om the Back Cover Facing impossible odds, is this the end for Rogue Squadron? They are the galaxy's most elite fighting force. And as the battle against the Empire rages, the X-wing fighters risk life and machine to protect the Rebel Alliance. Now they must do the impossible: capture a hostile, fortified world - on their own. X-WING THE BACTA WAR While the Alliance Fleet mounts a major campaign against a deadly warlord, Ysanne Isard has seized control of Thyferra, intending to use its precious supply of bacta to destabilize and destroy the New Republic. It falls to Rogue Squadron - undermanned, deprived of Alliance support and even of weapons - to oppose Isard's dangerous designs, defeat her powerful complement of Star Destroyers, and free Thyferra from her iron rule. But when Isard discovers the Squadron's secret base, its ragtag group of pilots must scramble for survival in a winner-take-all battle against Isard's overwhelming and seemingly superior force.

Publisher's WeeklyForsaking his customary thriller territory, Littell ( The Revolutionist ) here finds fertile new ground in the farther reaches of mathematics, which prove a wellspring of rich and consistently surprising comedy. When Lemuel Falk, a Russian ''theoretical chaoticist on the lam from terrestrial chaos,'' arrives to take up his visiting fellowship at Backwater University, he is immediately confronted by a blizzard of Americana: is it absolute confusion or, as Lemuel suspects, merely ''fool's randomness''--the facade of disorder behind which lurks a pure meaning? Many turn to him for the answer: a dope-smoking Orthodox rabbi seeking ''the chaos at the heart of the heart of the Torah,'' a libidinous female barber named Occasional Rain, and a multinational throng of spooks and spies all seeking to use Lemuel's mathematical genius for their encryption programs. A not-quite-innocent abroad fleeing Stalinist ghosts, the professor quests across the spiraling chaos of the American landscape, becoming in succession or in combination a lover, theologian, political protestor, media celebrity, homicide investigator and, finally, a refugee in the deceptively tranquil aisles of the local E-Z Mart. Littell's fast-paced satire is by turns bawdy, cerebral and touching. Library JournalWhen Lemuel Falk first arrives from the Soviet Union to take up a visiting professorship at the Institute for Advanced Interdisciplinary Chaos-Related Studies in upstate New York, he expects to discover a land where streets are paved with Sony Walkmans. Instead, he encounters a beautiful female barber who cadges luxury items from the grocery store, state troopers protecting the construction of a nuclear waste dump, and a serial murderer whose victims show absolutely no connection with each other. Drawn in to these issues--at first helplessly and then with more determination--the beleaguered Russian is able at last to confront and deal with his own past. Quirky characters and linguistic byplay insure the book's appeal to sophisticated readers. Littell is the author of An Agent in Place (Bantam, 1991) . -- Cynthia Johnson, Cary Memorial Lib., Lexington, Mass. BookList - Denise Perry Donavin"I am on the lam from terrestrial chaos, but I seem to take chaos with me wherever I go," states Lemuel Falk, a Soviet professor of chaos visiting an American institute dedicated to such studies. Beyond the basic chaos of the universe, Lemuel creates a good deal of the garden variety through his ignorance of American idioms and culture and his dealings with students at a nearby university. Along the way, he works to discover the identity of a serial killer, which after all is just a study of randomness--"his life's passion." Heavy-hitting humor from the author of "The Once and Future Spy" (1990).

Captain Lars Haggart was a soul waiting to be reborn...but before that blessed event he had been inducted into the Arm of God Regiment, fighting for the beleaguered Churchers on a newly colonized planet. Their foe—demons who could pop into existence, slay and pop out of existence the next instant. The demons were winning that war, sending their Unborn, opponents back to limbo, driving the living colonists toward extermination. But this was no fantasy, no business of the religious imagination. The fight was real, blood was blood, and swords cut sharp, for the Unborn were very much alive. Haggart was aware that this was frighteningly contradictory, but first he had to fight the demons on their own terms, learn how to appear behind their lines and do to them what they were doing to the humans. An unusual science fiction novel of a space colony in deepest trouble and of aliens who knew planetary secrets that were never in anyone's Holy Book.

Available for the first time in English, the seventh entry in the beloved Inspector Sejer series from Norway’s Queen of Crime, Karin FossumOn a wet, gray night in early November, Charlo Torp, a former gambler who’s only recently kicked the habit, makes his way through the slush to Harriet Krohn’s apartment, flowers in hand. Certain that paying off his debt is the only path to starting a new life and winning his daughter’s forgiveness, Charlo plans to rob the wealthy old woman’s antique silver collection. What he doesn’t expect is for her to put up a fight.The following morning Harriet is found dead, her antique silver missing, and the only clue Inspector Sejer and his team find in the apartment is an abandoned bouquet. Charlo should feel relieved, but he’s heard of Sejer’s amazing record — the detective has solved every case he’s ever been assigned to.Told through the eyes of a killer, The Murder of Harriet Krohn poses the question: how far would you go to turn your life around, and could you live with yourself afterward?Review"Fossum’s superior seventh Insp. Konrad Sejer novel, the 10th book in the series to be released in the U.S. (after 2013’s Eva’s Eye), puts a modern spin on Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. Widower Charlo Olav Torp’s robbery and murder of elderly Harriet Krohn allows him to pay off his debts and reconnect with his estranged 16-year-old daughter, Julie. He even buys Julie the horse she has always wanted. But this fresh start comes with a price. His every moment is clouded by guilt over his actions and the fear that he’ll be caught, but he’s also proud that he’s committed the perfect murder. Months go by until Sejer, who has never had an unsolved case, targets Charlo by building on the one small piece of forgotten evidence at the crime scene. Series fans and newcomers alike will savor this insightful character study of a man on the edge with little regard to how his actions affect others. (Nov.)"--Publishers Weekly, STARRED review "In the seventh Konrad Sejer story, Fossum’s pitch-perfect dialogue (internal and otherwise) sets the tense, desperate tone of this introverted, psychological cat-and-mouse tale. Gambling addict Charlo Torp is proudly shoving his past behind him. He’s paid off the enormous gambling debt he owed a dangerous friend, found a part-time job, and even bought a horse to win back his equestrian daughter’s affection. There is just the small matter of Harriet Krohn, whom Charlo murdered during the robbery that netted the cash for his new life. Within days of the attack, media coverage of the brutal crime is unavoidable, and Charlo learns that formidable Inspector Konrad Sejer is hunting him. Convinced that he can burrow into his new life and escape notice, Charlo denies the fallout of his crime even as fear and paranoia begin to creep in behind his facade. Fossum’s modern take on “The Tell-Tale Heart” will please the large, ever-expanding base of Sejer fans, who will be enthralled with following the investigation from the prey’s angle."--Booklist" "Charlo Torp doesn’t mean to kill anyone. A widower desperate to pay off gambling debts, he intends to enter Harriet Krohn’s house under the pretense of a flower delivery and steal the elderly woman’s valuables. But Harriet resists, Charlo panics, and she ends up bludgeoned to death in her kitchen. With the whodunit thus settled two dozen pages in, Fossum trains her focus on the “why” of the crime, examining Charlo’s guilt and how he justifies his actions to himself, especially after the stolen money helps him repair his relationship with an estranged daughter. Still, he constantly looks over his shoulder, and with good reason—the policeman investigating Harriet’s death, Insp. Konrad Sejer, has never failed to solve a murder. VERDICT Writing from the killer’s perspective, Fossum sketches a credible if unsuspenseful portrait of how normal people commit violent acts. This is the seventh book in the “Sejer” series (The Water’s Edge; Bad Intentions; The Caller) but one of the last to be translated into English, quite possibly because the detective doesn’t appear until well past the halfway mark. That’s too bad, because his scenes crackle with energy that’s lacking in the rest of the book. For readers who enjoy psychological suspense and who don’t mind crime novels minus the mystery."--Library JournalAbout the AuthorKARIN FOSSUM is the author of the internationally successful Inspector Konrad Sejer crime series. Her recent honors include a Gumshoe Award and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for mystery/thriller.

Detoxing turns deadly when Hollywood agent Charlie Greene vows to prove that her troubled friend is no killer Agreeing to accompany her old friend Maggie to San Diego's exclusive Marina del Sol spa is a no-brainer for harried Hollywood agent and single mom Charlie Greene. What could be bad about chilling in the spa's purifying, gently eddying waters? Or being wrapped in seaweed and pampered with a granite body scrub and deep-tissue massage? Plenty, it turns out, when, after a lecture on orgasm after menopause, the camera-ready motivational speaker, Dr. Judy Judd, is found dead in one of the spa's pools. Maggie becomes the prime suspect when it's discovered that she was the last person to see the celebrity doctor alive. Charlie can barely get a coherent word out of her—especially with Maggie doped up on a dizzying cocktail of meds for her depression and wild mood swings. Then another murder rocks the spa. Joining forces with her ex-boyfriend,...

I’ve been in love with Hadley Monroe for three years. Over a thousand days. But Hadley doesn’t see me. Not the real me, anyway. It’s time to change all that. I need to show her—convince her—that we could be more than friends. That we are actually perfect for each other. It’s time to put it all out there. Risk everything before it’s too late. It’s time for a grand gesture. It’s time to reveal that I’m her Secret Crush. **

Within the Sanctuary of Wings is the conclusion to Marie Brennan's thrilling Lady Trent Memoirs After nearly five decades (and, indeed, the same number of volumes), one might think they were well-acquainted with the Lady Isabella Trent—dragon naturalist, scandalous explorer, and perhaps as infamous for her company and feats of daring as she is famous for her discoveries and additions to the scientific field.And yet—after her initial adventure in the mountains of Vystrana, and her exploits in the depths of war-torn Eriga, to the high seas aboard The Basilisk, and then to the inhospitable deserts of Akhia—the Lady Trent has captivated hearts along with fierce minds. This concluding volume will finally reveal the truths behind her most notorious adventure—scaling the tallest peak in the world, buried behind the territory of Scirland's enemies—and what she discovered there, within the Sanctuary of Wings.At the...

I suppose it’s fair to say that I’m most often identified as the creator of series characters. My two active series, concerning a bookselling burglar named Rhodenbarr and a sober drunk named Scudder, are the ones people are most likely to know about. Readers with a wider range may be familiar as well with a series of seven novels about an insomniac named Tanner. And there have been four novels each about a horny kid named Harrison and an introspective killer named Keller. Hardly anybody, asked to name all of my series, would come up with The Specialists. A fat lot they know. As far as I’m concerned, The Specialists is unequivocally a series novel. As it happens, the series is only one book long. But I figure it’s a series just the same. In the spring of 1966 I moved into a big old house on a small old lot smack in the middle of New Brunswick, New Jersey. I set up an office for myself on the third floor. I had a massive old desk, and the movers couldn’t get the thing up the last flight of stairs. It wouldn’t fit. Most desks of that vintage disassemble, but not this sucker. They had to cut the hind legs off it. I propped up the back of the desk with two short stacks of paperback novels, plopped a typewriter on the top of it, and went to work.Three and a half years later, when we moved to a place in the country, I left the desk right there, and I left the books to keep it from tilting. By that time the desk didn’t owe me a dime, because I’d sat at it and written a whole slew of books. I’d already written the first Tanner book in Racine, Wisconsin, but I wrote the other six in New Brunswick, along with After the First Death and Such Men Are Dangerous and more pseudonymous work than I’ll admit to at the moment. I also wrote The Specialists at that desk. My then agent (and still friend) Henry Morrison suggested I might try to come up with a series, and he liked the idea of a troupe of guys working together, in the tried-and-true manner of A League of Gentlemen. I hadn’t read the book in question, but I got the idea. And I wrote a couple of chapters and an outline and pitched the idea as a series to an editor at (I think) Dell. Whoever she was, and wherever she was, she thought it sounded good, and I went home to my desk to finish the first book. I finished the book without a problem, and Henry liked it, and he sent it over to Dell. While I’d been breezing along on the book, the editor who’d liked the idea had gone somewhere else, and her replacement didn’t like the idea, or the book, either. Henry took it back and sent it to Knox Burger at Gold Medal, who liked it just fine. I signed a contract, and then I got a call from Henry. “Knox was wondering,” he said, “if The Specialists is the first volume of a series. Shall I tell him yes, and that you’re already hard at work on the next installment?” “God, no,” I said. “Huh?” “Tell him it’s complete in and of itself,” I said. “But I thought—” “So did I,” I said, “and it turns out we were both wrong. Because I like the book, and I sort of enjoyed writing it, but when I finished it I realized something. I don’t want to write about those guys again, ever. I liked them as characters, and it’s the kind of book I like to read, but it turns out it’s not the kind of book I like to write.” There was a pause. Then Henry said, “That’s really strange.” “I know it is.” “I was sure it was going to turn out to be a series.” “So was I, and we were right. It’s a series. But it’s a very short series.” “Just one book long.” “Just one book long,” I agreed. “But a series nonetheless.” And that’s what it is. I hope you enjoy it. And who knows? Maybe someday I will want to write about these guys again. . .

The epic love story of Clea and Sage comes to its thrilling conclusion in the final book in the Elixir series by multitalented star Hilary Duff.Following the harrowing events of Elixir and Devoted—and the ceremony that almost killed Sage—Clea faces a new reality: With Sage’s soul in Nico’s body, the love of her life looks an awful lot like her best friend’s boyfriend. Can Clea and Sage really be happy under these circumstances?Clea wants to try to enjoy their new life together, but Sage is acting different—angry—and she struggles to keep her friends from finding out what has happened to him. Something is clearly haunting Sage, and Clea is losing control. Can she trust her friends with the dangerous truth, or will she have to risk losing Sage to madness?About the AuthorHilary Duff is a multifaceted actress and recording artist whose career began on the popular Disney sitcom Lizzie McGuire. She has since appeared in many films and TV series, including a guest appearance on Gossip Girl. She has sold more than 13 million albums worldwide and has a clothing line, Femme for DKNY, and a bestselling fragrance, With Love…Hilary Duff, for Elizabeth Arden. Hilary’s humanitarian work is recognized throughout the world, and she is actively involved with many different charities benefitting children and animals. She has served on The President’s Council on Service and Civic Participation and was named ambassador to the youth of Bogatá. She is the New York Times bestselling author of the novels Elixir, Devoted, and True. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.oneCLEAI’ve never been so terrified in my life.I run so hard and fast, my breath scours my throat. I don’t even know how long I’ve been running. Agony spikes my legs with every step, but I can’t stop. I don’t dare.It’s dark, but I don’t want to see. I don’t want to hear, either, but I can’t help it.Screams. High-pitched screams. A little girl, tortured—her soul ripped apart. It’s awful, and it goes on and on and on . . . my God, when will it stop? It has to stop!Another scream. A man. I know the voice, but I don’t want to know it. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. I keep running.A face leaps out of the darkness, blocking my path. Its size is impossible—as tall as I am, white-pale skin stretching over bloodshot white-orb eyes and a mouth open so wide it could swallow me. I scream, but no sound comes out. I back up, but I can’t turn away. The blank eyes lock on mine, and bloody tears start streaming down its cheeks.I step back into nothingness. The last thing I see is the head exploding into scarlet mist.I fall backward, flail my arms and legs, catch on nothing. The dirt walls of this pit are out of reach, but I can see them, see the twisted faces undulating just under their surface. I see their clawed fingers reaching out to me. Their susurrant voices call to me in a language I can’t understand, but the meaning is clear.These are my dead, and they’re hungry for my company.The voices keen louder as I plummet. I try to plug my ears, close my eyes, but I can’t block them out. They fill my senses until a blinding-sharp pain pierces my spine. I raise my head and see it: a massive metal spike impaled through the middle of my body. I hang on it, twisting helplessly as the dead souls above claw through their dirt coffins and crawl down to claim me as their own. . . .“NO!” I scream.“Clea,” a voice says. “Clea, it’s okay. . . . It’s not real. . . . You’re safe now. You’re okay.”I hear him, but I feel too foggy to understand. The pain in my back is fading, but my face hurts like something’s slicing into it. A rush of cold washes over me, and I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m more afraid now than I was surrounded by the dead, but the reason why floats out of my grasp. All my attention narrows to the strap of pain eating across my forehead, my eye, my nose. . . .A seat belt. It’s a seat belt. I’m in a car. Of course I’m in a car—I can feel it now, the familiar hum and vibration and movement. I must have fallen asleep slumped against the seat belt.I sit up and wince away from the sting. The pain in my face ebbs, but other aches and flames explode all over my body. I open my eyes . . .. . . and see Nico, Rayna’s boyfriend, staring down at me. It’s dark outside, but I can see him in the streaking headlights from cars going in the opposite direction. He’s so tall and broad, he looks stuffed into the backseat, like it’s a clown car. He’s not belted in; he’s braced over me, one hand on the back of the passenger seat and one hand on the seat behind my head, his body tenting mine. Twigs and leaves mat his blond hair and dirt smears his face, but his deep brown eyes grip me. They’re so filled with worry and—Brown eyes.Nico has blue eyes.I gasp as I remember everything. I see it all—the maelstrom in the woods, bullets and branches everywhere. . . . Nico—the real one—with the dagger in his hand, his moment of hesitation as he held it above Sage’s chest . . . I see Ben tackling him, the horror in Ben’s face when he saw the dagger embedded in Nico’s stomach. Then Sloane, leaping up and grabbing the dagger, plunging it into Sage and killing him, killing him, for real and forever.I stare down at my hands and see the shadowy mess of dried blood from cradling Sage’s body. A bubble of agony rises in the pit of my stomach as I remember his face, vacant and empty, his body lifeless in my arms. . . .“Clea,” Nico says. “Look at me. It’s okay.”I do look at him, but only at his eyes. His brown eyes.“Sage?” I ask.He smiles, and I see double. It’s Nico’s face, it is, but that’s Sage’s slow, sideways smile, and Sage’s eyes, Sage’s soul.The relief is so overwhelming I can’t breathe. I try to throw my arms around him, but the seat belt catches and jars me backward.“Here,” he says. He reaches across me to gently play out slack in the belt, leaning forward so, for just a moment, his neck and cheek are by my lips. My heart pounds, and I breathe deep to take in his scent.But it’s not there. I smell something musky, with a chemical sweetness. And when he pulls the seat belt loose enough that I could easily lean into his arms . . . I don’t.“Thanks,” I say instead. I don’t touch his hand as I gently take the belt back from him and ease it into place over my chest. “I’m good.”He smiles, but his eyes betray him. He looks wounded, which hurts like a punch, until another image bursts into my head: Sage wrapped in the arms of another woman, kissing her and tearing at her clothes.He severed our soul connection to be with another woman . . . so why is he looking at me like he loves me?“Clea?”It’s Ben’s voice, and it’s as tight as his hands gripping the steering wheel.“Are you okay?” In the rearview mirror, I see his eyes dart to Sage. “Is she okay?”“I’m fine,” I say. It’s not exactly the truth, but there aren’t words to explain how I actually feel. “What happened? The last thing I remember . . .”The last thing I remember is Nico’s ravaged body healing right in front of me. But how did I get from there to here?“You passed out,” Ben says. “We carried you back to the car. Nico—Sage carried you back to the car.”“I passed out?”Sage laughs—a low chuckle that reverberates deliciously in my stomach. “Was I right?”I’m clearly on the outside of the joke, and I don’t like it. “Were you right about what?”“Ben was worried about you. I told him you’d be fine . . . just furious at yourself.”I don’t know if I’m angry at him because I’m offended, or because I’m annoyed that he’s right.“I’m not the passing-out type.”“You’re human, Clea,” Sage says. “It’s okay.” He puts his hand on my cheek, and my skin vibrates at his touch. I don’t even realize I’m leaning into its pressure until he moves it to slowly brush back my hair. He does it gently, barely grazing my bruises.His eyes. I thought I’d never see them again, and now they’re looking at me with so much love I want to cry.“ ‘Human’ is simplifying it,” Ben cuts in. He looks pointedly at Sage between glances out the windshield. “It’s not like she’s Blanche DuBois with ‘the vapors.’ You had a vasovagal response,” he continues, turning his eyes to mine. “It’s one way the body can react to stress. Your heart rate and blood pressure drop, which reduces blood flow to the brain. I have the same thing when I get shots.”“Really?” Sage asks.Even in the darkness I can see Ben’s face go bright red, but his voice stays strident. “I’m just saying, it’s not a sign of weakness or anything. It’s normal.”“Well, that’s good,” I say. “I’d hate to think anything about our situation wasn’t normal.”Sage laughs out loud. “She’s fine.”He stretches back as far as he can in the cramped space and closes his eyes.I stare as each streetlight thrusts him into a momentary glow. A couple of minutes ago I couldn’t bear to move into his arms; now I’m aching to shift next to him and lay my head against his chest.But what would happen if I did? Whatever I saw in his eyes just now, it doesn’t change what he did. He broke the tie between us. Forever. Didn’t he?Another car streaks past, and in its light I see him wince. He looks pale, too, but I can’t really tell—even tanned, Nico’s skin is so light it’s hard to say. Then he takes a long, measured breath through his nose and presses his lips together. The muscle in his jaw flexes as he concentrates.“Sage?” I ask. “Are you okay?”He nods his head, but barely.“He’s having some issues,” Ben says. “He’s been like that most of the ride. He perked up when you started talking, but mostly it’s been that. You know, when he wasn’t yelling at me to pull over so he could puke his guts out.”“What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”Through the rearview mirror, Ben gives me the driest look imaginable. “I honestly don’t even know how to begin to answer that question.”“Okay, fine. But I mean . . . is this normal?”“Normal for a guy whose soul got torn out of one body and thrust into another one that I’d just killed two seconds before? Gee, I don’t know. It’s not something I deal with every day.”There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice, and I realize he’s struggling to keep it together.“You didn’t kill Nico. You didn’t want that to happen. You were just...

Children's Fiction/Young Adult. 110049 words long. First published in 2008, 2008

SUMMARY: Things were going so well for P.I. John Taylor, that it was only a matter of time before everything hit the fan. Walker, the powerful, ever-present, never­to-be-trusted agent who runs the Nightside on behalf of The Authorities, is dying. And he wants John to be his successor-a job that comes with more baggage, and more enemies, than anyone can possibly imagine.

Amazon.co.uk ReviewThe year: 1377. The place: the Balkan peninsula. Here in Ismail Kadare's novel, The Three-Arched Bridge, an Albanian monk chronicles the events surrounding the construction of a bridge across a great river known as Ujana e Keqe, or "Wicked Waters". If successful in their endeavour, the bridge-builders will challenge a monopoly on water transportation known simply as "Boats and Rafts". The story itself parallels developments in modern-day Eastern Europe, with the bridge emblematic of a disintegrating economic and political order: just as mysterious cracks in the span's masonry endanger the structure and cast the local community into a morass of uncertainty, superstition and murder, so the fast-changing conditions in the 14th-century Balkan peninsula threaten to overwhelm the stability of life there. Dark as the story itself is, Mr. Kadare's prose, skilfully translated from the Albanian by John Hodgson, is elegant, witty and deft. And with so many twists and turns in its carefully constructed plot, this political parable keeps the reader's interest to the very end.

In a world where two nations rule all, Rob must find a way to live among them both in this futuristic story from the author of the Tripods series.In the future, the world has been divided into two societies. One is the Conurb—a sprawling, modern city where technology rules and people live with only the bare minimum they need to survive. The other is the County—a land of green fields and beautiful mansions, where the people have turned back the clock to a pristine past. Rob has always lived in the Conurb, but after he is sent to a terrible boarding school, he decides his only option is to take a chance and cross the Barrier into the unknown world of the County. There he meets another boy who introduces Rob to the very different society, and all the wondrous things that come with it. But even though Rob wants to believe that the County is a utopia, he begins to learn about the darkness that lurks beneath the smiles of his new family and...