting pulse of deja vu retreated to the background. Most of it tastes like a toilet. It threw Thomas a bit.

He's being haunted in his dreams again, but this time it isn't by Lena - and whatever is haunting him is following him out of his dreams and into his everyday life.

Even worse, Ethan is gradually losing pieces of himself — forgetting names, phone numbers, even memories. He doesn't know why, and most days he's too afraid to ask. Sometimes there isn't just one answer or one choice.

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Sometimes there's no going back. And this time there won't be a happy ending. Is death the end. Ethan Wate has spent most of his life longing to escape the stiflingly small Southern town of Gatlin. He never thought he would meet the girl of his dreams, Lena Duchannes, who unveiled a secretive, powerful, and cursed side of Gatlin, hidden in plain sight. And he never could have expected that he would be forced to leave behind everyone and everything he cares about.

So when Ethan awakes after the chilling events of the Eighteenth Moon, he has only one goal: Back in Gatlin, Lena is making her own bargains for Ethan's return, vowing to do whatever it takes -- even if that means trusting old enemies or risking the lives of the family and friends Ethan left to protect. Worlds apart, Ethan and Lena must once again work together to rewrite their fate, in this stunning finale to the Beautiful Creatures series.

Posted by Sausage at 5: She's never been particularly attracted to the boys at her school, no matter how hard her best friend, Vee, pushes them at her. Not until Patch comes along. With his easy smile and eyes that seem to see inside her, Patch draws Nora to him against her better judgment.

But after a series of terrifying encounters, Nora's not sure whom to trust. Patch seems to be everywhere she is and seems to know more about her than her closest friends. She can't decide whether she should fall into his arms or run and hide. And when she tries to seek some answers, she finds herself near a truth that is way more unsettling than anything Patch makes her feel.

For she is right in the middle of an ancient battle between the immortal and those that have fallen - and, when it comes to choosing sides, the wrong choice will cost Nora her life. Nora Grey's life is still far from perfect. Surviving an attempt on her life wasn't pleasant, but at least she got a guardian angel out of it.

A mysterious, magnetic, gorgeous guardian angel. But despite his role in her life, Patch has been acting anything but angelic. He's more elusive than ever if that's possible and what's worse, he seems to be spending time with Nora's archenemy, Marcie Millar. Nora would have hardly noticed Scott Parnell, an old family friend who has moved back to town, if Patch hadn't been acting so distant.

Even with Scott's totally infuriating attitude, Nora finds herself drawn to him - despite her lingering feelings that he is hiding something. If that weren't enough, Nora is haunted by images of her murdered father, and comes to question whether her Nephilim bloodline has anything to do with his death. Desperate to figure out what happened, she puts herself in increasingly dangerous situations to get the answer. But maybe some things are better left buried, because the truth could destroy everything - and everyone - she trusts.

Nora Grey can't remember the past five months of her life. After the initial shock of waking up in a cemetery and being told that she has been missing for weeks - with no one knowing where she was or who she was with - she tried to get her life back on track. Go to school, hang out with her best friend, Vee, and dodge mom's creepy new boyfriend. But there is this voice in the back of her head, an idea that she can almost reach out and touch. Visions of angel wings and unearthly creatures that have nothing to do with the life she knows.

And this unshakable feeling that a part of her is missing. Then Nora crosses paths with a sexy stranger, whom she feels a mesmerizing connection to. He seems to hold all the answers Every minute she spends with him grows more and more intense until she realizes she could be falling in love.

Will love conquer all? Nora and Patch thought their troubles were behind them. Hank is gone and they should be able to put his ugly vendetta to rest.

But in Hank's absence, Nora has become the unwitting head of the Nephilim and must finish what Hank began. Which ultimately means destroying the fallen angels - destroying Patch. Nora will never let that happen, so she and Patch make a plan: Nora will convince the Nephilim that they are making a mistake in fighting the fallen angels, and Patch will find out everything he can from the opposing side. They will end this war before it can even begin. But the best-laid plans often go awry.

Nora is put through the paces in her new role and finds herself drawn to an addictive power she never anticipated. As the battle lines are drawn, Nora and Patch must confront the differences that have always been between them and either choose to ignore them or let them destroy the love they have always fought for. Posted by Sausage at 1: Elle disait: Posted by Sausage at 9: I'm a sidhe-seer, one who sees the Fae, a fact I accepted only recently and very reluctantly. My philosophy is pretty simple - any day nobody's trying to kill me is a good day in my book.

I haven't had many good days lately. Not since the walls between Man and Fae came down. But then, there's not a sidhe-seer alive who's had a good day since then. Journeying to Ireland in search of answers, Mac is soon faced with an even greater challenge: As Mac delves deeper into the mystery of her sister's death, her every move is shadowed by the dark, mysterious Jericho As the boundary between worlds begins to crumble, Mac's true mission becomes clear: Then I discovered that Alina and I descend, not from good wholesome southern stock, but from an ancient Celtic bloodline of powerful sidhe-seers, people who can see the Fae.

Not only can I see the terrifying otherworldly race, but I can sense the sacred Fae relics that hold the deadliest of their magic.

When my sister was found dead in a trash-filled alley in Dublin, I came over to get answers. Now all I want is revenge. In her fight to stay alive, Mac must find the Sinsar Dubh—a million-year-old book of the blackest magic imaginable, which holds the key to power over both the worlds of the Fae and of Man.

Pursued by Fae assassins, surrounded by mysterious figures she knows she cannot trust, Mac finds herself torn between two deadly and irresistible men: For centuries the shadowy realm of the Fae has coexisted with that of humans. Now the walls between the two are coming down, and Mac is the only thing that stands between them.

He calls me his Queen of the Night. But evil is closer. For answers. For revenge. And for an ancient book of dark magic so evil, it corrupts anyone who touches it. With her parents missing and the lives of her loved ones under siege, Mac is about to come face-to-face with a soul-shattering truth—about herself and her sister, about Jericho Barrons…and about the world she thought she knew.

But after discovering that she descends from a bloodline both gifted and cursed, Mac is plunged into a secret history:

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