By Alan Bradley

“Every Flavia de Luce novel is a cause to celebrate.”—USA Today
ALAN BRADLEY, writer OF the main AWARD-WINNING sequence DEBUT OF ANY 12 months, RETURNS WITH one other impossible to resist FLAVIA DE LUCE NOVEL.
“[Alan] Bradley has created probably the most unique, captivating, devilishly inventive and hilarious detectives of any age or any time.”—Bookreporter
It’s Christmastime, and Flavia de Luce—an eleven-year-old sleuth with a keenness for chemistry—is tucked away in her laboratory, whipping up a concoction to ensnare Saint Nick. yet she is quickly distracted while a movie workforce arrives at Buckshaw, the de Luces’ decaying English property, to shoot a film starring the famed Phyllis Wyvern. Amid a raging snow fall, the complete village of Bishop’s Lacey gathers at Buckshaw to observe Wyvern practice, but no one is ready for the evening’s surprising end: a physique discovered strangled to loss of life with a size of movie. yet who one of the assembled visitors might level the sort of chilling scene? because the hurricane worsens and the record of suspects grows, Flavia needs to ferret out a killer hidden in undeniable sight.
“[Flavia is] the main intrepid and fascinating adolescent chemist/detective/busybody in all of rural, post–World battle II England.”—The Seattle Times
“Quirky and pleasant . . . Flavia is a vintage literary personality who manages to attract either old and young readers equally.”—Wichita Falls Times checklist News
“Bradley’s plot twists and turns delightfully.”—Fort worthy Star-Telegram

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Optimistically, only one click on could do the trick. I ducked down and squeezed the spring deal with. click on! And not anything extra. Too past due now. My attacker was once already clawing on the ledge like a maddened animal, getting ready to haul itself up beside me. If that occurred i used to be comprehensive. I swung at its goggled face with the torch—and neglected! The torch slipped out of my hand and fell, as though in gradual movement, tumbling finish over finish down onto the roof, the place it lay part buried in a snowdrift, taking pictures a crazily angled beam up into my attacker’s eyes, part blinding it. I didn’t waste a unmarried fast. I ducked down and flicked the igniter back. click on! … click on! … click on! … click on! … Infuriating! I must have covered the fuses with candle wax, yet one can’t give some thought to every little thing. evidently, that they had develop into damp. The clutching gloves have been coming uncomfortably nearer. It was once just a topic of time sooner than they controlled to grab my ankle and drag me down onto the roof. With that irritating proposal in brain, I shimmied a bit better up the clay chimney pot, back operating my manner, as I climbed, totally around to the east part of the constitution. at the roof, my attacker me round, maybe part watching for me to slide and fall. excessive above its horribly helmeted head, my each breath obvious at the chilly air, I clung like a limpet to the higher element of the chimney. A second passed—and then one other. I turned conscious of a starting to be warmth. Had the wind permit up, or had summer season without warning come? probably i used to be operating a fever. i assumed of the thousand warnings of Mrs. Mullet. “Sudden chills fills the ’ills,” she by no means bored with telling me. “The ’ills meanin’ them little ’ills within the churchyard, in fact. costume up hot, pricey, for you to get your ’undred years birthday letter from the king. ” I clutched my cardigan closed underneath my chin. lower than me, the determine had grew to become unexpectedly and used to be jogging off in the direction of the battlements of the west wing. It gave the impression of a weird factor to do, yet virtually immediately I observed the explanation. At some extent at the roof at once above the drawing room, the aerial for our instant was once stretched among a couple of slim vertical bamboo poles. Seizing the nearest pole with its gauntlets, my attacker positioned a boot opposed to the socketed base and gave a pointy tug. maybe greater than something a result of chilly, the bamboo snapped off as simply as though it have been a matchstick. It used to be now connected simply to the copper twine. a short twist of the wrist and that, too, had damaged away, leaving my assailant keeping a bamboo pole with wickedly jagged ends. From this sort of dangled a white china insulator that had by some means remained connected by means of a twist of twine. back i discovered myself staring directly down into the upturned face of my assailant. If basically i'll succeed in out and rip the goggles from that face—but I couldn’t. these mad eyes stared up me during the eco-friendly goggles in chilly useless hatred, and a shiver shook my frame—a type of shiver I had by no means recognized sooner than. these eyes, i noticed, with a surprising sickening jolt, weren't ringed through their ordinary horn-rimmed glasses.

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