{"product_id":"the-paladin-prophecy-isbn-9780375871061","title":"The Paladin Prophecy","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the co-creator of the groundbreaking television show \u003ci\u003eTwin Peaks\u003c\/i\u003e comes an exciting adventure series with a unique combination of mystery, heart-pounding action, and the supernatural. Meet your new action-adventure addiction!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill West is careful to live life under the radar. At his parents' insistence, he's made sure to get mediocre grades and to stay in the middle of the pack on his cross-country team. Then Will slips up, accidentally scoring off the charts on a nationwide exam.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow Will is being courted by an exclusive prep school . . . and followed by men driving black sedans. When Will suddenly loses his parents, he must flee to the school. There he begins to explore all that he's capable of--physical and mental feats that should be impossible--and learns that his abilities are connected to a struggle between titanic forces that has lasted for millennia.\u003cb\u003eChris Columbus, director of \u003cu\u003eHarry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone\u003c\/u\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mark Frost has created a wonderfully inventive and exciting tale where one exceptional teenager must discover the truth about his family . . . and himself. The mysteries are unexpected and the mythology is impressively original. A remarkably suspenseful ride. I can’t wait for the next installment!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003eBooklist\u003c\/u\u003e, September 15, 2012:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Frost, screenwriter and cocreator of the innovative TV series \u003cu\u003eTwin Peaks\u003c\/u\u003e, joins the parade of adult authors trying their hands at YA books with this first in a planned series. Making an assured transition, Frost delivers an addictive Jason Bourne\/Pittacus Lore\/Harry Potter mash-up. Teen Will West has shaped his life by his father’s “Rules to Live By,” especially number three: “Don’t Draw Attention to Yourself.” Throughout many moves, Will has learned to appear mediocre until one morning, when he learns that he has scored off the charts on a national test and is offered a full scholarship to an exclusive prep school. After receiving a terrifying text from his father, Will flees to the school only to discover that he and his new roommates possess hidden talents and are linked to an ancient struggle for world domination. Nonstop action and a richly layered plot propel a breakneck pace, and if the characters fit a tried-and-true trope, the skillful dialogue and touches of humor make that easy to overlook. A cliff-hanger ending will have readers begging for the sequel.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAlamosa Books, Albuquerque, New Mexico:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Anybody who loves adventure, thriller, or mystery must have this book! I don’t have the time to reread anymore. But I’ve already made time to read this twice. And I want to give it a third go. This is the best adventure book I have read in years. I can just see Dad’s Rules going viral. Best read the book before the obscure numbered tweets show up!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAshley (booknook)'s Reviews on GoodReads.com\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This book totally awed me. It’s like Harry Potter school fantasy meets kids-save-the-world Percy Jackson meets mind-blowing 'OH MY GOD I WANT THAT' technology meets the page-turning awe that is Dan Brown conspiracy, history-brought-to-life, secret society. Put it all together and you get this incredibly original story that will suck you in and won’t let you go.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Book Stall, Chicago\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Paladin Prophecy\u003c\/i\u003e blends terror and comedy into one fast-paced, adrenaline-inducing must-read. Readers will stay up into the small hours of the morning to finish, and then the first thing on their minds will be, 'When does the sequel come out?'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/u\u003e, August 15, 2012:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"New school and new mental powers meet ancient mysteries and ancient war.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/u\u003e, July 23, 2012:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Frost, adult author and \u003cu\u003eTwin Peaks\u003c\/u\u003e co-creator, makes his YA debut with this densely plotted thriller, first in a trilogy. His story has serious entertainment value and pulls together satisfyingly by book's end, while laying the groundwork for the sequels.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/u\u003e, November 11, 2012:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mark Frost, a co-creator, with David Lynch, of the seminal 1990s series \"Twin Peaks,\" is no stranger to the art of suspense. It's unsurprising, then, that \"The Paladin Prophecy,\" his first venture into young adult literature (he's written nine books for adults), contains thrills and plot twists in spades... A superhero coming-of-age tale... Heart-pounding... Breakneck pace... This is young adult literature as popcorn blockbuster.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Kids' Indie Next List Pick, Autumn 2012\u003cbr\u003eA Virginia Readers' Choice master list selection, 2013.\u003c\/b\u003eMARK FROST studied directing and playwriting at Carnegie Mellon University. He partnered with David Lynch to create and executive produce the groundbreaking television series \u003ci\u003eTwin Peaks\u003c\/i\u003e. Frost cowrote the screenplays for the films \u003ci\u003eFantastic Four\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eFantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer.\u003c\/i\u003e He is also the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of eight previous books, including \u003ci\u003eThe List of Seven, The Second Objective, The Greatest Game Ever Played,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Match.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003ePROLOGUE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI couldn’t see his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe was running along a mountain trail. Running desperately. Pursued by black grasping shadows that were little more than holes in the air, but there was no mistaking their intention. The boy was in unspeakable danger and he needed my help.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eI opened my eyes.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCurtains fluttered at the dark window. Freezing air whispered through a crack in the frame, but I was drenched in sweat, my heart pounding.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eJust a dream? No. I had no idea who this boy was. He appeared to be about my age. But I knew this much with iron certainty:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eHe was \u003c\/i\u003ereal, \u003ci\u003eand he was headed my way.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 1: JUST ANOTHER TUESDAY\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe importance of an orderly mind . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill West began each day with that thought, even before he opened his eyes. When he did open them, the same words greeted him on a banner across his bedroom wall:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e#1: THE IMPORTANCE OF AN ORDERLY MIND.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn capital letters a foot high. Rule #1 on Dad’s List of Rules to Live By. That’s how crucial his father considered this piece of advice. Remembering it was one thing. \u003ci\u003eFollowing \u003c\/i\u003eRule #1, with a mind as hot-wired as Will’s, wasn’t nearly as easy. But wasn’t that why Dad had put it on top of his list, and on Will’s wall, in the first place?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill rolled out of bed and stretched. Flicked on his iPhone:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e7:01. He punched up the calendar and scanned his schedule. Tuesday, November 7:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e• Morning roadwork with the cross-country team\u003cbr\u003e• Day forty-seven of sophomore year\u003cbr\u003e• Afternoon roadwork with the cross-country team\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNice. Two runs sandwiching seven hours of Novocain for the brain. Will took a greedy breath and scratched his fingers vigorously through his unruly bed head. Tuesday, November 7, shaped up as a vanilla, cookie-cutter day. Not one major stress clouding the horizon.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo why do I feel like I’m about to face a firing squad?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe triple-racked his brain but couldn’t find a reason. As he threw on his sweats, the room lit up with a bright, cheerful sunrise. Southern California’s most tangible asset: the best weather in the world. Will opened the curtains and looked out at the Topa Topa Mountains rising beyond the backyard.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWow. \u003c\/i\u003eThe mountains were cloaked with snow from the early winter storm that had blown through the night before. Backlit by the early-morning sun, they were sharper and cleaner than high-def. He heard familiar birdsong and saw the little white- breasted blackbird touch down on a branch outside his window. Tilting its head, curious and fearless, it peered in at him as it had every morning for the last few days. Even the birds were feeling it.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSo I’m fine. It’s all good.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut if that was how he \u003ci\u003ereally \u003c\/i\u003efelt, then what had stirred up this queasy cocktail of impending doom? The hangover from a forgotten nightmare?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn unruly thought elbowed its way into his mind: \u003ci\u003eThis storm brought more than snow.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWhat? \u003c\/i\u003eNo idea what that meant—wait, had he dreamt about snow? Something about running? The silvery dream fragment faded before Will could grab it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhatever. Enough of this noise. Time to stonewall this funk-u-phoria. Will drove through the rest of his morning routine and skipped downstairs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMom was in the kitchen working on her second coffee. With reading glasses on a lanyard around her thick black hair, she was tapping her phone, organizing her day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill grabbed a power shake from the fridge. “Our bird’s back,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hmm. People-watching again,” she said. She put down her phone and wrapped her arms around him. Mom never passed up a good hug. One of those committed huggers for whom, in the moment, nothing else mattered. Not even Will’s mortification when she clinch-locked him in public.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Busy day?” he asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Crazy. Like stupid crazy. You?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The usual. Have a good one. Later, Moms.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Later, Will-bear. Love you.” She jangled her silver bracelets and got back to her phone as Will headed for the door. “Always and forever.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Love you, too.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLater, and not much later, how he would wish that he’d stopped, gone back, held on to her, and never let go.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill reached the base of their front steps and shook out his legs. Sucked in that first bracing hit of clean, cold morning air and exhaled a frosty billow, ready to run. It was his favorite part of the day . . . and then that droopy dreadful gloom crept all over him again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e#17: START EACH DAY BY SAYING IT’S GOOD TO BE ALIVE. EVEN IF YOU DON’T FEEL IT, \u003ci\u003eSAYING \u003c\/i\u003eIT—OUT LOUD—MAKES IT MORE LIKELY THAT YOU WILL.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Good to be alive,” he said, without much conviction. Damn. Right now #17 felt like the lamest rule on Dad’s list.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could blame some obvious physical gripes. It was forty-eight degrees and damp. His muscles creaked from yesterday’s weight training. A night of slippery dreams had left him short on sleep. \u003ci\u003eI’m just out of whack. That’s all. I always feel better once I hit the road.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e#18: IF #17 DOESN’T WORK, COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill hit the stopwatch app on his phone and sprang into a trot. His Asics Hypers lightly slapped the pavement.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e1.4 miles to the coffee shop: target time, seven minutes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe gave #18 a try.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStarting with Mom and Dad. All the kids he knew ripped their parents 24\/7, but Will never piled on. For good reason: Will West had won the parent lottery. They were smart, fair, and honest, not like the phonies who preached values, then slummed like delinquents when their kids weren’t around. They cared about his feelings, always considered his point of view, but never rolled over when he tested the limits. Their rules were clear and balanced between lenient and protective, leaving him enough space to push for independence while always feeling safe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYeah, they have their strong points.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the other hand: They were odd and secretive and perpetually broke and moved around like Bedouins every eighteen months. Which made it impossible for him to make friends or feel connected to any place they ever lived. But, hey, what do you need a peer group for when your parents are your only friends? So what if that messed him up massively for the rest of his life? He might get over it, someday. After decades of therapy and a barge full of antidepressants.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThere. Blessings counted. Always works like a charm, \u003c\/i\u003ethought Will dryly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill had shaken off the morning chill by the end of the second block. Blood pumping, his endorphins perked up his nervous system as the Valley stirred to life around him. He quieted his mind and opened his senses, the way his parents had taught him. Took in the smoky tang of wild sage and the oxygen-rich air of the orchards lining the East End roads, wet and shiny from the rain. A dog barked; a car started. Miles to the west, through the gap in the hills, he glimpsed a cobalt-blue strip of the Pacific catching the first beams of sunrise.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGood to be alive. \u003c\/i\u003eHe could almost believe it now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill cruised toward town, down lanes of rambling ranch houses, grouped closer together as he moved along. After only five months here, he liked Ojai more than anywhere they’d ever lived. The small-town atmosphere  and country lifestyle felt comfortable and easy, a refuge from the hassles of big-city life. The town was nestled in a high, lush valley sheltered by coastal mountains, with narrow passes the only way in on either end. The original inhabitants, the Chumash people, had named it Ojai: the Valley of the Moon. After hundreds of years of calling Ojai home, the Chumash had been driven out by “civilization” in less than a decade. Tell the Chumash about “refuge.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill knew that his family would move on from this nearly perfect place, too. They always did. As much as he liked the Ojai Valley, he’d learned the hard way not to get attached to places or people—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA black sedan glided across the intersection a block ahead. Tinted glass on the side windows. He couldn’t see the driver.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThey’re looking for an address they can’t find, \u003c\/i\u003eWill thought. Then he wondered how he knew that.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA faint marimba ring sounded. He slipped the phone from his pocket and saw Dad’s first text of the day: HOW’S YOUR TIME?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill smiled. Dad with his Caps Lock on again. Will had tried to explain texting etiquette to him about fifty times: “It’s like you’re SHOUTING!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But I am shouting,” Dad had said. “I’M WAY OVER HERE!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill texted back: how’s the conference? how’s San Fran? He could text while running. He could text while riding down a circular staircase on a unicycle—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill pulled up short even before he heard the rasp of rubber on wet pavement. A dark mass slid into his peripheral vision.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe black sedan. Shrouded by exhaust, throttle rumbling in idle, dead ahead of him. A late model four-door, some plain domestic brand he didn’t recognize. Odd: no logos, trim, or identifying marks. Anywhere. A front license plate—generic, not California issue—with a small US flag tucked in one corner. But that was no civil service car pool engine under the hood. It sounded like a hillbilly NASCAR rocket.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe couldn’t see anyone behind the black glass—and remembered: tinting windshields this dark was illegal—but he knew someone inside was looking at him. Will’s focus narrowed, sounds faded. Time stopped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen a marimba broke the silence. Another text from Dad: RUN, WILL.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithout looking up, Will slipped his hoodie over his head and waved a faint apology at the windshield. He held up the phone, shaking it slightly as if to say, \u003ci\u003eMy bad. Clueless teenager here.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill thumbed on the camera and casually snapped a picture of the back of the sedan. He slipped the phone into his pocket and eased back into his stride.\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eMake it look like you’re just running, not running away, \u003c\/i\u003eWill thought. \u003ci\u003eAnd don’t look back.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe trotted on, listening for the throaty engine. The car tached up and peeled off behind him, turning left and heading away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen Will heard someone say, “Fits the description. Possible visual contact.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkay, how did \u003ci\u003ethat \u003c\/i\u003evoice get in his head? And whose voice was it?\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe driver, \u003c\/i\u003ecame the answer. \u003ci\u003eHe’s talking on a radio. He’s talking about \u003c\/i\u003eyou.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill’s heart thumped hard. With his conditioning, he had a resting pulse of fifty-two. It never hit triple digits until he was into his second mile. Right now it was north of a hundred.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst question: \u003ci\u003eDid Dad just tell me to RUN (from San Francisco?!\u003c\/i\u003e) \u003ci\u003ebecause he wants me to stay on pace for my target time, or because somehow he knows that car is bad news—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen he heard the sedan a block away, stomping through its gearbox, accelerating rapidly. Tires screamed: They were coming back.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill cut into an unpaved alley. Behind him the sedan burst back onto the street he’d just left. Before the car reached the alley, Will veered right, hopped a fence, and jammed through a backyard littered with the wreckage of Halloween decorations. He vaulted over a chain-link fence into a narrow concrete run along the side of the house—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—and then, \u003ci\u003edamn, \u003c\/i\u003ea vicious blunt head burst out of a dog door to his right; a square snarling muzzle shot after him. He leaped onto the gate at the end of the run and scrambled over, just as the beast hurled its body into the fence, jaws snapping.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHalf a block away, he heard the twin-hemi yowl as the car raced to the next corner. Will paused at the edge of the yard behind a towering hedge and gulped in air. He peeked around the hedge—all clear—then sprinted across the street, over a lawn, and past another house. A wooden fence bounded the rear yard, six feet high. He altered his steps to time his jump, grabbed the top, and leaped over, landing lightly in another alley—three feet from a weary young woman juggling a briefcase, a coffee flask, and her keys near a Volvo. She jolted as if she’d just been Tasered. Her flask hit the ground and rolled, leaking latte.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sorry,” said Will.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe crossed the alley and raced through two more yards, the sedan rumbling somewhere nearby all the while. He stopped at the next side street and leaned back against a garage. As his adrenaline powered down, he felt faintly ridiculous. Thoughts and instincts argued in his head, tumbling like sneakers in an empty dryer:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou’re perfectly safe. \u003c\/i\u003eNO, YOU’RE IN DANGER. \u003ci\u003eIt’s just a random car. \u003c\/i\u003eYOU HEARD WHAT THEY SAID. PAY ATTENTION, FOOL!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnother text from Dad hit the screen: DON’T STOP, WILL. Will motored down open streets through the outskirts of the business district. The team should be waiting at the diner by now. He’d duck inside and call Dad so he could hear his voice. But he realized he could hear it RIGHT NOW. Reminding him of a rule that Dad repeated like a fire drill:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e#23: WHEN THERE’S TROUBLE, THINK FAST AND ACT DECISIVELY.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill pulled up behind a church and peeked around. Two blocks away he saw the team, six guys in sweats outside the diner, RANGERS stitched across their backs. They were gathered around something at the curb he couldn’t see.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe checked the time, and his jaw dropped. No way that could be right: He’d  just covered the 1.4 miles from home, steeplechasing through backyards and fences . . . \u003ci\u003ein five minutes?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBehind him, the snarling engine roared to life. He turned and saw the black car charging straight at him down the alley. Will broke for the diner. The sedan cornered hard behind him, swung around, and skidded to a halt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill was already two blocks away. He flipped up his hood, stuck his hands in his sweatshirt, and casually jogged up to the team.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Whaddup,” he mumbled, trying to keep panic out of his voice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe team mostly ignored him, as usual. He blended in, keeping his back to the street. They parted enough for him to see what they were looking at.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Check it out, dude,” said Rick Schaeffer.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA badass tricked-out hot rod sat at the curb. It was like nothing Will had ever seen before, a matte black Prowler slung long and low on a custom chassis, with a slanted front grille and wheels gleaming with chrome. Bumpers jammed out in front like Popeye’s forearms. The manifolds of a monster V-8 burst out of the hood, oozing latent power. Baroque, steam-punk lines, crafted with sharp, finely etched venting, lined the body. The car looked both vintage and pristine, weirdly ageless, as if there were countless miles on this clean machine. A stranger’s ride for sure: No local could have kept these hellacious wheels under wraps. It might have come from anywhere. It might have come from the nineteenth century by way of the future.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill felt eyes find him from behind the diner window. They landed hard, like somebody poking him in the chest with two stiff fingers. He looked up but couldn’t see inside; the sun had just crested the hills behind him, glaring off the glass.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t touch my ride.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWill heard the voice in his head and knew it came from whoever was watching. Low, gravelly, spiked with a sharp accent, bristling with menace.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t touch it!” snapped Will.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eStartled, Schaeffer jerked his hand away.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Ember","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302637261029,"sku":"NP9780375871061","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375871061.jpg?v=1767740859","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-paladin-prophecy-isbn-9780375871061","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}