Thief of night, p.34
Thief of Night,
p.34
“Knowing that you will be here when the party is over is the only thing I care about.” He threaded his fingers through hers, squeezed, then let go.
What she needed was another drink.
Charlie found Posey and Malhar sitting together on the stairs, staring at his phone. The satchel resting beside them looked more full than it had when they arrived.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked.
Malhar turned the screen toward Charlie. An article in Vulture: Graduate Student Illuminates Controversial Path of Shadow Quickening. Next to it was a photograph of him, at the Umbral Elevation Retreat, staring intensely into a camera lens, one hand out as though beckoning. Posey could be seen behind him.
As she read, texts were popping up on his screen.
“This broke an hour ago,” he said mournfully. “Why aren’t reporters busy partying on New Year’s?”
“The coverage might get buried,” Posey offered. “If something, uh, really big happens.”
He sighed in a way that made Charlie unsure if he wanted that or not.
“The countdown is starting,” someone yelled from the other room. Staff came out of the bar area with trays laden with coupe glasses, passing them to anyone without a drink.
Charlie, Posey, and Malhar went into the ballroom. There, beside the fireplace, knots of people had begun to chant: thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine … Posey grabbed three glasses of champagne off a passing tray. Together, they shouted the seconds down: three, two, one …
Half the party seemed to have confetti cannons. Popping sounds rang out. Shiny paper rained all around them. Everyone began shouting and hugging one another.
The musicians took up playing “Auld Lang Syne.” Fiona pressed a papery kiss to Charlie’s cheek. Posey pulled her into a hug. Then Red was in front of them, leaning down to embrace her sister, then pulling Charlie into his arms. He kissed her, full on the mouth.
“Happy New Year,” he whispered against her ear. And then, before she could respond, he’d moved on.
After that, the party began to wind down. Cars came. People trickled out. By 1 a.m., nearly everyone had gone.
“You want us to wait in the car for you?” Malhar asked Charlie.
She shook her head. “I can take a taxi back.”
“If you’re sure,” Posey said and hugged her again. The satchel bumped against Charlie’s leg and the weight of it suggested there were at least a few books inside.
After they left, she noticed Adeline coming down the stairs. Her makeup had been washed off, her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she had on travel clothes. Several staff were bringing down pieces of luggage. One of them was taking a painting from the wall.
“Time to go,” Adeline told Red. “Are you finished saying goodbye?”
“I’m staying,” he told her, casually, as though it was a small thing to say.
That brought her up short. She blinked twice. “We won’t be away forever, but for now, I need you with me.”
“Nonetheless,” he said, spreading his hands.
Charlie found herself nearly as astonished as Adeline. His words from the car outside the jail came back to her: Stop trying to save me.
“Red.” Adeline grabbed his arm, impatient. Her voice growing sharp. “We are not having this conversation now. We can talk about it in New York.”
“You’re used to giving me orders,” Red said. “So I am going to forgive you for that. But you should take your hand off me.”
Adeline clearly wasn’t sure how to take those words.
“The funny thing about an inheritance,” Red said, “is that if it’s yours, you get it.”
“But the lawyers…” Adeline had never liked spelling out her plan to get control over him, so she stopped there.
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Even a Blight, if he has a wealthy enough grandmother, or is about to inherit an enormous fortune, can convince a lawyer not to do something illegal that doesn’t even benefit him. But let’s not talk about money or paperwork.”
Salt had once given Charlie a book of fairy tales as a warning about Red. He’d earmarked one where a scholar’s shadow runs away, becomes wealthy, and ultimately forces the scholar to pose as the shadow of his shadow. Salt had hoped the story would convince her to help him stop Red, make her see the danger he posed, passing for human. But the story contained a truer truth. She suspected that even Salt had missed the real lesson—with enough money, no one cared if the rich guy was a shadow or not.
Adeline opened her mouth. “We both know—”
“Don’t,” Red interrupted her. “Don’t threaten me with what you know. Because then I will have to threaten you with what I am.”
For a long time, they just looked at one another. Then her eyes slid to Charlie, as though weighing both threats.
“I’ll miss you,” Adeline told Red, finally. “But we’ll always have Monaco. Tu seras toujours le premier que j’ai aimé.”
“Il est temps que tu me laisses partir,” he returned.
She didn’t even look in Charlie’s direction as she swept past.
Then Fiona came downstairs in soft pants, a scarf around her hair. “Addy is kindly giving me a ride back to New York. Where I hope you will come and visit me, sweet boy.”
“I will,” he promised her. “Really, I will.”
She patted his cheek. “Goodbye for now.” She turned to Charlie. “And you too.”
“So you’re okay with…” she blurted out. “You’re okay?”
Fiona smiled. “Of all people, I understand how complicated families can be.” Then she headed out.
After the last of the guests departed, the caterers finished cleaning up. Then they left too.
Red twirled the house key around his finger, giving Charlie a truly wicked grin.
“So, what does it feel like to be filthy rich?” she asked, walking to where he stood.
“Filthy,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Stop taking all those caviar baths.”
“Come with me,” he said. “Let’s go outside. You can borrow a coat.”
The closet was full of faux furs, real furs—including a stole that had two beady-eyed mink heads on either end of it—as well as ski-ready puffers and raincoats. He pulled out a man’s wool peacoat and draped it over her shoulders.
They went together out onto the lawn.
“I wanted to give you a present for the holidays. Something that you would really love. Something that would show how I felt about you. You know, you’re not the easiest to shop for, Char. You can steal your own diamonds. And your own occult books. But I did think of something.” From his pocket, Red drew a silver lighter. It appeared heavy and engraved with something that might have been a family crest. He struck the flint wheel with his thumb, setting the wick alight. A dangerous thing for a Blight to do, but he held it steady. “So, how about we burn this place to the ground?”
She looked at him in astonishment and then that astonishment morphed into a slow smile. “No one has ever said anything more romantic.”
The fire started slowly, but it spread fast. By the time Salt’s mansion was fully ablaze, the flames were so high that they seemed to scorch the very stars. Against that backdrop, Red took Charlie in his arms. Her eyes, reflecting the conflagration back at him, were as bright and burning as that of any Blight.
Charlie Hall, glue trap for disaster, crooked from the day she was born, who’d never met a bad decision she wasn’t willing to double down on, had finally met her match.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, first of all, to my readers. Those who have been with me since the beginning and those who have discovered me along the way: thank you for making me feel less alone and be braver in the telling.
More than any book in recent memory, this one was fun to write. I owe that to Kelly Link’s technique of starting by knowing the last lines of the book. Doing that, even though I wasn’t sure I could, gave me something to hang on to throughout the many, many revisions. After all this time, a change in my process that actually worked!
Which brings me to a huge thank-you to my writer friends: Cassandra Clare, Kelly Link, Joshua Lewis, Steve Berman, Jedediah Berry, Emily Houk, Robin Wasserman, Sarah Rees Brennan, and Leigh Bardugo. Thank you for giving me thoughtful and incisive feedback every time. I can’t imagine writing books without you guys and I don’t want to try.
Thank you to my editrixes, Miriam Weinberg and Sam Bradbury. Sam, thank you for drinking whiskey with me in Scotland, for enduring some very messy drafts and giving me your generous guidance. Miriam, thank you for believing I could make this book work and then for making me believe that I did.
Thank you for the enthusiasm and expertise of everyone at Tor Books—particularly Devi Pillai, Lucille Rettino, Eileen Lawrence, Sarah Reidy, Emily Honer, Emily Mlynek, Harper Bullard, and William Hinton.
Thank you to Mhari Nimmo, Rachel Kennedy, and all of the fabulous folks at Del Rey UK.
Thank for you to Cassie Malmo for helping me get the word out. Thank you to Heather Baror-Shapiro for shepherding my books around the world and to Dana Spector and Mina Ross for shepherding my books around Hollywood.
Thank you to my agent, Joanna Volpe, and everyone at New Leaf—particularly Lindsay Howard and Trinica Sampson-Vera. You make it easier to make the plan and live the plan.
And thank you to my partner, Theo, and to Kayla and Sebastian. Without you guys, I would have clawed my own face off long ago.
Lastly, thank you to “the Valley” of Western Massachusetts, where I’ve lived for almost two decades, and yet am still discovering. I apologize for all the places I completely made up, and for cutting some corners with geography. Please consider this the alternate Western Massachusetts, full of lightning farms, bars with absinthe on tap, and, of course, shadow magic.
Tor Books By Holly Black
Book of Night
Thief of Night
About the Author
HOLLY BLACK is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of fantasy books, including the novels of Elfhame; The Coldest Girl in Coldtown; the Spiderwick Chronicles; her adult debut, Book of Night; as well as an Arthurian picture book called Sir Morien. She has been a finalist for an Eisner Award and the Lodestar Award, and the recipient of the Mythopoeic Award, a Nebula, and a Newbery Honor. Her books have been translated into thirty-two languages worldwide and adapted for film. She currently lives in New England with her family in a house with a secret library. She invites you to visit her online at blackholly.com or on Instagram @blackholly. Or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Prologue
1. The Hierophant
2. Gritted Teeth
3. Tame
4. Redredred
5. Hall Family Curse
6. Holiday Party
7. The Journalist
8. Cowards
9
10. Bad Advice
11. Mr. Punch
12. Pretend
13. Rose
14. The Past
15. Carrot and Stick
16. The Lusitania and the Titanic
17. I Plan on Dying in Your Arms
18. Raven
19. Night Out
20
21. Nothing Good
22. Not a Pet
23. Moving Day
24
25. Missing Parts
26. Solaluna
27. Bad Decisions
28. Unusual Selves
29. Cold Night Air
30. Fool’s Gold and Real Gold
31. HenHouse Full of Foxes
32. The Drifter
33. Never Be Forgotten
Acknowledgments
Tor Books by Holly Black
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THIEF OF NIGHT
Copyright © 2025 by Holly Black
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Amy Musgrave
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates / Tor Publishing Group
120 Broadway
New York, NY 10271
www.torpublishinggroup.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-81222-3 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-81223-0 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250812230
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First Edition: 2025
Holly Black, Thief of Night
