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The Antidote by Shelley Sackier
Publisher: HarperTeen
Release Date: February 5th 2019
Genre: Young Adult, Fantasy
Synopsis:
Magic is not allowed, under any
circumstances — even if it could save someone’s life. Instead, there are herbal remedies and traditional techniques that have been painstakingly recorded in lieu of using the mystical arts. Fee knows this, so she keeps her magic a secret.
Except her best friend, Xavi, is deathly ill. He’s also the crown prince. Saving him is important, not only for her, but for the entire kingdom.
Fee’s desperation to save her friend means she can barely contain the magic inside her. And after the tiniest of slips, Fee is thrust into a dark and secretive world that is as alluring as it is dangerous.
If she gives in, it could mean she can save Xavi. But it also means that those who wish to snuff out magic might just snuff her out in the process.
If she gives in, it could mean she can save Xavi. But it also means that those who wish to snuff out magic might just snuff her out in the process.
Book links:
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Everyone asks me what it’s like to be a writer. And their faces are not
displaying any “oh-my-godfathers-how-exciting-tell-me-all-about-it!” kind of features. Nope. Instead, they’re more like, *yawn*
“Must be so booooring all day long in a chair. Snnzzz …”
I can’t speak for anyone else. But life as a writer is remarkable.
Mystifying, uncanny, and tremendously dramatic. I live on top of a
mountain, and every day, I hike and hunt through the forest for stories.
I am flabbergasted—all the time—by the countless ideas that occur
to me as I’m out there playing Heidi and foraging for things
to eat that won’t kill me. It’s truly surprising.
And do you know what else is surprising?
Nature.
Nature is full of surprises.
There’s the kind of surprise where you trip over a small nest that the
wind inadvertently tossed out of a tree and discover it’s full of bluebird
eggs. Love that one.
You might also experience the wonderment of learning that the deer
and bunnies have a finely tuned vegetable patch timer that coincides
with your garden’s peak completion—except they receive a notice about three hours before you. This is
another type of surprise. Not nearly as keen on this one.
And one can’t forget the bombshell astonishment of the occasional
black bear chase surprise. Not looking forward to repeating this one at all.
Nature especially loves that last one, as I’m pretty sure I’ve heard her
laughing her tuchas off while it was happening.
And I took it personally. So Nature and I are not really on speaking
terms lately.
I’m holding an especially big grudge, as just before summer’s end I
saved one of her tiny bunnies from drowning in my pool, and all
summer and autumn long I spent weeks on my hands and knees freeing
the garden of the less tasty varieties of weeds so that the hordes of
woodland creatures could easily spot the juicy blueberries, the
antioxidant jam-packed tomatoes, and the clusters of sweet as sugar lettuce leaves in
preparation for a hard winter.
Not a thank you in sight.
I’m not surprised.
But the day I took on the 'mother of all grudges' against Mother Nature
unfolded just this summer on one of those swampy, thick-as-molasses afternoons Virginia forgets to advertise in the brochures that
highlight the hay bale dotted farms, the winding mountain roads, and
more Civil War re-enactors than were probably involved within the original cast.
My big hairy hound always takes the lead on our daily hike as if he’s
the canine equivalent of Ernest Shackleton and we’re racing to plant
the flag at the bottom of the mountain. I’m guessing he picked up this
idea from the many times he’s seen me bring letters down to the
mailbox and raise the little red standard that shouts out to the postman
that he needs to take outgoing mail.
I can see how it could be confusing.
But this time we hadn’t made it quite halfway down the hill when I see
the dog running back up with a giant smile on his face, as happy as if
he’d just discovered that his vet wrote a prescription for one jar of
peanut butter per day for optimal health.
Yeah, that would be a total daymaker for him.
I followed him down the hill to see what all the fuss was about, and
turning the corner we come upon—not the vet with his prescription pad in hand—but rather the largest bear I’ve come to see up on this little mountain of
mine.
WHOA! Big Bear! my super sharp instincts reported. Now you need to …
Yep. My super sharp instincts went blank.
This is soooo not a good feeling when you know at that very moment
you really should be on your game.
I scrambled through the cluttered files in my head. What to do, what to
do, where the heck did we put that bit of info?!
I wondered, do I run? Play dead? Run? Climb? Run? Charge? Ha! Charge.
What an idiot for thinking charge.
RUN was definitely flashing up on the screen more than anything else, but
I remembered something from my several years ago ‘what happens when
you spot a cougar?’ training I had to do after I’d spotted a cougar on the
mountain.
Okay, we’ll go with the rusty, cobwebbed cougar manual.
Make yourself BIG.
I did. I raised my arms above my head. The bear—maybe 50 feet in front of me was not impressed. He started walking
toward me.
Make noise like you’re in charge.
Seriously? Like I’m in charge of the bear? I did. I roared and waved my
hands around above my head.
It did not have the desired effect.
HE charged.
That whole RUN! piece of advice leapt in front of everything else again, but
so did the tiny piece of info that I recall reading from my brother’s boy scout
handbook that said, You can’t outrun a bear.
But another thought kept screaming, CAN’T WE EVEN TRY??!
I scrambled for a big stick on the ground.
He stopped and then made a wide circle around me. It was a bluff. Or maybe
my stick was super impressive weaponry.
I started walking away sideways, watching this big hunk of fur and claws and
teeth keep pace with me.
My next thoughts were: Shoot, I did not finish my new last will and testament.
And, Dangit, there are dishes in the sink, and I forgot to make my bed this morning.
Whoever comes to search for me will rethink my cleanliness benchmark.
And lastly, I wonder if he will kill me and THEN eat me, or if he'll start the eating
part first. But hey, on the bright side, I would now finally see a turkey vulture up close.
It’s amazing and alarming to discover what your “last thoughts” truly are. I’m hoping I
can rectify mine for my next near death encounter—should there be one. Because scenarios like this are perfect for writers. We use
everything that happens to us and put it into books. Mine just needs a little editing.
Thankfully, the big bully lost interest and wombled the other way. It may be due to the
fact that I reeked of the anti-mosquito repellent DEET, and that is a marinade he found unpalatable.
Or it could be that he bumped into a tree and inadvertently knocked over a bird’s nest
and discovered it was full of bluebird eggs.
SURPRISE!
Bonus Content:
(both just music) and The Antidote Playlist Details (with spoilers!—song descriptions for where they fall within the book).
About the Author
Shelley Sackier grew up in a small farming community in Northern
Wisconsin continually searching for ways to grow warm. Realizing
she would never be able to enjoy ice cream like real people should,
she left the state and lived the blissful life of a traveling musician.
Discovering her stories needed more space than two verses a bridge
and a chorus could provide, she began storytelling in earnest. And
then in Virginia. Which is where she lives now and continues to write.
Her first novel, DEAR OPL (Sourcebooks 2015), is a tale about a snarky,
overweight thirteen-year-old, who suffers from loss everywhere in
her life except on her body.
Her next novel, The Freemason's Daughter (HarperCollins, 2017) is
a story about a 16 yr old Scottish girl living in 1715 who's raised
entirely by six burly Scotsman--and they're all smugglers.
The Antidote (HarperCollins February 2019) is a YA novel about
magic and medicine, and the witches who wield them both.
The Antidote (HarperCollins February 2019) is a YA novel about
magic and medicine, and the witches who wield them both.
To learn more about Shelley, visit shelleysackier.com where she
blogs weekly about living on a small farm atop a mountain in the
Blue Ridge and how it’s easiest to handle most of it with
homegrown food, a breathless adoration for tractors, and a large
Blue Ridge and how it’s easiest to handle most of it with
homegrown food, a breathless adoration for tractors, and a large
dose of single malt scotch.
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