Jennifer Strange

Praise for Jennifer Strange

JENNIFER STRANGE is a gruesomely fun, demon-infested YA romp in which two teenage sisters learn and ply the family's secret demon-fighting trade. A promising debut.

– Paul Tremblay, author of A Head Full of Ghosts and Survivor Song

Plenty to appeal to readers: the illustrations that help to visualize the creatures and describe the charms that protect the girls, and two determined young women who awaken to their new powers....As a first novel introducing new characters, readers can hopefully look forward to a deepening of those story lines. – School Library Journal

This debut novel is overflowing with sardonic wit and memorably feisty (and satisfyingly angry) female protagonists. Jennifer and her sister Liz are unbowed by the gruesome might of their powers, and they adapt as quickly as possible to learning how to use them to keep the gate between the living and the dead closed. Occasional illustrations and journal entries add context, with the highlights being the handful of creepy drawings of monsters Jennifer and Liz face during an eventful few days. It’s clear this is a story that has more to come, and horror buffs will happily anticipate the next volume. – The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books

Devilishly paced and drenched in Gothic atmosphere, JENNIFER STRANGE is a wild, spine-tingling ride. – Claire Legrand, New York Times-bestselling author of Furyborn and Sawkill Girls

A mysterious, dark, and perfectly bone-chilling tale of self-discovery and seizing your destiny, Jennifer Strange is a tremendous addition to young adult horror. Breathtaking illustrations and gruesome descriptions mix beautifully with a story that manages to pull on your heartstrings and terrify you at the same time. I couldn't recommend it more. – Amy Lukavics, author of Daughters unto Devils and The Ravenous

"What if ghosts and demons really did walk among us (and who’s to say they don’t?) –  Jennifer Strange takes readers deep into a world beyond the one we think we know; a world of magic, talismans, sigils, dark beings and ancient prophesies.  Prepare to be delighted and terrified as you get swept away in Cat Scully’s spellbinding debut." – Jennifer McMahon, New York Times-bestselling author of The Winter People and The Invited

Cat Scully has a wickedly dark streak and talent to spare. JENNIFER STRANGE is a wonderfully creepy southern gothic full of ghosts, magic, and dreadful family secrets, all stewed in the sultry swelter of haunted Savannah, Georgia. This book ticks all the boxes for me, and Scully weaves it all together beautifully! – Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling author of Ararat and Snowblind.

Jennifer Strange comes on like a freight train filled with the screaming corpses of a thousand nightmares, fast paced and unrelenting. I didn't like it, I loved it. It's nice to see someone who remembers that horror should be scary! Cat Scully doesn't just tell a good tale, she drags you into her world and shoves you into the dark places where the monsters hide. A phenomenal first book! – James A. Moore, author of the Seven Forges Series and The Last Sacrifice. 

Cat Scully's debut, JENNIFER STRANGE, wastes no space showing you exactly what you're in for. The first time I started this novel, my reaction was, THIS is a YA book?! HELL yeah, it is. But it ain't just kids' stuff. Scully doesn't pander or soft pedal a story about young people facing their demons. She's written a mature, compelling horror story with heart and real scares straight from jump. Take note of Scully's name, folks. She's here to raise Hell, in a really good way. JENNIFER STRANGE is proof of that. – Bracken MacLeod, Bram Stoker and Shirley Jackson Award nominated author of Mountain Home and Closing Costs

Written and Illustrated by Cat Scully

YAP Books

An imprint of

Haverhill House Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jennifer Strange

© 2020 Cat Scully

Artwork © Cat Scully

Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-949140-05-7

Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-949140-06-4

All rights reserved.

Young Adult

YAP Books

Haverhill House Publishing

643 E Broadway

Haverhill MA 01830-2420

www.haverhillhouse.com

To Craig and Katie, twin stars guiding me home

Chapter 1

Uprooted

Damn. I ruined breakfast. Liz slammed the frying pan into the kitchen sink, sending hot, burnt eggs flying across the countertop.

You didn’t have to go all out, I said. I was perfectly fine with Pop-Tarts.

Forget it. She didn’t bother to pick up the eggs. Instead, she grabbed two pairs of metallic sleeves from the pantry and took the seat opposite me at her tiny, round kitchen table. We sat together in her apartment, the smallest listing on the planet, and I found myself questioning all my life choices as my older sister shoved one of the space-age wrappers at me. I took the strawberry-frosted cardboard package and attempted to crack a smile that she did not return. So much for family reunions.

I unwrapped my package and chewed as slowly as possible as I watched Liz rip the silver foil off her packet with such force one of the Pop-Tarts went flying. A laugh bubbled up, but I shoved it right back down. No sudden movements. Don’t anger the beast. She picked up the rejected tart and ate it off the floor anyway.

When Dad said this would be good sisterly bonding time, watching my sister rage-cook me breakfast was not what I had in mind. I pictured us watching a movie together, talking about college or crushes or binging the latest Netflix show, but not Liz’s constant shade in my general direction. It’s not like I wanted to be stranded in her apartment for a chunk of my freshman year. It’s not as if Dad asked my opinion when he decided to drop me off at her apartment in the middle of the rain last night.

I chewed and swallowed the rest of the first Pop-Tart. So, you’re cool about me crashing here, right?

She flung open her laptop. Why wouldn’t I be?

Yikes. Better try something else. Do you have a lot of homework at SCAD?

She didn’t reply. She typed something furiously on her computer as a form of a reply. As I endured her repeat performance of talking-but-not-talking, it was clear I was crashing on her precious college life at the mega elite Savannah College of Art and Design. It’s not like the situation wasn’t completely interrupting my life too—new city with no friends, no idea where anything was, and worst of all, no volleyball team.

I rolled my eyes and started into my second tart. Sure. Type away. Ignoring me will totally solve all of your problems. It’s like I won’t even be here if you pretend long and hard enough.

She shut her laptop and glared at me so hard I thought my body would spontaneously combust. It was the first time Liz had looked at me for any length of time since she opened the door and found me standing there.

It’s not that I don’t want you here, she said. I’m happy to see you.

I crumbled the empty Pop-Tarts wrapper into a shiny, round ball. Could have fooled me.

Contrary to what you might believe, she said. College isn’t like high school. If I miss an assignment, if I’m late to class, if I turn in sub-par work, I’ll lose my scholarship. And if I lose my scholarship, I’ll be facing ungodly mountains of student debt. But I don’t blame you. I blame Dad.

She slammed her laptop into her bag with a growl. God, this is just so typical of him. Running off because he has to do some random journalism research for his university and leaving you here with me without a time frame. He doesn’t seem to grasp the concept that this is my first year at SCAD or your first year of high school. No. None of that matters.

God, I was tired of her treating me like I was twelve, like I had no inkling of how hard college could be. When I woke up this morning in her spare bedroom, I felt super guilty. I was about to blurt out the truth over breakfast, tell her Dad didn’t leave me here because of a research sabbatical. I was going to explain that he’s not who he says he is and, really, I’m not who she thinks I am, but now I’m thinking about telling her exactly jack.

At times like these when my sister’s behavior burns me up, this super annoying voice pops in the back of my head, and it’s my mother reminding me to be nice. Don’t say something you can’t take back.

Thanks, Mom. Thanks ever so much.

I touched the pink stone on Mom’s old necklace, a rose quartz crystal that rested on my collar bone at the end of a gold chain. Dad said it should hide me temporarily, but for how long? He made me promise to keep Liz out of it, but how on earth was I supposed to do that? I had no idea what I was doing or how her necklace supposedly works. He’s not right about everything.

I let out my most obvious sigh. Liz, there’s something I have to tell you.

But she wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. While I’d been debating what to do, she had already packed up her bag with her laptop and sketchbook and was halfway out the door.

Liz, seriously, I said. It’s important.

God, I’m so late, she groaned. Just Google where your school is. I don’t have time to do it for you. Besides, it’s only two blocks away; you can’t miss it. Uniform is on the sofa. My last class gets out at four.

I got up from my chair. No, really. We need to talk now, and it has to do with Dad and why I’m here—

That last bit got her attention, but she quickly shook it away. Just tell me at dinner, Jacks, she said and slammed the door behind her. The coats hanging on the back of the door swung back and forth from the force of her departure.

Well that went extraordinarily terrible.

I glanced toward the spare bedroom that was now my room, where the trash fire that was my new uniform waited for me. I couldn’t believe I was forced to wear something so heinous because Dad had enrolled me at a local charter school. Northwinds Academy. God, it sounded like daycare for rich people, not a school for kids who preferred solving equations to pretty much any other social activity.

Oh yeah. There were still burnt eggs all over the counter and pile of dirty dishes in the sink. I had no idea what Liz wanted me to do with them. Back home, I was the unofficial chore person. Dad was incredibly intelligent but also completely hapless at home maintenance, which meant after Mom died, the house exploded. It seemed like Liz had a similar system going on. She has always been like him, but if I ever told her that, she’d probably burn me alive and then dance in my ashes. Best to leave the mess alone.

I left the kitchen table and headed into my bedroom to further inspect the outfit from hell. Dad didn’t give me much time to grab things to decorate, so it was really my starry bed set and constellation night light that made it look anything like home. The navy suit lay there on my bedspread, looking so innocent as it blended into the pattern on the duvet cover. Time to tame the beast.

Nope. The uniform was so much worse on. The black-and-blue plaid skirt hung off my waist like a trash bag. The cut went well past my knees to hide most of my legs while the white button-up shirt itched like someone washed it with a cactus. The stuffy little jacket even came with an embroidered school crest with dual horses rearing.

This was it. This was my life now.

Goddammit Dad.

I grabbed my lunch and my canvas book bag and was about to walk out the door when I remembered Dad’s journal. Damn. It’s still in my room. I grumbled the entire ten-foot trek from the front door to my room. The journal sat alone on my nightstand. The thing was massive and could rival a Stephen King hardcover and was bound in brown leather with a belt buckle across the front that shut with a clasp. It held all of Dad’s secrets, all of Mom’s art. I picked it up, remembering the one instruction he gave me before he left:

Read this, and you’ll understand. I wrote the entries; your mother drew the pages. We’ve wanted to tell you for so long. I’m sorry we waited until now. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life that we didn’t tell you sooner, but now that you’ve awakened, you need to know what’s coming. Hopefully, I can find what we need before they find you, but if they do come, everything you need to hold them off is right here.

I unclasped the belt loop and stopped. The wound’s too fresh. Last night, I tried to read it, but I couldn’t bring myself to get past the first page. I should leave it here, keep it safe. Some prick might steal it on my first day, or worse, a teacher might confiscate it. But leave it here? I wasn’t comfortable with that choice either. Liz might come back and find the journal. How would I ever explain? There were sigils and wards, enough that it appeared to be a spell book of some kind. Maybe it would come in handy if the necklace failed. I stuffed it in my backpack, crossed the apartment to the front door, and headed outside.

A fresh wave of humidity smacked me in the face. I staggered down the steps to the parking lot below, feeling like I’d just been sucker punched by the weather. I was panting by the time I reached the sidewalk. The South was notorious for its heat waves, sure, but this put the stupidly named Hotlanta to shame.

I turned out of Nine Gates apartments and ducked into a crowd of people who didn’t seem to be sweating at all. How was that even possible? There was no way I would make it to school without sweating right through my uniform. I was going to be the new, sweat-drenched, pit-stained girl at school. Fantastic.

I pushed through the mix of locals and tourists that filled the narrow sidewalk. In Atlanta, we drove absolutely everywhere—to the grocery store, to our friend’s house, to the mall. Here, everything was so condensed. I could walk anywhere I wanted—go to the grocery store, see a movie, buy Doritos. The last twenty-four hours had been such hell, I hadn’t considered the possibility that moving to Savannah could actually be…nice. As I passed beneath the hanging moss and the manicured gardens surrounding stone fountains that belonged on the back of a postcard, the idea of unchecked freedom was nice, but I wasn’t elated.

After losing Mom two years ago, I hadn’t pictured being happy, living a normal life. The grief had almost swallowed me whole, but in the past couple of months, some amount of happiness had come back whenever I played volleyball with my friends. So much for that. I don’t think I could ever show my face in Atlanta again after what my school saw. Everything I’d ever known, and that inch of happiness I’d stolen, it was all gone in just one day. It’s hard to believe the attack in the gym was only yesterday.

I checked my phone. My GPS told me to head down the hill in the direction of the main street. I’d been to Savannah before, back when Liz was first considering SCAD for college. Dad took us around the city, but I didn’t remember the trip in any detail. At least Savannah was laid out on a grid system that made sense, versus Atlanta where the streets looped in on themselves. One wrong turn there and you were dropped right back where you started.

The breeze carried up from the river and rustled the moss overhead. Cajun spice wafted up from River Street and my mouth watered. We couldn’t get quality seafood back home, so the smell hanging under the oak branches was absolutely killing me. Maybe I could guilt Liz into taking me there later for dinner.

I rounded a corner and my map beeped that I was close to the school. Squished between a café and a local bookstore, the ivy and flaking ironwork of Northwinds loomed in front of Johnson Square. The school looked like any other building downtown, around three stories high and made with Georgia clay red brick, but the school crest plastered over everything made it stand out. Every white column and glass window glittered with tradition, heritage, prestige.

What the actual hell, Dad?

This was not a charter school for teens who liked math. It was absolutely a prep school for rich kids. They would figure out I wasn’t like them and then the whole school would shun me. How did he get me registered at a place like this with a uniform and everything in less than twenty-four hours? He planned this. There was no way he didn’t plan this, but then that would mean he knew what was coming. He knew what would happen to me at volleyball practice yesterday. He knew my power would wake up. I needed to read his journal and I needed